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'Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."— SHAKESPEARK. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 


Journal. 


CONDUCTED   BY 


CHARLES    DICKENS 


.  VOLUME  V. 

! 

FROM  THE  20TH  OF  MARCH  TO  THE  HTH  OF  SEPTEMBER. 
Being  from  No.  104  to  No.  129. 


LONDON: 
OFFICE,  16,  WELLINGTON  STREET  NORTH. 

1852. 


The  University  of 


BUCKINGHAM 
LIBRARY 


v> 


UNIVERSITY  OF  BUCKINGHAM 


8113262 


t 

CONTENTS. 

PiGK                                                                                                 PAGE                                                                                                7AGB 

AIE     577 

Cities  in  Plain  Clothes 

417    Geography  of  the  Ocean        .       .    246 

Albania,  Three  Guus  iu                       16 

City  of  Sudden  Death,  The       .  171, 

281    German  Workman,  The   .        .    .    410 

All  about  Pigs    471 

City  Parliament    .... 

525    Ghost  Raiser,  The   ....      83 

Among  the  Moors  .        .        .     276,  567 

Climate  of  Australia         .        .    . 

391     Glass  discovered  at  Pompeii    .    .    284 

Ancient  Officers  of  the  Tower    .  US,  156 

Clouded  Skye         .... 

98    Glass  Works  at  Birmingham       .      32 

Anglers,  The  Oldest  of  the  .        .540 

Cologne  Cathedral    .        .        .    . 

127    Going  to  the  Dogs       .     .        .    .    309 

Animal  Mechanics    .        .        .    .    398 

Constitutional  Trials 

423    Gold,  The  Harvest  of    .                .    213 

Apparition,  A  True  Account  of  an      27 

Copcland's  Potteries  .               .    . 

117    Gossip  of  Lebanon     .,       .        .    .    439 

Arbuthnot's  (Gen.  Sir  R.)  Eques- 

Cornish Choughs  found  at  last 

582    Gown  and  Town     ....    101 

trian  Feat       519 

Cornish  Choughs,  Search  for     186, 

519    Great  Catch,  A    .              ...    104 

Art  in  Birmingham       .        .        .    196 

Cotton         

51    Great  Chowsempoor  Bank    .        .    237 

Assurance    Companies    and    Un- 

Court, Up  A  

508    Great  Idea,  A    546 

healthy  Neighbourhoods       .    .    583 

Cries  of  London        .        .        .    . 

93    Great  Invasion      ....      69 

Auction  at  Garraway's  .        .        .    274 

Cranford,  Visiting  at     ... 

53    Great  People     504 

Australia,  The  Climate  of    ...    391 

Cross  Country  Church,  A  .        .    . 

465    Gretna  Green         .        .        .        .199 

Australia,  Emigrant  Farmers  in  .    396 

Cup  and  the  Lip     .... 

582    Gum  on  Postage  Stamps  .       .    .    203 

Australia,  The  Gold  Fields  of       .    213 

Cup  of  Coffee     .       .       -       ... 

562 

Australia,  Story  of  a  Bush  Ranger    310 
-Australia,  What  to  Take  to      .    .    364 
Australian  Emigration  Ships        .    410 

BED,  A  Terribly  Strange          .    .    129 
Beggars,  Departed         .        .        .    244 
Betting  Shops    333 
Berrington's  Knapsack  .        .        .    493 
Birds,  A  Flight  with  the  .        .    .    381 
Birmingham  Glass  Works    .        .      32 
Bitter  Beer         423 
Blacksmith,  The  Harmonious      .    198 
Blake,  Admiral      .        .        .        .326 
Blue  Mantle,  Little    .                .    .    429 
Bokhara  Shawls     .        .        .        .552 

DANIEL  Lambert   .... 
Danube,  Wild  Flowers  of  the 
Darkness  in  Devonshire  .        <    . 
Day  and  Night       .... 
Departed  Beggars       .       .        .    . 
Diggings,  Off  to  the 
Dining  with  the  Million   .        .    . 
Dinner  Party  in  Norway 
Direct  for  India          .        .        .    . 
Dish  of  Vegetables 
Doubles      
Down  in  a  Silver  Mine 
"Drawing-room,"   A  Poor  Man's 
Delight  in  a 
Drinking  Duel,  A      .        .        .    . 
Drooping  Buds       .... 
Dumb  Friends   
Dumbledowndeary  .... 

HANDFUL  of  Foreign  Money         574 
_.Q    Hanging  Paper,  Hints  on     .        .    516 
°S5    Harmonious  Blacksmith,  The  .    .    198 
r~    Harvest  of  Gold     .        .        .        .213 
•?:„    Healthy  Figures        .        .        .    .    535 
™?V    Heavy  Spade  and  Light  Fork      .    480 
!    Highland  Emigration    .        .        .324 
?    History  of  England  (A  Child's)  89,  207, 
305,  400,  495,  612 
~?    Hollow  Things  589 
i*r     Hon.  Member  for  Verbosity,  The    454 
"^    Hospital  for  Children,  The    .        .      45 
j™    Hospital,  Saint  George's    .        .         77 
Household  Scenery        .        .        .    513 
-„     Houses  of  Call  for  High  Art    .    .    251 
°XX    Houses  to  Let        ....        5 
^r    How  Dover  Cliffs  became  White        48 
1  _*?    How  to  become  an  Evergreen  .    .      42 
if*    Hunter  and  the  Student        .        .    157 
f,    Hyde  Park         302 

Boncfires  on  St.  John's  Eve  .        .    426 
Bonn,  The  Thirsty  Boys  of      .     .    337 
Bovington  (Mr.)  on  the  New  Cattle 
Market   422 

Boys  to  Mend         .        .        .        .    597 
Brass  Works  at  Birmingham       .    192 
Bricks  and  Mortar,  Invasion  of     69 
British  Cotton            .        .        .    .      51 
British  Gum  Secret,  The       .        .    202 
Broadbumble,   The  Schoolmaster 
of         ...                            377 

EAST,  The  Law  in  the      .        .    . 
Eclipse  in  Norway,  The 
Emigration  from  the  Highlands 
Encroachments  of  the  Sea 
Enemy,  The   .... 

o  17 

'„*'     INDIA  Direct,  For  ....    141 
~J    India,  The  Law  in     .        .        .    .    347 
'.',.*    Indian  Wife's  Penance  .       .        .    507 
~™    Invasion  of  Bricks  and  Mortar           69 
°'.'    Island  of  Madeira     .        .        .    .    542 
j4*    Isle  of  Skye,  The  .        .        .        .98 

Evergreen,  How  to  be  an  .       .    . 
Execution  at  Lewes 

Buoys  21 

Buried  City  of  Ceylon   ...      25 

Burney,  Fanny,  The  Shadow  of   .    392 

FAITH,  Monsters  of       ... 

gQg    JOAN  OF  ABO     497 

Bush,  A  Ride  through  the    .        .    310 
Buttons      106 

Fanny  Bnrney,  The  Shadow  of     . 

392 

First  Fruits    ..... 

477    IVING  CHARLES  s  Post-bag     .        .    293 
189    Knapsack,  Berrington's    .        .    .    493 

Flight  with  the  Birds        .        .    . 

381 

CAIRO,  The  Merry  Men  of     .        .    602 
Cattle  Market,  The  Proposed  New    422 
Cemeteries  in  France    .        .        .    258 
Ceylon,  a  Garden  of  Flowers  in    55G 
Ceylon,  The  Buried  City  of       .     .      25 
Chalk  Farm  Fair  ....    165 
Change  for  a  Sovereign     .        .    .    279 
Charms  and  Spells         ...      89 

Floating  Sentinels 
Flying  Bridge    
Forbidden  Land,  The    . 
Foreign  Money  
Foreign  Refugees,  A  Plea  for 
Forgeries  in  Literature    .        .  374, 
For  India  Direct    .... 
Four  Stories       ...        .    . 

,~i    LAST  Homes      258 
*X?    Law  in  the  East     ....    347 
~J    Leadhills,  The  Village  of  .        .    .    538 
"I*    Lebanon,  Gossip  of         ...    439 
2S    Legend  of  the  Castle          .        .    .    567 
*    Lewes,  an  Execution  at         .        .    167 
„„,.    Life  of  a  Salmon         .        .        .    .    606 

Charterhouse,  The     .        ...    285 
Child's  Funeral  at  Drammen        .    231 
Child's  History  of  England,  A   89,  207, 

French  Cemeteries 
French  Nobility,  Privileges  of.    . 
French  Provincial  News 

2~|    Lion  and  the  Hunter     .        .        .161 
„?„    Literarv  Mvstificatious     .       .  374,  444 
fVx    Little  Blue  "Mantle         .                 .    429 
?Jq    Lloyd's                        .        .        .    .    585 

305,  400,  495,  612 
Child's  Hospital,  A        ...      46 
Chinaman'fc  Ball        .,        .        .    .    331 
China  with  a  Flaw  in  it        .        .    368 

French  Students        .        .        .    . 
French  Women,  The  Rights  of    . 
Funerals  in  Naples 

91  o    Locking  up  the  Tower   ...      15 
{S    Lodging-houses  of  the  Poor      .    .    520 
Logan  Kock,  The  .        .        .        .206 

'  Chips,  15,  38,  104,  155,  203,  279,  295 

London,  The  Cries  of        .        .    .      93 

325,  364,  391,  43S,  493,  519,  535,  566, 
582,  610 

GARDEN  of  Flowers,  A  . 
Gardener  to  the  Schah,  The     .    . 

K~r    London  Bridge  in  the  Afternoon    570 
g^    Lunatics,  The  Treatment  of         .    270 

Chowsempoor  Bank,  The    .     .    .    237 
Christiania,  The  Roads  in     ..       .    230 
Chromo-lithography  .                      .     176 

Garraway's,  The  Wonders  of 
Geneva,  Average  Duration  of  Life 
in 

274 
MADEIRA,  The  Island  of   .        .    .    6i2 
536  1  Man  from  the  West       .        .        .    145 

CONTENTS. 


Margaret  Fuller        .        .        .    .    121 
Marischal  College,  Fatal  Frolic  at    436 
Mechi's  Farm,  A  Visit  to .    .       .    477 
Medical  Knowledge  of  our  Ances- 
tors*   80 

Melancholy  Place,  A  .  .  .156 
Merry  Men  of  Cairo,  The'.  .  .  602 
Mid-air,  A  Tale  of  .  ..  -  .  197 
Midsummer  Bonefires.  .  .  .  426 
Mincing  Lane,  The  Wonders'of  .  273 
Money  Orders  ....  1 
Money,  Foreign  .  .  .  .  574 
Monsters  of  Faith  .  .506 

Moors,  Among  the  .  .  .  276,  567 
More  Dumb  Friends  .  .  .  124 
My  Aunt  in  Paris  .  ...  112 
My  Little  French  Friend  .  .  169 


NAPLES,  Village  Funerals  in  .  19 
Napoleon,  A  Visit  to  the  Tomb  of  295 
New  Religious  Sect  .  .  .261 

New  School  for  Wives  .  .  .  84 
News  of  an  Old  Place  .  .537 

Nobility  in  Spain      .        .        .    .  38 

Norfolk  Encroachments  of  the  Sea  352 

Norfolk  Island       ....  73 

Norfolk  Island,  Transported  to  455, 
482,  566 

Northern  Lights  and  Shadows     .  48 

Norway,  A  Child's  Funeral  in      .  231 

Norway,  A  Dinner  Party  in  .  .  233 
Norway,  Notes  from  .  .  230,  255 

Norway,  Summer  and  Winter  in .  255 

Norway,  The  Total  Eclipse  in      .  231 

Not  Found  Yet      ....  186 

OCEAK,  Geography  of  tho         .    .  246 

Official  Emigration        .        .        .  155 

Off  to  the  Diggings   .       .        .    .  121 

Old  Clothes 93' 

Old  Household  Words      .        .    .  80 

Omnibuses,  Ill-named   .        .        .  438 

One  of  the  Evils  of  Match  Making  152 

Open  Air  Entertainments         .    .  165 

Operation  at  St.  George's  Hospital  78 

Our  Court  and  its  Proprietor        .  510 

Our  Doubles 388 

Our  Honorable  Friend              .    .  453 

Our  House 41 

Our  Primaries 189 

Our  Ruins 521 

Our  Total  Eclipse  Pic-Nic  Party .  231 

Onr  Vestry 549 

Overland  Mail  at  Southampton    .  144 

PAGE  from  a  Sad  Book     .        .    .  474 

Paper-hanging,  Hints  on       .        .  516 

Paper-staining  Manufactory    .    .  517 

Paris,  My  Aunt  in         ...  112 

Parliament  of  the  City  .  .  .  525 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  Steam 

Navigation  Company,  The        .  141 

Persian  Housekeeping  .  .  .  317 
Phases  of  Public  Life  .  .  224,250 
Philanthropic  Farm  School  at  Red 

Hill,  A  Visit  to  the        .        .    .  599 
Philip  Sidney  and  Fulke  Greville, 

Shadows  ot 346 

Pictures  on  Stone  ....  176 

Pigs 471 

Plain  Clothes,  Cities  in  .  .  417 
Plated  Article,  A  .  .  .  .  117 
Play  in  a  great  many  Acts  .  .  366 
Poets  of  Fifty  Years  ago  .  .  .  357 
Pompeii,  A  Visit  to  .  .  172,  281 
Poor  Brothers  of  the  Charterhouse  2S5 
Poor  Man's  Delight  in  a  "  Draw- 
ing-room"    509 

Postage  Stamps,  The  Gum  on       .  213 

Post-office  Money  Orders          •    .  1 

Potteries,  The  Staffordshire         .  117 


Primaries 189 

Primitive  People  ....  104 
Printed  Forgeries  .  .  374, 444 
Present  Hollow  Time,  The  .  .  589 
Preservation  in  Destruction  .  .  280 
Privileges  of  the  French  Nobility  203 


QUABTEK-DAY  ....     842 


RACKS,  The  Smithfield  .  .  .  162 

Raiser  of  Ghosts  ....  83 

Refugees,  A  Plea  for  ...  253 

Rehburg,  A  Ramble  to  .  .  .  522 

Ride  through  the  Rush  .  .  .  310 

Rights  of  French  Women  .  .  218 
Rise  and  Fall  of  the  Great  Chow- 

scmpoor  Bank  ....  237 

Rose,  the  Fairest  in  the  World  .  610 

Round  the  Midsummer  Fire  .  426 
Roving  Englishman's  Ramble  to 

Rehbnrg 522 

Ruins  by  the  Seaside  .  ,  .  522 

SAD  Book,  A  Page  from  a     .        .    474 
Saint  George  and  the  Dragon  .    .      77 
Saint  George's  Hospital,  an  Opera- 
tion at 78 

Saint  Helena,  A  Visit  to  .  .  .  295 
Saint  John's  Eve,  Boneiires  on  .  426 

Salmon 606 

Schah's  English  Gardener,  The  .  317 
School  for  Wives  ....  84 
Schoolmaster  of  Broadbumble, 

The 377 

Sentiment  in  Stone  .  .  .  127 
Sentinels,  Floating  .  .  .  .  21 
Serpentine  Yackt  Club .  .  .303 
Shadow — Day  and  Night .  .  .  450 
Shadow  of  Fanny  Burney  at  Court  392 
Shadows  of  Philip  Sidney  and 

Fulke  Greville    .        .        .        .346 
Shadow  of  the  Island  of  Madeira .    542 

Shawls 552 

Shipwreck  of  Madame  d'Ossoli  .  123 
Silver  Mine,  A  .  .  .  .592 
Sister  Ship,  The  .  .  .  .  138 
Skye,  The  Isle  of  .  .  .  .98 

Sledging 64 

Smithfield  Races    .        .        .        .162 

Snails 240 

Something  New  ....  519 
Sovereign,  Change  for  a  .  .  .  279 
Spain,  The  Nobility  of  .  .  .38 
Spanish  Romance  .  .  .  .  415 
Staffordshire  Potteries  .  .  .117 
Still  on  the  Wing  .  .  .  .  204 
Stone  Pictures  ....  176 
Strength,  A  Tower  of  .  .  .  66 
Student  and  the  Hunter  .  .  157 
Submarine  Geography  .  .  .  246 
Sudden  Death,  The  City  of  171,  281 
Summer  among  the  Farmers  in 

Norway 255 

Superstitions  of  the  North        .    .      48 

Switzerland 299 

Swords  and  Ploughshares        „    .    297 

TALE  of  Mid-air,  A  .  .  .197 
Tapestry,  A  Story  of  ...  514 
Tapping  the  Butts  .  .  501, 531 
Ten  Minutes  "  cross  Courtry  "  .  464 
Terribly  Strange  Bed,  A  .  .  .  129 

Thibet 431 

Thirsty  Boys  of  Bonn  .  .  .  137 
Three  Guns  in  Albania  .  .  16 
Three  Sisters,  a  Tale  .  .  359,  384 
Tiptree  Fiirm,  A  Visit  to  .  477 

Too  Much  Blue  .  .  .  .  291 
Total  Eclipse  in  Norway  .  .  231 


Tomb  of  Napoleon  ....  i!i»5 
Tom's  Salad  Days  . ,  .  .  .  580 
Tower  of  London  .  .  15,  66,  156 
Town  and  Gown  .  .  .  .  101 
Train  for  India  .  .  .  .141 
Transported  for  Life  .  455,  482, 566 
Treatment  of  the  Insane  .  .  270 
True  Account  of  an  Apparition  .  27 

Tubal  Cain 192 

Twenty  Shillings  for  a  Napoleon  .    295 


UNDERWRITING  ....  585 
Universal  Magazine,  An  .  .  519 
Up  a  Court 508 


VEGETABLES,  A  Dish  of       .       .  221 

Venice  in  Plain  Clothes    .        .    .  420 
Verbosity,    The    Hon.    Member 

for 454 

V«stry  Meeting,  A    .        .        .    .  550 

Vesuvius,  A  Visit  to     ...  235 

Village  Funerals  at  Naples      .    .  19 

Visit  to  Pompeii    .        .        .     172,  281 

Visiting  at  Cranford         .        .    .  53 

Volunteer  Apostles       .       .       .  261 


WALKING-STICKS  ....  610 

We  and  our  Man  Tom  .  .  .  396 

West,  Man  from  the  .  .  .  145 
What  Godfathers  have  done  for 

Omnibuses 438 

What  has  become  of  Winter  ?  .  12 

What's  to  become  of  us?  .  .  352 

What  there  is  in  a  Button  .  .  106 

What  to  take  to  Australia  .  .  364 

Wholesome  Policy  .  .  .  .  583 

Who  Murdered  Dowiiie  ?  .  .  436 

Widow  of  Sixteen  .  .  .  .  322 
Wild  Flowers  of  the  Danube,  a 

Legend 266 

Winter  in  Norway  .  .  .  .  256 

Witchcraft,  A  Trial  for  .  .  474 

Witchcraft  in  Devonshire  .  .  325 

Wives,  A  new  School  for  .  .  84 

Wonders  of  Mincing  Lane  .  .  273 

Workmen  in  Germany  .  .  410 

World's  Fairest  Rose,  The  .  .  610 

Wreck  and  Ruin  ....  494 


YACHT  Club,  The  Serpentine       .    303 
Young  France  at  the  Easel      .    .    149 


POETRY. 

ANGEL  Eyes  .       .       .    ^  .       .  224 

Bread  of  Life     .        .        .        ,    .  321 
Camera  Obscura    .        .       .        .11 

Cities  of  Time 489 

Emigrant's  Glance  Homeward     .  80 

Fiery  Trial,  a  Legend       .        .    .  248 

First  Born,  The .                   .  302 

From  Gold  to  Gray   .        .        .    .  104 

Growth  of  Good      ....  54 

Hope           297 

Household  Word,  A       .        .        .440 

Kilspindie 585 

King  Dirt 31 

Lady  and  Child         .       .        .    .  345 
Legend  of  the  Miraculous  Rose 

Trees 128 

Path  of  Hope          .        .        .        .561 

Recollections  of  Sir  Martin  Shee  .  176 

Rhyme  of  the  Caliph         .        .    .  512 

Spanish  Romance  ....  415 

Tale  Unfinished         .        .        .    .  152 

Thinker  and  the  Doer  ...  464 

To  my  Cousin  Helen        .       .    .  440 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."— SHAI 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY   JOURNAL, 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


104.] 


SATUKDAY,  MARCH   20,  1852. 


[PRICE  2d. 


POST-OFFICE  MONEY-ORDERS. 


IN  1792.  when  the  true  British  sailor  was 
stoutly  preparing  to  defy  the  French  in 
various  parts  of  the  globe  at  thirty  shillings 
a-mouth  ;  and  when  British  military  valour 
was  fighting  Tippoo  Saib,  in  India,  at  a  shilling 
a-day  ;  it  was  felt  as  a  great  hardship,  that  the 
affluent  warriors  of  both  services  could  not 
transmit,  safely  and  speedily,  to  their  sweet- 
hearts and  wives,  even  from  one  part  of  the 
United  Kingdom  to  another,  their  surplus 
capital.  The  Government — seeing  the  danger 
of  allowing  the  savings  of  its  servants  to  burn 
holes  in  their  pockets — was  good  enough  to 
concoct  a  snug  little  "job,"  by  means  of 
which  such  pocket-conflagrations  might  be 
extinguished.  The  monopoly  of  transmitting 
money  from  one  place  to  another  was  conceded 
to  three  gentlemen,  in  connection  with  the 
Post-office.  Their  terms  were — eight-pence 
for  every  pound  ;  but,  if  the  sum  exceeded 
two  pounds,  a  stamp-duty  of  one  shilling  was 
levied  by  Government,  in  addition.  Five 
guineas  was  the  highest  amount  which  could 
be  thus  remitted  ;  and  the  charge  for  that  sum 
was  four  shillings  and  sixpence,  or  nearly 
five  per  cent.,  besides  the  price  of  the  postage 
of  the  letter  which  contained  the  advice — 
perhaps  a  shilling  more. 

Now,  happily,  the  days  of  monopoly  have 
passed,  and  Mr.  Rowland  Hill  does  the  same 
thing  for  the  odd  sixpence,  with  an  odd 
penny,  at  a  profit  to  the  Government  of  about 


crease  even  the  reduced  charges  for  commis- 
sion, by  the  eight-penny  and  shilling  postages, 
for  their  letters  of  advice. 

Penny  Postage,  therefore,  is  the  parent  of 
the  gigantic  Money-order  system,  which  now 
flourishes  in  full  activity.  In  estimating  the 
advantages  of  that  great  stroke  of  economical, 
administrative,  and  commercial  sense,  many 
of  its  less  prominent  agencies  for  good  are 
overlooked.  The  facilities  it  has  afforded  for 
epistolary  intercommunication  are  so  won- 
derful and  self-evident,  that  we  who  benefit 
by  them,  are  blinded  to  the  hidden  impulses 
it  has  given  to  social  improvement  and  to 
commerce.  Regarded  only  as  the  origin  of  the 
present  Money-order  system,  Penny  Postage 
has  occasioned  the  exercise  of  prudence,  bene- 
volence, and  self-denial ;  it  has,  in  many  in- 
stances, stopped  the  sufferings  of  want  by 
timely  remittances ;  and  it  has  quickened 
the  under-currents  of  trade  by  causing  small 
transactions  to  be  easily  and  promptly  effected. 
These  advantages  can-  only  be  estimated  by  a 
consideration  of  the  following  facts. 

During  the  advent-year  of  penny  postage, 
the  commission  on  Post-office  orders  was  re- 
duced to  threepence  and  sixpence  for  sums 
not  exceeding  two  pounds  and  not  exceeding 
five  pounds  respectively.  Jn  that  year  the 
number  of  orders  granted  in  the  United 
Kingdom  was  (in  round  numbers,  which  we 
shall  use  throughout,  for  the  reader's  greater 
convenience)  one  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
thousand,  for  an  aggregate  amount  of  three 


seven  thousand  pounds  a-year  ;  exclusive  of  hundred  and  thirteen  thousand  pounds.  Even 


the  gain  derived  from  the  enormous  number  of 
letters  of  advice  which  Post-office  orders  have 
created.  When  the  privilege  was  extended 
from  soldiers  and  sailors  to  the  general  public, 
the  three  monopolists  of  the  last  century  could 
divide  between  them,  on  an  average,  no  more 
than  six  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  per  annum. 
No  longer  ago  than  the  year  1838,  the  Money- 
order  Office  was  absorbed  into  the  Post-office ; 
and,  although  the  charges  were  reduced  to  a 
commission  of  sixpence  for  sums  not  exceed- 
ing two  pounds,  and  of  one  shilling  and 
sixpence  for  sums  up  to  five  pounds  (which 
was,  and  is  still,  the  limit),  a  chief  clerk  and 
two  assistants  were  appointed  to  do  all  the 
business  the  public  brought  to  them ;  and 
even  they  could  only  do  it  at  a  loss  to  the 
department.  People  could  not  afford  to  in- 


this  was  a  great  advance  on  the  business  pre- 
viously done  at  the  old  prices  ;  but  what  are 
the  figures  for  the  tenth  year  of  penny 
postage  ?  During  the  year  1850,  the  number 
of  orders  granted  in  the  Uni ted  Kingdom  was 
four  million  four  hundred  and  forty  thousand, 
for  amounts  making  up  eight  million  four  hun- 
dred and  ninety-five  thousand  pounds  ; — only 
a  million  less  than  the  yearly  produce  of  the 
income  and  assessed  taxes  put  together !  This 
marvellous  increase  can,  perhaps,  be  better  ap- 
preciated by  being  seen  through  a  diminished 
medium.  In  the  first  month  of  the  penny 
postage  (1840),  the  issue  of  orders  was  about 
ten  thousand  in  number,  for  something  over 
sixteen  thousand  pounds ;  but  in  the  month 
of  December,  1851,  the  number  of  orders 
issued  was  more  than  three  hundred  and 


VOL.  V. 


104 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


sixty-seven  thousand,  for  six  hundred  and 
ninety  thousand  pounds.  That  is  to  say, 
during  that  single  month  twice  as  many 
orders  were  taken  out  and  paid  for  than  were 
issued  and  paid  in  1840  during  the  whole  year. 
This  astonishing  increase  will  be  accounted  for 
when  we  explain  the  apparent  hyperbole  which 
classes  Money-orders  with  prudence,  charity, 
and  commercial  activity. 

No  one  will  deny,  that  of  all  the  possessions 
vouchsafed  to  mankind,  the  most  difficult  to 
keep,  is  money.  That  difficulty — a  difficulty 
universally  experienced  and  felt  as  pressingly 
in  Her  Majesty's  naval  and  military  services, 
as  in  any  kind  of  service  whatever — first 
brought  the  Money-order  Office  into  existence. 
It  is  because  it  relieves  that  difficulty  in  some 
degree,  that  the  Money-order  Office  is  now 
so  extensively  patronised.  Formerly,  when 
the  young  English  provincial,  or  aspiring 
Scotchman,  left  his  straightened  home  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  some  distant  town — and 
found  it — the  temptations  that  gleamed  from 
his  hoarded  earniiigs  often  overcame  him ;  and, 
instead  of  keeping  them  to  remit,  at  some  un- 
certain opportunity,  to  his  struggling  relations, 
he  squandered  them  on  his  own  pleasures. 
Now,  that  temptation  is  greatly  lessened  ;  he 
can  send  home  his  spare  cash  by  the  cheap, 
immediate,  and  safe  agency  of  Post-office 
orders  :  to  be  applied  either  in  relieving  the 
wants  of  the  recipients,  or  to  be  prudently 
invested  for  himself.  The  amount  of  money 
which  is  passed  to  Ireland  in  this  way  is  very 
great.  It  can  be  ascertained,  approximately, 
by  a  comparison  between  the  number  of  orders 
issued  in  England,  and.  paid  in  Ireland,  at 
ordinary  times,  and  so  issued  and  paid  during 
the  Irish  invasion,  at  hay-making  time.  For 
instance,  during  the  month  of  February  1851 
(the  business  during  which  month  affords  a 
fair  monthly  average),  thirteen  thousand  orders 
were  issued  in  England,  and  paid  in  Ireland 
with  nineteen  thousand  pounds ;  but  in  the 
July  following,  thirty-three  thousand  English 
orders  were  presented  in  Ireland,  in  exchange 
for  nearly  thirty-three  thousand  pounds ;  being 
an  excess  over  the  transactions  of  February 
of  nineteen  thousand  orders,  and  thirteen 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds.  It  would  be 
a  curious  (but  impossible)  calculation  which 
should  show  us  how  much  of  this  large  sum 
would  have  reached  Ireland,  under  the  re- 
spected ancient  dispensation,  when  Irish  hay- 
makers hoarded  their  money; — after  it  had 
been  hidden  in  holes  and  hedges  ;  or  screwed 
up  in  worsted  stockings  ;  or  inserted  in  the 
linings  of  brimless  hats.  During  the  famine 
year  (1847),  the  orders  transmitted  hence  and 
paid  in  Ireland,  exceeded  the  average  by 
one  hundred  and  forty-three  thousand,  repre- 
senting about  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  This  shows  how  readily  the  poor 
will  help  the  poor,  when  facilities  for  so  doing 
are  presented  to  them. — The  Money-order 
Office  accounts  paint  the  character  of  Scotland 
for  prudence,  saving  habits,  and  commercial 


activity  in  small  matters,  in  glowing  colours. 
With  a  population  two-thirds  less  than  Ire- 
land, her  absent  sons  and  daughters  sent 
home,  for  various  purposes,  during  the  year 
which  ended  on  the  30th  September,  1851, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds. 
During  the  same  period,  the  Irish  absentees 
and  their  commercial  connexions  in  this 
country  forwarded  to  Ireland  very  little  more ; 
namely,  two  hundred  and  ninety  thousand 
pounds.  The  poverty  of  the  Irish  remitters 
is  strikingly  shown  by  the  smallness  of  the 
average  amounts.  Less  than  one  hundred 
and  fourteen  thousand  orders  were  issued  to 
send  the  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds  to  Scotland ;  while  nearly  double  that 
number  were  taken  out  to  forward  the  two 
hundred  and  ninety  thousand  pounds  to  Ire- 
land. The  average  amount  of  each  remittance 
to  Scotland  was  two  pounds,  three  shillings, 
and  fourpence  ;  while  the  average  of  each 
order  on  Ireland  was  not  quite  one  pound, 
five  shillings,  and  sixpence.  During  the  hay- 
making season,  the  average  of  each  order  on 
the  Irish  offices  was  only  fourteen  shillings 
and  five  farthings. 

The  Money-order  system  has  opened  up  an 
enormous  amount  of  small  traffic.  In  many 
country  places  it  has  superseded  the  pedlar, 
and  has  lessened  the  number  and  variety  of 
those  commissions  with  which  any  member 
of  a  country  family  is  loaded,  when  he 
happens  to  be  "going  into  town."  Whatever 
articles  may  be  required  by  private  families, 
by  small  manufacturers,  or  by  petty  shop- 
keepers, can  now  be  ordered  at  once  from 
head  quarters  in  a  penny  letter.  The  goods 
are  sent,  through  various  conveyances,  by  the 
town  shopkeeper  ;  and  payment  for  them  is 
made  per  Post-office  orders.  Thus,  we  find 
that  in  all  the  great  centres  of  trade  or  manu- 
factures, there  is  a  great  excess  of  orders  paid, 
over  orders  granted.  During  the  year  ending 
on  the  thirtieth  of  last  September,  the  excess 
of  payments  over  receipts,  in  Birmingham, 
was  ninety-five  thousand  pounds  ;  in  Liver- 
pool, eight  thousand  pounds  ;  in  Manchester, 
thirty-six  thousand  five  hundred  pounds.  The 
great  excess  of  payments  is  in  the  manu- 
facturing towns ;  for,  by  the  medium  of 
Money-orders  and  penny  postage,  the  watch- 
maker at  Cheltenham  or  Plymouth  can  as 
readily  write  for,  pay  for,  and  obtain  by  re- 
turn of  post  from  Birmingham,  any  tool  he 
may  require,  as  if  the  maker  were  his  neigh- 
bour in  the  next  street.  In  places,  therefore, 
where  trade  and  manufactures  are  not  the 
staple  ;  where  fashion  resorts  ;  or  where — as 
in  cathedral  cities — pursy  respectability  vege- 
tates, the  excess  is  the  other  way.  The  year's 
transactions,  at  Cheltenham,  for  example, 
leave  a  large  balance  of  orders  issued,  over 
orders  paid.  It  is  found,  in  effect,  that  all 
small  Money-order  offices  issue  more  orders 
than  they  pay. 

A  great  many  money-orders  are  taken  out 
as  answers  to  advertisements.  Tradesmen 


Charles  Dickens.] 


POST-OFFICE  MONEY-OEDEES. 


especially  have  widened  the  circles  of  their 
connection  in  this  way.  The  amount  of  tea, 
coffee,  confectionery,  books,  jewellery,  wearing 
apparel,  and  innumerable  other  articles,  which 
advertising  traders  get  paid  for  in  Post-office 
orders,  would  be  astounding,  if  it  could  be 
ascertained.  Answers  (in  cash)  to  charitable 
appeals,  and  payment  of  small  debts,  are  also 
much  facilitated  by  Post-office  orders.  We 
mentioned  in  our  account  of  "  My  Uncle,"  that 
bank-notes  were  sometimes  pawned  for  safety's 
sake.  In  like  manner,  hawkers,  trampers, 
sailors,  and  other  humble  travellers,  take  out 
money-orders  in  one  place,  to  be  paid  to  them- 
selves in  another. 

The  Central  Money-order  Office  in  which 
these  remarkable  results  have  been  produced 
and  ascertained,  is  in  Aldersgate  Street, 
London,  hard  by  the  Post  Office.  It  is  a  large 
establishment — large  enough  to  be  a  very 
considerable  Post  Office  in  itself — with  exten- 
sive cellarage  branching  off  into  interminable 
groves  of  letters  of  advice,  and  receipts,  all 
methodically  arranged  for  reference.  The 
room  in  which  the  orders  are  issued  and  paid, 
has  a  flavor  of  Lombard  Street  and  money. 
It  has  its  long  banker's  counter,  where  clerks 
sit  behind  iron  gratings,  with  their  wooden 
bowls  of  cash,  and  their  little  scales  for 
weighing  gold  ;  and  vistas  of  pigeon-holes 
stretch  out  behind  them — which  are  not 
without  their  pigeons,  as  we  shall  presently 
see.  Here,  from  ten  o'clock  to  four,  keeping 
the  swing-doors  on  the  swing  all  day,  all 
sorts  and  conditions  of  people  come  and  go. 
Greasy  butchers  and  salesmen  from  Newgate 
Market  with  bits  of  suet  in  their  hair,  who 
loll,  and  lounge,  and  cool  their  foreheads 
against  the  grating,  like  a  good-humoured 
sort  of  Bears ;  sharp  little  clerks  not  long 
from  school,  who  have  everything  requisite 
and  necessary  in  readiness  ;  older  clerks  in 
shooting-coats,  a  little  sobered  down  as  to 
official  zeal,  though  possibly  not  yet  as  to 
Cigar  Divans  and  Betting-Offices ;  matrons 
who  will  go  distractedly  wrong,  and  whom  no 
consideration^  human  or  divine,  will  induce  to 
declare  in  plain  words  what  they  have  come 
for ;  people  with  small  children  which  they 
perch  on  edges  of  remote  desks,  where  the 
children,  supposing  themselves  to  be  for  ever 
abandoned  and  lost,  present  a  piteous  spec- 
tacle ;  labouring  men,  merchants,  half-pay 
officers  :  retired  old  gentlemen  from  trim 
gardens  by  the  New  Eiver,  excessively  im- 
patient of  being  trodden  on,  and  very  per- 
sistent as  to  the  poking  in  of  their  written 
demands  with  tops  of  canes  and  handles  of 
umbrellas.  The  clerks  in  this  office  ought 
to  rival  the  lamented  Sir  Charles  Bell  in 
their  knowledge  of  the  expression  of  the 
hand.  The  varieties  of  hands  that  hover 
about  the  grating,  and  are  thrust  through  the 
little  doorways  in  it,  are  a  continual  study  for 
them — or  would  be,  if  they  had  any  time  to 
spare,  which  assuredly  they  have  not.  The 
coarse-grained  hand  which  seems  all  thumb 


and  knuckle,  and  no  nail,  and  which  takes  up 
money  or  puts  it  down  with  such  an  odd, 
clumsy,  lumbering  touch  ;  the  retail  trader's 
hand  which  chinks  it  up  and  tosses  it  over 
with  a  bounce  ;  the  housewife's  hand  which 
has  a  lingering  propensity  to  keep  some  of  it 
back,  and  to  drive  a  bargain  by  not  paying 
in  the  last  shilling  or  so  of  the  sum  for  which 
her  order  is  obtained  ;  the  quick,  the  slow, 
the  coarse,  the  fine,  the  sensitive  and  dull, 
the  ready  and  unready ;  they  are  always 
at  the  grating  all  day  long.  Hovering  be- 
hind the  owners  of  these  hands,  observ- 
ant of  the  various  transactions  in  which 
they  engage,  is  a  tall  constable  (rather  po- 
tential with  the  matrons  and  widows  oil 
account  of  his  portly  aspect)  who  assists  the 
bewildered  female  public  ;  explains  the  nature 
of  the  printed  forms  put  ready  to  be  filled  up, 
for  the  quicker  issuing  of  oi'ders  and  the 
greater  exactness  as  to  names ;  and  has  an 
eye  on  the  Unready  one,  as  he  knots  his 
money  up  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  or  crams 
it  into  a  greasy  pocket-book.  If  you  have  any 
bad  money  by  you,  be  careful  not  to  bring  it 
here  !  The  portly  constable  will  whisk  you 
into  a  back  office  before  you  can  say  Jack 
Eobinson  ;  will  snip  your  bad  half-crown  or 
five-shilling  piece  in  half,  directly  ;  and  (at 
the  best)  after  searching  inquiry,  will  fold  the 
pieces  in  a  note  of  your  name  and  address, 
and  consign  them  to  a  bundle  of  similar 
trophies  for  evermore  ! 

A  prosaic  place  enough  at  first  sight,  the 
Money-order  Office  is ;  but,  when  we  went 
there  to  look  about  us,  the  walls  seemed  pre- 
sently to  turn  to  burnished  gold,  the  clock  to 
go  upon  a  thousand  jewels  :  the  clerks  to  be 
the  ministers  of  Fortune,  dispensing  wisdom, 
riches,  beauty,  to  the  human  race.  For,  if 
you  want  to  know  what  you  are  fit  for  (true 
wisdom  in  itself)  will  not  a  money-order  for 
five  shillings  in  favour  of  the  gentleman  who 
pierces  you  through  and  through  if  you  only 
show  him  your  handwriting,  settle  it  beyond 
a  doubt  !  If  you  seek  that  one  efficient  recipe 
for  curls,  eyebrows,  whiskers,  sparkling  eyes, 
and  general  bloom,  can  it  not  be  yours  to- 
morrow, through  this  wonderful  establish- 
ment !  If  you  want  to  acquire,  for  seven-and- 
sixpence  sterling,  that  light  and  elegant  ac- 
complishment which  will  enable  you  to 
realise  from  two  to  twenty  pounds  per  week, 
during  the  whole  remainder  of  your  natural 
life,  have  you  anything  to  do  but  to  take  your 
money-order  out  and  send  it  to  the  great  phil- 
anthropist, whose  modesty  is  equal  to  his 
merit,  and  who  lives  retired  behind  initials  ! 
Or,  if  your  tastes  be  sporting  tastes,  and  you 
would  prefer  to  realise  a  handsome  compe- 
tence on  the  turf,  is  not  "  The  Kiddy's  Tip  " 
(for  the  small  charge  of  a  crown,  and  a  per- 
centage on  your  winnings)  to  be  had  by  the 
next  post,  on  remittance  to  the  Kiddy  from 
this  place  ;  and  has  not  the  Kiddy  ever  been 
The  Lucky  One  ;  and  does  he  not  refer  with 
pride  to  that  eventful  day  when  he  cautioned 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  !»/ 


his  kind  patrons  to  beware  of  Staggers's  lot  ; 
und  is  not  the  Kiddy  absolutely  sure  that 
he  can  pick  the  winner  from  the  field,  this 
time,  and  lead  the  sporting  gents  who  honour 
him  with  their  confidence,  to  wealth  and 
laurels  ! 

All  these  people,  we  found,  on  sober  in- 
quiry, in  common  with  a  host  of  quacks  and 
fortune-tellers,  really  do  use  the  office,  and 
really  do  receive  large  sums  of  money  from 
the  unlucky  pigeons,  the  records  of  whose  folly 
pass  into  the  pigeon-holes.  We  were  shewn 
a  circular,  which  has  been  very  extensively 
disseminated  in  the  provinces.  It  explains 
(with  patterns  of  the  article  produced)  a 
pretended  patent  for  the  manufacture  of  a 
fabric  in  universal  demand.  It  promises  to 
each  subscriber  for  one  share,  price  five 
shillings,  (to  be  sent,  of  course,  per  Money- 
order),  not  a  paltry  return  of  three  or  four 
hundred  per  cent.  ;  but  a  good  round  income. 
"  Subscribers,"  we  quote  the  precise  words  of 
the  printed  bait,  "  will,  for  every  five  shillings 
they  invest,  realise  from  seventy-five  to  three 
hundred  pounds  sterling  per  annum  !  " — to 
be  paid,  it  ia  politely  stated  in  another  part 
of  the  prospectus,  quarterly.  Now,  rational 
people  will  say  that  the  wild  extravagance  of 
such  a  promise,  exceeding  all  possible  gulli- 
bility, would  be  its  own  defeat.  The  said 
rational  people,  however,  will  be  (as  they 
sometimes  are)  in  error.  Credulity  has  no 
bounds.  It  is  a  fact,  that  since  the  issue  of 
that  golden  circular,  the  Post-office  autho- 
rities have  paid  to  its  concocter, — not  hun- 
dreds, but  thousands  of  pounds.  Post-oifice 
orders  have  poured  in  from  believers  in 
impossible  profit,  at  such  a  rate,  that  three 
hundred  pounds  were  handed  over  to  the 
successful  schemer  in  the  course  of  one 
single  week !  Could  Clairvoyance  get  a 
postman's  place,  and  read  the  sealed  letters 
as  well  as  deliver  them,  what  insane  credence, 
what  impossible  hope,  what  glowing  cupidity 
would  be  revealed  in  the  wrappers  to  those 
particular  Post-office  orders  !  Perhaps  a 
clergyman  writes  to  inquire  whether  the  first 
quarter's  produce  of  his  five  shillings  enclosed 
(on  the  before -mentioned  scale  of  productive- 
ness), is  likely  to  become  due  about  September? 
because,  at  >  the  beginning  of  that  month,  pos- 
sibly, "  he  has  a  little  bill  of  exchange  to  take 
up  ! "  So,  a  lady,  writing,  it  is  likely,  in 
August,  wishes  to  open  a  school  in  December  : 
and  does  the  gentleman  think  that,  by  that 
time,  her  five  shillings  will  have  grown  into, 
— say  even  fifty  pounds  1  The  next  letter 
may  show  (mesmerically)  the  inmost  soul 
— and  the  five  shillings — of  a  young  gentle- 
man, who  is  "loved  and  beloved,"  &c.,  and 
who  wishes  to  know  whether,  if  he  take 
a  house  at  Lady-day,  the  first  instalment 
of  the  annual  fortune  will  arrive  in  time 
for  him  to  enshrine  his  idol  in  it  with  the 
requisite  appliances  ^  for  persons  about  to 
marry  ? 

It  is  right,  however,  to  observe,  that  the 


authorities,  when  they  find  themselves  acci- 
dentally and  innocently  agents  in  carrying  on 
such  infamous  schemes,  take  advantage  of 
any  informality  to  withhold  the  payment, 
and  restore  the  orders  to  the  deluded  senders. 

This  sort  of  mystification  is  even  more 
surprising  than  that  under  which  certain 
uneducated  individuals  (Irish)  have  been 
known  to  labour.  The  belief  has  more  than 
once  been  manifested  at  a  Money-order  office 
window,  that  the  mere  payment  of  the  corn- 
mission  would  be  sufficient  to  procure  an 
order  for  five  pounds  ;  the  form  of  paying  in 
the  five  pounds  being  deemed  purely  optional. 
An  Irish  gentleman  (who  had  left  his  hod  at 
the  door)  recently  applied  in  Aldersgate 
Street  for  an  order  for  five  pounds  on  & 
Tipperary  Post-office  :  for  which  he  tendered 
(probably  congratulating  himself  on  having 
hit  upon  so  good  an  investment)  sixpence  ! 
It  required  a  lengthened  argument  to  prove 
to  him  that  he  would  have  to  pay  the  five 
pounds  into  the  office,  before  his  friend  could 
receive  that  small  amount  in  Tipperary  ;  and 
he  went  away,  after  all,  evidently  convinced 
that  his  not  having  this  order  was  one  of  the 
personal  wrongs  of  Ireland,  and  one  of  the 
particular  injustices  done  to  hereditary  bonds- 
men only. 

To  pass  from  the  Pigeons  to  the  Pigeon- 
holes, it  may  be  observed  that,  in  the  paying 
department,  there  are  eleven  hundred  of 
the  latter  (Heaven  knows  how  many  of  the 
former  ;  they  are  incalculable)  corresponding 
to  the  eleven  hundred  Money-order  offices 
spread  all  over  England.  The  Scotch  and 
Irish  advices  have  pigeon-holes  to  themselves. 
When  an  order  is  presented,  the  clerk  goes 
straight  to  the  hole  marked  with  the  name 
of  the  town  it  has  been  issued  from.  If  the 
order  correspond  in  every  respect  with  the 
advice,  the  cash  is  instantly  paid. 

The  number  of  Money-order  offices  in  the 
United  Kingdom  is  nearly  seventeen  hun- 
dred ;  their  accounts  are  dealt  with,  in  Alders- 
gate  Street,  by  one  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
clerks.  So  promptly  and  accurately  are  these 
accounts  posted  up,  that  a  balance  of  the 
whole  kingdom  as  to  money-orders  is  struck 
daily;  and,  by  two  o'clock,  the  state  of  each 
deputy's  (or  postmaster's)  account  can  be 
accurately  ascertained — what  he  owes,  or 
what  is  due  to  him — up  to  the  latest  postal 
communication. 

That  the  gigantic  operations  of  the  entire 
system  may  be  seen  at  one  view,  we  present 
an  account  of  its  transactions  during  the  year 
which  ended  on  the  thirty-first  of  last  De- 
cember : — The  number  of  orders  issued  in 
the  United  Kingdom  during  that  time,  was 
nearly  four  million  seven  hundred  thousand, 
for  money  amounting  to  nearly  nine  millions 
sterling.  The  cash  which  changed  hands  by 
the  intervention  of  the  Post-office  Money-order 
office  —  in  other  words,  the  combined  total 
of  issues  and  payments  of  money-orders,  in 
the  United  Kingdom,  during  last  year,  was 


Charles  Dickens.J 


HOUSES  TO  LET. 


upwards  of  seventeen  millions  sterling ;  a  sum 
more  than  equal  to  one-third  of  the  whole 
official  expenditure  of  this  very  expensive 
and  rather  official  country.  Every  day,  an 
interchange  of  small  sums  (each  averaging  in 
England  and  Wales  no  more  than  one  pound, 
eighteen  shillings,  and  ninepence)  takes  place 
j n  the  United  Kingdom  by  the  agency  of 
Money-order  offices,  to  the  amount  of  upwards 
of  fifty  thousand  pounds. 

The  revenue  of  the  Money-order  Office 
exceeded  its  expenses,  in  the  year  1851,  by 
more  than  seven  thousand  pounds  of  profit. 
The  same  office,  before  the  important  improve- 
ments of  the  last  few  years  had  been  effected, 
cost  the  country  a  loss  of  ten  thousand  six 
hundred  pounds. 

Despite  the  prodigious  increase  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  department,  which  we  have  pointed 
out,  its  efficiency  has  been  doubled,  and  its  cost 
almost  halved.  By  superseding  seventy-eight 
superfluous  ledgers,  the  labour  of  sixty  clerks 
has  been  saved  ;  by  simply  reducing  the  size 
of  the  money-orders  and  advices,  the  expense 
of  paper  and  print  alone  has  been  diminished 
by  eleven  hundred  pounds  per  annum  ;  while 
•the  abolition  of  separate  advices  of  each  trans- 
action has  economised  the  number  of  letters 
by  forty-six  thousand,  weekly.  The  upshot  is, 
that  these  economical  reforms  have  effected  a 
saving  in  the  Money-order  Office,  alone,  equal 
to  seventeen  thousand  pounds  per  annum  ! 

HOUSES  TO  LET. 


I  HAVE  often  heard  doubts  expressed,  and 
conjectures  hazarded,  as  to  who  and  what 
manner  of  people  they  may  be  that  read  the 
Supplement  of  the  Times  newspaper.  That 
a  very  fair  proportion  of  the  subscribers  and 
readers  of  that  journal  do  so,  is  a  fact,  I  take 
it,  apparent  to,  and  acknowledged  by,  the 
frequenters  of  parlours,  coffee-houses,  club- 
rooms,  and  hotel  snuggeries.  Admitting 
always  that  it  is  read,  it  is  not  by  any  means 
so  certain  who  reads  it.  The  advertisers 
may  do  so,  wishing,  like  careful  men  of  busi- 
ness, to  make  sure  that  they  have  had  their 
pennyworth  for  their  penny.  The  proof 
reader  reads  it  ban  ffre,  malgre,  though,  very 
likely,  while  toiling  down  the  dreary  columns 
of  uninteresting  announcements,  he  may  say, 
with  Ancient  Pistol,  in  the  Great  Leek  Con- 
sumption Case, — "  I  read  and  eke  I  swear." 
But  do  you  or  I,  reader,  affect  the  pe- 
rusal of  that  portentous  broad-sheet  with 
the  halfpenny  stamp  1  From  time  to  time  we 
may  glance  at  the  Education  near  London 
column  ;  at  the  New  Discoveries  in  Teeth  ; 
at  the  Sales  by  Auction  ;  and  the  Ho- 
rizontal Grand  Pianofortes  :  but  we  know 
that  the  really  interesting  "  ads."  are  in  the 
body  of  the  paper  ;  that  the  profligate  initials 
are  entreated  to  return  to  their  parents,  or 
to  send  back  the  key  of  the  tea-caddy  in  the 
second  or  third  column  of  the  front  page  ; 
and  that  the  unfathomable  hieroglyphics  hold 


sweet  converse  in  the  same  locality.  In  that 
Pactolean  front  page,  who  knows,  from 
morning  to  morning,  but  that  Messrs.  Wou- 
ter,  Gribble,  and  Sharp,  of  Gray's  Inn,  may 
publicly  express  their  wish  to  communicate 
something  to  our  advantage  to  us  ?  In  that 
front  page,  conscientious  cabmen  have  found 
the  wearing  apparel  and  jewellery  we  have 
lost,  or  dog-fanciers  (more  conscientious  still) 
the  dogs  which  have  been  st well,  mis- 
laid. In  that  same  page  we  can  put  our 
hands  on  all  the  announcements  we  want : — 
the  Steam  Navigation,  which  is  to  waft  us 
to  Rotterdam  and  the  Ehine,  or  to  Paris, 
via  Calais,  in  eleven  hours  ;  of  the  exhibi- 
tions and  dioramas  we  delight  in  witnessing  ; 
of  the  charitable  associations  it  so  pleaseth 
us  (kind  souls  !)  to  subscribe  to  ;  of  horses 
and  carriages,  we  buy  or  sell,  and  of  the  oats, 
which  good  Mary  Wedlake  so  pertinaciously 
desires  to  know  if  we  bruise  yet.  If  we  want 
clerks  or  governesses,  or,  as  clerks  and  gover- 
nesses, are  ourselves  wanted  ;  if  we  wish  to 
borrow  or  to  lend  money,  or  to  see  what  new 
books  or  new  music  appeal  to  our  taste,  lite- 
rary or  musical,  we  find  them,  if  not  in  the 
front  page,  still  almost  invariably  in  the  main 
body  of  the  "  Times ; "  it  is  only  on  special 
occasions — when  the  honourable  Member  for 
Mugborough  divides  the  house  at  two  o'clock 
in  the  morning  ;  or  the  Crushclod  Agricul- 
tural Society  holds  a  meeting,  unusually 
stormy  or  lengthy ;  or  my  Lord  Centipede 
gives  a  dinner,  at  which  everybody  drinks 
everybody's  health,  and  returns  thanks  into 
the  bargain, — that  the  really  interesting  adver- 
tisements are  crowded  into  the  Supplement. 
On  other  occasions,  that  document  remains 
a  dreary  acceptance  for  the  education,  teeth, 
pianoforte,  and  auctioneer  advertisements, 
with  the  addition,  perhaps,  of  a  few  cam- 
phine  lamps,  liquid  hair-dyes,  and  coals  at 
nine  shillings  per  chaldron.  Yet  the  Supple- 
ment is  read  by  thousands, — not  merely  by 
that  pale  man  in  the  brown  cloak  and  the 
discontented  face  opposite  to  me,  who  has 
engaged  the  Times  de  facto  after  me, 
and  is  only,  I  can  plainly  see,  affecting  to 
read  the  dejure  Supplement ;  having  rage  in 
his  heart,  caused  by  the  conviction  (wherein 
he  is  right)  that  I  intend  to  keep  the  paper 
till  1  have  read  the  leaders  through  ; — not 
merely  by  him,  but  by  the  numerous  and 
influential  class  of  persons  who  are  interested 
in  a  phalanx  of  advertisements,  which  I  have 
hitherto  omitted  to  enumerate,  as  among  the 
contents  of  the  dullest  Supplement  ;  and 
which  have  reference  to  Houses  to  Let. 
This  is,  at  least,  my  theory.  If  ever  I  see 
a  man  really  immersed  in  the  perusal  of  the 
Times  Supplement,  and  appealing  to  de- 
rive any  genuine  interest  therefrom,  I  make 
pretty  sure  that  he  has  either  a  House  to 
Let,  or  that  he  wants  to  take  one. 

Houses  to  Let !  The  subject  is  fraught 
with  speculative  interest  fop  those  philo- 
sophers who  are  content  to  leave  the  sun,  the 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


moou,  the  pre-Adamite  dynasties,  the  Mosaic 
theory  of  creation,  the  digamma,  and  the 
perpetual  motion,  to  their  betters  ;  and  can 
lind  sufficient  food  for  philosophy  in  the  odds 
and  ends,  the  sweeping  of  the  house  of  life 
• — who  can  road  homilies  in  bricks  and  mortar, 
sermons  in  stones,  the  story  of  a  life,  its 
hopes  and  fears,  its  jojrs  and  woes,  in  the 
timbers  of  a  dilapidated  pigstye,  in  the  deso- 
lation of  a  choked-up  fountain,  or  the  ruins 
of  a  springless  pump  ! 

We  change  our  dresses,  our  servants,  our 
friends  and  foes — how  can-  our  houses  expect 
to  be  exempt  from  the  mutabilities  of  life  ? 
We  tire  of  the  old  friend,  and  incline  to  the 
new  ;  the  old  baby  is  deposed  in  favour  of 
the  new  baby  ;  the  fat,  turnip  silver-watch 
our  father  gave  us,  gives  place  to  a  gold 
Geneva — we  change,  and  swop,  and  barter, 
and  give  up,  and  take  back,  and  long  for,  and 
get  tired  of,  all  and  everything  in  life — why 
not  of  houses  too  1  So  the  Supplement  of  the 
Times  can  always  offer  Houses  to  Let  ;  and 
\ve  are  continually  running  mad  to  let  or 
hire  them,  as  vice  versa,  six  months  hence, 
perhaps,  we  shall  be  as  maniacally  eager  to 
hire  or  to  let. 

Subdivision,  classification,  and  elaboration, 
are  certainly  distinguishing  characteristics  of 
the  present  £era  of  civilisation.  The  house- 
agents  of  the  Daily  Courant  now,  of  the 
Public  Ledger,  or  the  Evening  Intelligencer, 
would  have  been  coupled  with  the  announce- 
ment pur  et  simple,  that  in  such  and  such  a 
street,  or  part  of  the  court,  there  was  a 
House  to  Let.  They  might,  perhaps,  have 
added,  at  the  most,  that  it  was  over-against 
the  Bear  Garden,  or  that  it  formerly  be- 
longed to  a  tradesman  possessing  an  infal- 
lible cure  for  the  scurvy,  and  who  "made 
the  very  best  purl  that  ever  was  brewed  ;  " 
but  there  they  would  stop.  Catch  us  doing 
anything  of  the  sort  in  these  enlightened 
days.  Where  our  benighted  grandfathers 
had  boys'  and  girls'  schools,  we  have  semi- 
naries, academies,  lyceums,  and  colleges,  for 
young  ladies.  Where  they  had  sales  "  by  inch 
of  candle,"  we  have  Mr.  George  Robins.  A 
spade  isn't  a  spade  in  1852,  but  something 
else  ;  and  with  our  house  agents,  a  house  is 
not  only  a  house,  but  a  great  many  things 
besides. 

A  House  to  Let  may  be  a  mansion,  a 
noble  mansion,  a  family  mansion,  a  residence, 
a  desirable  residence,  a  genteel  residence,  a 
family  residence,  a  bachelor's  residence,  a 
distinguished  residence,  an  elegant  house,  a 
substantial  house,  a  detached  house,  a  desirable 
villa,  a  semi-detached  villa,  a  villa  standing  in 
its  own  grounds,  an  Italian  villa,  a  villa-resi- 
dence, a  small  villa,  a  compact  detached 
cottage,  a  cottage  ornee,  and  so  on,  almost  ad 
•infiniiwm.  Rarely  do  the  advertisements  bear 
reference  only  to  a  house,  a  villa,  or  a  cottage  : 
we  must  call  the  spade  something  in  addition 
to  its  simply  agrarian  title. 

Now,  are  all  these  infinitesimal  subdivisions 


of  Houses  to  Let  merely  intended  as  ingenious 
devices  to  charm  the  house-hirer  by  variety,  in 
the  manner  of  Mr.  Nicoll,  with  regard  to  his 
overcoats,  and  Messrs.  Swan  and  Edgar  with 
reference  to  ladies'  cloaks  and  shawls  ;  or  do 
there  really  exist  subtle  distinctions,  minute, 
yet  decidedly  perceptible,  between  every 
differently  named  house  1  Can  it  be  that 
the  desirable  residence  has  points  calculated 
to  satisfy  desire  in  a  different  degree  to  the 
elegant  predilections  to  be  gratified  by  the 
elegant  residence  1  Can  it  be  that  a  residence, 
after  all,  is  n't  a  house,  nor  a  house  a  resi- 
dence 1  It  may  be  so.  People,  in  the  innocence 
of  their  hearts,  and  unaccustomed  to  letting 
or  hiring  houses,  may  imagine  that  there 
can  be  no  very  material  difference  between 
a  villa,  a  genteel  villa,  and  a  compact  villa  ; 
but  in  the  mind  of  the  astute  house-agent,  and 
equally  intelligent  house-hirer,  differences,  va- 
rieties of  size,  aspect,  and  convenience,  imme- 
diately suggest  themselves,  and  to  their  expe- 
rienced eyes  there  are  as  many  points  of  dis- 
tinction between  the  genteel  and  the  compact, 
the  desirable  and  the  distinguished,  as  to  the 
visual  organs  of  those  learned  in  horses  bet  ween 
a  cob  and  a  hack,  a  racer  and  a  screw  ;  or  to  the 
initiated  in  dcg-lore,  between  a  greyhound 
and  a  setter. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  any  peculiarly  nice 
perception  as  to  things  in  general.  I  cannot 
tell  to  this  day  a  hawk  from  a  falcon  (between 
the  former  bird  and  a  handsaw  I  might  be  able 
to  guess).  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could 
distinguish  between  a  leveret  and  a  rabbit, 
or  tell  very  high  venison  from  decomposed 
shoulder  of  mutton  ;  and  I  will  not  be  certain, 
even  now,  if  I  could  tell,  from  the  odour  (being 
blindfolded),  which  was  pitch  and  which  tar. 
So,  the  immense  variety  of  Houses  to  Let  has 
always  been  to  me  a  mystery,  the  subtle 
distinctions  in  their  nomenclature  sources  of 
perplexed  speculation.  There  may  be  those 
who  are  more  learned  than  I  am — those  who, 
with  similar  acuteness  as  the  gentlemen  men- 
tioned in  Hudibras,  who  had  been  beaten  till 
they  could  tell  to  a  splinter  of  what  wood  the 
cudgel  was  composed,  and  kicked  till  they 
knew  if  the  shoe  were  "  calfskin  or  neat's 
leather" — can  mark  the  strong  connections, 
the  nice  dependencies,  the  gradations  just  of 
houses,  mansions,  villas,  and  residences,  and 
with  their  "  pervading  souls  look  through  " 
the  wondrous  variety  of  Houses  to  Let. 

I  can  only  theorise.  I  have  studied  the 
Times  attentively,  and  gazed  wearily  at  the 
elongated  crimson  baize-covered  panels  in 
the  house-agents'  windows,  on  which,  written 
on  slips  of  foolscap,  the  announcements  of 
Houses  to  Let  are  secured  with  parti- 
coloured wafers.  Goodness  knows  how  far 
from  the  actual  mark  I  may  be ;  but  you 
shall  hear  what  my  ideas  are  on  this  very  open 
House  question. 

First,  of  the  Mansion.  What  manner  of 
house  would  you  imagine  that  to  be  1  I  take 
it  to  be  situate  at  Kew,  possibly  at  Chiswick, 


Charles  Dickens.! 


HOUSES  TO  LET. 


peradventure  at  Putney.  Eed  brick,  stone 
window  casings,  a  great  many  chimney-pots, 
a  steep  flight  of  steps  before  the  door.  Per- 
haps the  advertisement  says  that  it  is  "  ap- 
proached by  a  carriage  drive."  I  can  see  that 
carriage  drive,  the  mangy  gravel,  weeds  and 
grass  springing  tip  between  ;  the  brown  ragged 
lawn  in  the  middle ;  the  choked-up  flower-beds, 
with  pieces  of  broken  bottles  and  fractured 
tobacco-pipes,  where  there  were  once  gera- 
niums and  heliotropes.  There  must  be  a 
wall  in  front,  and  a  pair  of  rusty  iron-gates, 
or  more  probably  a  paint-destitute  portal, 
scored  over  with  drawings  in  crayons  of  un- 
popular churchwardens,  and  fierce  denuncia- 
tions of  the  Pope  of  Rome,  the  College  of 
Cardinals,  and  the  New  Police  Act.  This 
door  is  blistered  with  the  sun,  dinted  by  the 
peg-tops  and  hocky-sticks  of  savage  boys.  In 
the,  centre  you  may  see  a  parallelopipedal 
patch,  where  the  paint  is  of  a  lighter  colour, 
and  where  there  are  marks  of  bygone  screws. 
That  was  where  the  brass  plate  was,  when 
the  mansion  was  occupied  by  the  Reverend 
Doctor  Brushback.  It  was  called  "  Smolensko 
House  "  then,  and  on  Sundays  and  holidays  a 
goodly  procession  of  youths  educated  therein 
issued  from  it.  A  small  confectioner's  ("  sock- 
shop,"  the  boys  called  it)  was  started  in  the 
adjacent  lane,  on  the  sole  strength  of  the 
school  custom  ;  and  Widow  Maggie,  the  green- 
grocer, who  supplied  the  establishment  with 
birch-brooms,  actually  started  her  boy  Dick 
in  a  cart  with  a  live  donkey  from  her  increased 
profits.  But  the  Reverend  Doctor  Brushback, 
at  the  age  of  fifty-seven,  and  in  a  most  unac- 
countable manner,  took  it  into  his  head  to  turn 
the  wife  of  his  bosom  out  of  doors.  Then  he 
flogged  three-fourths  of  his  scholars  away,  and 
starved  the  remainder.  Then  he  was  sus- 
pected of  an  addiction  to  strong  drinks,  and  of 
breaking  Leather's  (the  shoe,  knife,  and  general 
errand  boy's)  head,  because  he  could  not  tell 
him  what  was  Greek  for  a  boot-jack.  Smo- 
lensko House  speedily  presented  that  most 
melancholy  spectacle,  a  bankrupt  school ;  and 
the  last  time  I  heard  of  Doctor  Brushback,  it 
was  on  a  charge  (unfounded,  of  course)  at  the 
Public  Office,  Bow  Street,  of  being  drunk  and 
disorderly  in_  the  gallery  of  the  Standard 
Theatre.  Was  not  our  mansion,  after  this, 
Minerva  House  Finishing  Academy  for 
Young  Ladies  ?  Surely  so.  The  Misses 
Gimp'  devoted  themselves  to  the  task  of 
tuition  with  a  high  sense  of  its  onerous 
duties,  and  strenuously  endeavoured  to  com- 
bine careful  ( maternal  supervision  with  the 
advantages  of  a  finished  system  of  polite 
education  (vide  Times).  But  the  neigh- 
bourhood was  prejudiced  against  the  scho- 
lastic profession,  and  the  Misses  Gimp  found 
few  scholars,  and  fewer  friends.  Subsequently, 
their  crack  scholar,  Miss  Mango,  the  heiress, 
eloped  with  Mr.  De  Lypey,  professor  of  dancing, 
deportment,  and  calisthenics.  The  resident 
Parisienne  married  Mr.  Tragacanth,  assistant 
to  Mr.  Poppyed,  the  chemist,  and  the  Misses 


Gimp  went  to  ruin  or  Boulogne.  I  lost  sight 
of  my  mansion  about  here — for  a  time  at  least. 
It  must,  however,  have  been  rented  by 
Captain  Vere  de  Vere  Delamere,  and  his 
family,  who  paid  nobody,  and,  owing  innume- 
rable quarters  for  rent,  were  eventually  per- 
suaded to  remove  by  a  bribe  from  the  land- 
lord. Or  was  the  mansion  ever  in  the  occu- 
pation of  the  celebrated  Mr.  Nix,  who  said  he 
belonged  to  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  removed 
in  the  midst  of  winter,  and  at  the  dead  of 
night,  taking  with  him,  over  and  above  his 
own  furniture,  a  few  marble  mantel-pieces, 
register  stoves,  and  other  trifles,  in  the  way  of 
fixtures  1  Or  was  this  mansion  the  one  taken 
by  Mr.  PlufFy,  immensely  rich,  but  very 
eccentric,  who  turned  his  nephews  and  nieces 
out  of  doors,  painted  all  the  windows  a  bright 
red,  kept  a  tame  hyena,  and  persisted  in 
standing  outside  his  gate  on  Sunday  mornings 
with  nothing  on,  to  speak,  of  save  a  leather 
apron,  and  a  meerschaum,  assming  the  public 
generally  that  he  was  Peter  the  Great  ? 

1  glance  again  at  the  advertisement,  and 
find  my  mansion  described  as  a  "  noble  "  one. 
In  that  case,  I  should  say  it  was  in  some  nice, 
marshy,  swampy,  reedy  pai-t  of  Essex,  where 
the  owls  scream,  and  the  frogs  croak  blithely 
at  night.  There  are  two  stone  hawks  sculp- 
tured above  the  gates  ;  a  garden,  as  tangled 
and  savage-looking  as  an  Indian  jungle ;  a 
dried-up  fountain ;  and  maimed,  broken- 
nosed,  mildewed  statues,  tottering  on  moss 
and  weed-covered  pedestals.  In  the  old  time, 
the  Earl  of  Elbowsout  lived  at  the  "  noble " 
mansion ;  but  his  lordship  has  resided  in 
sunny  Italy  for  many  years,  deriving  immense 
benefit  (not  pecuniary,  of  course)  from  a  judi- 
cious consumption  of  Professor  Paracelsus's 
pills.  He  has  an  heir  ;  and,  whenever  In- 
spector Beresford  forces  open  the  door  of 
some  harmless  house  in  Jermyn  Street,  with 
sledge  hammers,  you  will  be  pretty  sure  to 
find,  among  the  list  of  prisoners  conveyed  to 
Bow  Street,  on  a  suspicion  of  indulging  in  the 
forbidden  game  of  chicken-hazard,  the  names 
of  Robert  Smith  or  of  John  Brown ;  one  of 
whom,  you  may  be  as  certain,  is  no  other 
than  Lord  Viscount  Hawker,  his  lordship's 
son. 

"  Convenient  Mansion,"  says  the  Times, 
again.  Ah  \  I  know.  A  big,  square  block 
of  a  house,  very  small  windows,  iron-barred, 
and  a  high  wall  inside.  Just  suitable  for 
Doctor  Muffles's  asylum  for  the  insane ; 
plenty  of  cold  water  laid  on.  Very  conve- 
nient ! — Family  Mansion.  Plenty  of  bed- 
rooms., high  gate  on  the  nursery-stairs,  stables, 
coach-house,  and  detached  room,  for  the  gar- 
dener.— "  Picturesque  Mansion."  Decidedly 
picturesque,  but  damp.  Picturesque  in  pro- 
portion as  it  is  ruinous,  and  out  of  all 
habitable  repair.  Thomas  Hood  wrote  a 
beautiful  poem  once,  of  a  Picturesque  Man- 
sion— A  Haunted  House — and  which  has 
haunted  me  ever  since.  The  choked-up  moat ; 
the  obscene  birds,  that  flapped  their  wings 


8 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Conducted  by 


on  the  roof ;  the  foul  insects,  that  wove  webs 
inside  ;  the  gaunt  rats,  that  held  unholy 
gambols  in  the  kitchen;  the  weed -grown 
courtyard,  window-sills,  and  door-steps  ;  the 
damp  feculence,  dust,  dirt,  rust,  about  all  or 
everything ;  the  one  sunbeam,  coming  through 
a  grimed  window,  and  illuminating  a  bloody 
hand.  There  had  been  a  murder  done  there, 
and  the  house  was  haunted.  I  can  well 
believe  it.  I,  too,  saw,  once  upon  a  time,  a 
mansion,  where  a  foul  and  wicked  murder 
had  been  done.  I  saw  labourers  searching 
the  muddy  moat  for  the  weapons  of  the 
assassins ;  I  was  taken  to  see  the  corridor 
where  the  deed  had  been  done ;  and  I  fol- 
lowed the  footsteps  of  the  murderer  through 
mud  and  slush,  snow  and  straw,  from  the 
mansion  to  the  farm  he  lived  at.  I  never 
read  poor  Hood's  plaintive  poem  without 
thinking  that  Starifield  Hall — shut  up,  un- 
tenanted,  moat-dried  —  would  be  a  very 
counterpart,  now,  of  the  house  he  shadowed 
forth. 

Not,  however,  to  forget  Houses  to  Let. 
Shall  I  take  the  Bachelor's  Residence  1  An 
invisible  hand  points  to  Highgate — an  inward 
feeling  suggests  Mitcham.  /  go  for  Crickle- 
wood  :  Kilburn  is  too  near,  and  Edgeware  too 
far ;  but  Cricklewood  holds  a  juste  milieu 
between  them.  I  can  see  the  Bachelor's  Resi- 
dence— a  pert,  smart,  snug,  little  habitation, 
standing  alone,  mostly  ;  for  your  bachelor  is 
incorrigible  (steady  or  fast)  with  regard  to 
musical  instruments.  Your  fast  Bachelor 
will  manage  the  Redowa  on  the  cornet-a- 
piston  ;  and  your  steady  one,  set  "  Ah  !  non 
giuu^e,"  to  hard  labour  on  the  flute — but  will 
practise  ;  and — should  their  bachelors'  quar- 
ters happen  to  be  supported,  right  and  left,  by 
family  residences — the  inhabitants  of  Acacia 
Terrace  or  Plantain  Grove  are  apt  to  become 
remarkably  disagreeable  in  their  reclamations 
to  the  bachelor  himself.  The  bachelor  is  a 
bank-clerk,  very  likely,  or  a  stockbroker,  not 
over-plethoric  just  yet  with  profits ;  or  a 
young  fellow  with  a  small  independence. 
He  has  a  front  garden  and  a  back  garden  ; 
both,  ten  to  one,  provided  with  a  trim  little 
summer-house,  where  he  is  very  fond  of  sit- 
ting on  fine  afternoons  with  his  friends,  clad 
in  bachelor-like  deshabille,  consuming  the 
grateful  beer  of  Bass,  and  gently  whiffing  the 
cutty-pipe  of  Milo,  or  the  meerschaum.  He 
has  flowers,  but  has  a  faint  idea  that  the 
tobacco-smoke  does  not  do  them  any  good. 
He  has  a  housekeeper — generally  middle-aged, 
and  frequently  deaf — many  friends,  more 
pipes,  and  frequently  an  anomalous  kind  of 
little  vehicle,  drawn  by  an  eccentric  pony, 
and  which  he  calls  his  "  trap."  Sunday  is  his 
great  day.  All  his  fly-rods,  fishing-tackle, 
gardening  implements,  guns,  rabbit-hutches, 
and  pipe-racks,  are  overhauled  on  that  day  ; 
grave  judgments  are  passed  on  the  dogs  and 
horses  of  his  friends ;  and  an  impervious 
cloud  of  Bird's-eye  or  Oronooko  hangs  about 
the  little  summer-houses.  But  the  bachelor 


marries  ;  goes  a  little  too  fast,  perhaps,  or 
dies  (for,  alas !  even  bachelors  must  die) ; 
and  so  his  Bachelor's  Residence  is  To  Let. 

The  Desirable  Residence.  I  have  the  secret 
of  that  "  House  to  Let,"  I  will  be  bound. 
A  lodging-house  !  What  could  there  be  more 
desirable,  in  the  way  of  a  residence,  than 
that,  I  should  like  to  know  1  Twelve-roomed 
house,  in  Manchester  Street,  Manchester 
Square.  Blue  damask  curtains  in  the  first- 
floor  windows ;  red  ditto  in  the  parlour 
windows  ;  a  never-disappearing  placard,  of 
Apartments  Furnished  (for,  however  full  the 
lodging-house  may  be,  it  always  seems  to 
have  a  marvellous  capacity  for  holding  more)  ; 
and  area  railings,  frequently  enlivened  and 
ornamented  by  the  three-quarter  portrait  of 
a  pretty  servant  maid.  Whenever  you  see 
the  butcher,  or  the  baker,  or  the  grocer's 
man,  at  the  door  of  the  Desirable  Residence, 
you  will  be  sure,  if  you  watch,  to  see  him 
produce  a  red  account-book  :  for  people  who 
keep  lodging-houses  invariably  run  bills  with 
tradesmen,  probably  to  give  an  air  of  veracity 
and  colourable  truth  to  their  persevering 
assertion,  that  they  have  a  little  bill  to  pay 
to-morrow.  Tf  the  lady  who  keeps  the 
Desirable  Residence  is  married,  you  will 
not  be  very  far  out,  if  yoxi  assert  that  her 
husband  has  something  to  do  with  the  Docks, 
or  that  he  is  a  barrister's  clerk,  in  good 
practice.  You  can't  be  wrong,  if  you  set  him 
down  as  an  indifferently-dressed  man,  with 
an  umbrella,  who,  whenever  he  speaks  to  you, 
calls  you  "  Sir."  If  your  landlady  shoidd 
happen  to  be  a  widow,  take  my  word  for  it, 
that  "she  was  not  always  in  these  circum- 
stances ; "  that  her  late  husband's  executors 
have  used  her  shamefully  ;  and  that  she  has 
a  pretty  daughter  or  niece. 

Unless  I  am  very  far  out  in  my  theory,  the 
"Substantial Residence  "  is  a  lodging-house  too, 
and  the  "Genteel  Residence"  not  very  far  from 
it.  Cecil  Street,  Strand,  for  the  former,  and 
Camberwell  for  the  latter,  would  not  be  very 
wide  of  the  mark.  Cecil-  Street  is  full  of 
substantial  houses,  in  which  lodgers,  some- 
times not  quite  so  substantial  as  the  houses, 
continually  dwell.  The  prices  of  provisions 
are  high  in  Cecil  Street,  and  the  quantity  of 
nourishment  they  afford  far  from  considerable. 
Penny  loaves  are  twopence  each,  and  you 
can't  get  more  than  one  dinner  off  a  leg  of 
mutton.  The  profits  arising  from  the  avoca- 
tions of  the  landladies  of  substantial  residences 
must  be  so  large,  that  I  wonder  that  they 
ever  come  to  be  advertised  as  "  to  let  "  at  all. 
Perhaps  it  is  that  they  make  their  fortunes, 
and  migrate  to  the  "  elegant  residence,"  or  the 
"  distinguished  residence." 

I  wonder  whether  I  am  wrong  in  placing 
the  locale  of  these  two  last  species  of  "Houses 
to  Let,"  in  Belgravia  and  Tyburnia  1  They 
may,  after  all,  be  wasting  their  elegance 
and  their  distinction  in  Golden  Square,  Ely 
Place,  or  Kennington  Oval.  Yet  I  am 
always  coming  across,  and  reading  with  great 


Ch»rle»  Dickens.] 


HOUSES  TO  LET. 


9 


unction,  paragraphs  in  the  newspapers,  setting 
forth  that,  "after  the  marriage  of  Miss  Ara- 
bella Constantia  Tanner,  daughter  of  Hyde 
Tanner,  Esq.,  of  the  firm  of  Bender,  Cooler, 
and  Tanner,  of  Lombard  Street,  to  th 
Honourable  Captain  Casey,  son  of  Lord 
Latitat,  the  happy  couple  partook  of  a  mag- 
nificent dejetiner  at  the  elegant  residence  of 
the  bride's  father  in  Hyde  Park  Gardens ;"  or 
else  it  is,  that  "last  evening  the  Earl  and 
Countess  of  Hammersmith  and  Ladies  Barnes 
(2),  Sir  John  Bobcherry,  Pillary  Pacha,  &c., 
&c.,  honoured  Sir  Styles  and  Lady  Springer 
with  their  company  to  dinner  at  their  dis- 
tinguished residence  in  Eaton  Place."  I  can 
always  imagine  tall  footmen,  magnificent  and 
awful  in  plush  and  embroidery,  lolling  at  the 
doors  of  elegant  and  distinguished  residences. 
I  don't  think  I  can  be  very  far  wrong.  I 
reside,  myself,  over  a  milk-shop,  and  I  know 
that  to  be  neither  an  elegant  nor  a  distin- 
guished residence  ;  but  are  there  not  both 
elegance  and  distinction  in  the  stately  Bel- 
grave  Square,  and  the  lofty  Westbourne 
Grove  ? 

Coming,  in  the  pursuit  of  this  superficial 
examination  of  "  Houses  to  Let,"  I  stop  puz- 
zled at  the  word  "  House,"  simple,  unadulte- 
rated, unaccompanied  with  eulogy,  or  ex- 
planatory prefix.  I  have  my  theory  about  it, 
though  it  may  be  but  a  lame  one.  The  lone, 
silent  "  House "  must  be  one  like  that 
celebrated  one  at  the  corner  of  Stamford 
Street,  Blackfriars,  which,  with  its  two  com- ' 
panions,  everybody  has  seen,  and  nobody 
knows  the  history  of — a  house  uulet,  unlet- 
able,  yet  always  to  let.  Now,  a  house  agent 
having  any  bowels  or  conscience  whatsoever, 
could  not  call  this  a  desirable  house,  nor  a 
convenient  house,  nor  an  elegant  house.  So, ' 
being  too  good  a  man  of  business  to  call  it  an  i 
ill-favoured  house,  a  dirty  house,  and  a ' 
villanous  house,  as  it  is,  he  calls  it  a  "  House." 
A  house  it  is,  sure  enough,  just  as  a  horse, 
albeit  spavined,  wind-galled,  glander'ed,  stag- 
gered, lame,  blown,  a  kicker  and  a  roarer,  is  a 
horse  still.  But  what  a  horse,  and  what  a  house  \ 

A  "  Genteel  House  "  seemeth  to  me  different 
to  a  genteel  residence.  The  hitter's  employ  I 
have  elsewhere  hinted  at  ;  the  former  I  take  to 
be  situate  somewhere  in  Gower  Street,  Keppel 
Street,  or  Guildford  Street,  or  in  some  of  those 
mysterious  thoroughfares  you  are  always 
getting  into  when  you  don't  want  them,  and 
never  can  find  when  you  do.  In  the  genteel 
house,  I  should  think,  two  maiden  ladies 
must  have  lived — sisters  probably  ;  say,  the 
Miss  Twills,  whose  father  was  Twills  of  Saint 
Mary-Axe,  sugar-baker  ;  and  whose  brother, 
Mr.  Twills,  in  partnership  with  Mr.  Squills, 
can  be  found  in  Montague  Place,  Bedford 
Square,  where  the  two  carry  on  a  genteel 
business  as  surgeons  and  apothecaries.  The 
Miss  Twills  kept  a  one-horse  fly  (not  one  of 
your  rakish-looking  broughams,  be  it  under- 
stood), with  a  corpulent  horse  (serious  of  dis- 
position, and  given  to  eating  plum-cake  when 


he  could  get  it),  and  a  mild-looking  coa:;hman, 
who  carried  a  hymn-book  in  his  pocket.  One 
day,  however,  I  surmise,  Miss  Jessy  Twills, 
the  youngest  and  prettiest  sister  (she  did  not 
mind  owning  to  forty)  married  the  Reverend 
Felix  Spanker,  of  Saint  Blazer's  Chapel,  in 
Milman  Street.  Miss  Betsy  Twills  went  to 
live  with  her  married  sister  (the  two  lead  the 
poor  parson  a  terrible  life  between  them,  and 
Felix  is  more  irate  in  the  pulpit  against  the 
Pope  than  ever),  and  the  genteel  residence 
took  its  place  in  the  category  of  "  Houses  to 
Let." 

The  "  Detached  House  "  bears  its  peculiar 
characteristic  on  its  front ;  it  stands  alone,  and 
nothing  more  can  be  said  about  it  ;  but  with 
the  "  semi-detached  house  "  there  is  a  subtle 
mystery,  much  to  be  marvelled  at.  Semi- 
detached \  Have  the  party -walls  between  two 
houses  shrunk,  or  is  there  a  bridge  connecting 
the  two,  as  in  Mr.  Beckford's  house  in  Lands- 
down  Crescent,  Bath  ?  A  semi-detached 
house  may  be  a  house  with  a  field  on  one 
side  and  a  bone-boiling  factory  on  the  other. 
Semi-detached  may  mean  half- tumbling  to 
pieces.  I  must  inquire  into  it. 

The  "  mansion,"  the  "  residence,"  and  the 
"  house,"  seem  to  indicate  to  me  dwellings  of 
some  considerable  degree  of  importance  and 
extent  ;  the  "  villa,"  the  "  cottage,"  and  the 
"  lodge,"  seem  to  indicate  smaller  places  of 
abode,  though  perhaps  equalling,  if  not  sur- 
passing, their  contemporaries  in  elegance, 
gentility,  distinction,  convenience,  desirable- 
ness, substantiality,  &c.,  &c.  There  is  one 
thing,  however,  certain  about  the  villa — one 
sound  basis  to  go  upon,  which  we  do  not 
possess  as  regards  the  "  house."  The  "  house" 
is  ambiguously  situated,  it  may  be,  in  Gros- 
venor  Square,  in  Pall  Mall,  or  in  Brick 
Lane,  Spitalfields,  or  Crown  Street,  Seven 
Dials ;  but  the  villa  is  necessarily  suburban. 
You  could  not  call  a  house  (however  small  it 
might  be)  situated  between  a  pie-shop  and  a 
public-house,  a  "villa."  A  four-roomed  house 
in  Fleet  Street  would  be  a  novelty,  and  if  you 
were  to  call  it  a  Gothic  lodge,  would  be  a 
greater  novelty  still  ;  while  Covent  Garden 
Market,  or  Long  Acre,  would  scarcely  be  the 
locale  for  a  cottage  ornee,  or  an  Italian  villa. 
I  recognise  cottages,  villas,  and  lodges,  with 
the  addition  of  "  hermitages,"  "  priories," 
"  groves,"  "  boxes,"  "  retreats,"  &c.,  on  all  sub- 
urban roads  ; — in  Kensington,  Hammersmith, 
and  Turnham  Green  ;  in  Kingslaud,  Hackney, 
and  Dalston  ;  in  Highgate,  Hampstead,  and 
Hornsey  ;  in  Camberwell,  Peckham,  and 
Kennington ;  in  Paddington,  Kilburn,  and 
Cricklewood ;  their  roads,  approaches,  and 
environs,  inclusive.  And  a  fair  proportion  do 
these  suburbs  contribute  to  the  "  Houses  to 
Let"  in  the  Supplement  of  the  Times. 

The  "  villa  standing  in  its  own  grounds," 
is  generally  suggestive  to  me  of  stock- 
brokers. Great  people  are  these  stockbrokers 
for  villas  ;  for  driving  mail-phaetons,  or  wide- 
awake looking  dog-carts ;  for  giving  capital 


to 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


dinners  and  wine.  The  young  man  who  has 
•  stockbroker  for  a  friend,  has  need  but  to 
trouble  himself  only  concerning  his  lodging 
and  washing ;  his  board  will  take  care  of 
itself,  or,  rather,  will  be  amply  taken  care  of 
in  the  villa  of  his  Amphitryon.  Next,  I 
should  say,  to  a  decided  penchant  for  betting 
odds,  and  a  marked  leaning  towards  the  pur- 
chase and  sale  of  horseflesh,  hospitality  is  the 
most  prominent  characteristic  of  a  stock- 
broker. He  is  always  "  wanting  to  stand" 
something.  His  bargains  are  made  over 
sherry  and  sandwiches  ;  he  begins  and  ends 
the  day  with  conviviality.  What  a  pity  it  is 
that  his  speculations  should  fail  sometimes, 
and  that  his  clients  should  lose  their  money, 
and  himself  "sold  up"  —  ostracised  from 
'Change,  driven  to  dwell  among  the  tents  of 
Boulogne-sur-Mer,  or  the  cities  of  refuge  of 
Belgium,  the  boorish  and  the  beery !  Else 
would  he  be  living  in  his  own  ground-sur- 
rounded villa  to  this  day,  instead  of  its  being 
confided  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Messrs. 
Hammer  and  Rapps,  auctioneers  and  house- 
agents,  as  a  "  House  to  Let." 

"  An  Italian  Villa  to  Let."  Pretty,  plausi- 
ble, but  deceptive.  The  house-agent  who 
devised  the  Italian  prefix  was  a  humbug.  Start 
not,  reader,  while  I  whisper  in  your  ear.  The 
Italian  villa  is  a  shabby  little  domicile,  only 
Italian  in  so  far  as  it  possesses  Venetian 
Hinds.  I  know  it ;  for  I,  who  speak,  have 
been  egregiously  sold,  lamentably  taken  in, 
by  this  mendacious  villa. 

"  A  Villa  to  Let."  Not  elegant,  desirable, 
distinguished,  nor  Italian  ;  but  a  villa.  It  has 
bow  windows,  I  will  go  bail.  A  green 
verandah  over  the  drawing-room  window, 
for  a  trifle.  Two  bells,  one  for  visitors,  and 
one  for  servants.  The  villa  is  suitable  for 
Mr.  Covin  (of  the  firm  of  Feraud  and  Covin, 
Solicitors),  who  has  been  importuned  so  long 
by  Mrs.  Covin  to  abandon  his  substantial 
residence  in  Bedford  Row,  that  he  has  at  last 
acceded  to  her  wishes.  Covin  is  a  portly 
man,  with  a  thick  gold  chain,  a  bald  head, 
and  a  fringe  of  black  whisker.  He  is  fond 
of  a  peculiarly  fruity  port  ;  and  his  wife's 
bonnet-box  is  a  japanned  tin-coffer,  labelled 
"Mr.  Soldoff's  estate."  He  won't  live  in  the 
villa  long,  because  he  will  get  tired  of  it,  and 
long  for  Bedford  Row  again,  with  its  pleasant 
odour  of  new  vellum  and  red  tape.  He  will 
let  it  to  Mr.  Runt,  the  barrister,  or  Mr.  Mus- 
covado, the  sugar-broker  of  Tower  Street,  or 
Mrs.  Lopp,  the  comfortably-circumstanced 
widow,  who  was  so  stanch  a  friend  to  the 
Reverend  Silas  Chowler ;  the  same  who,  in 
imitation  of  the  famous  Mr.  Huntingdon, 
S.S.,  called  himself  H.B.B.,  or  Half-Burnt 
Brand. 

What  should  the  "  cottage  ornee "  be  like, 
1  should  wish  to  know  (to  jump  from  villas 
to  cottages),  but  that  delightful  little  box 
of  a  place  at  Dulwich,  where  a  good  friend 
of  mine  was  wont  (wont,  alas  !)  to  live.  The 
strawberries  in  the  garden ;  the  private 


theatricals  in  the  back  parlour  ;  the  pleasant 
excursions  on  week  days  to  the  old  College 
— (God  bless  old  Thomas  Alleyne  and  Sir 
Francis  Bourgeois,  I  say !  Had  the  former 
done  nothing  worthier  of  benediction  in  hia 
life  than  found  the  dear  old  place,  or  the  latter 
not  atoned  for  all  the  execrably  bad  modern 
pictures  he  painted  in  his  life-time,  by  the 
exquisitely  beautiful  ancient  ones  he  left  us 
at  his  death)  ; — the  symposium  in  the  garden 
on  Sundays  ;  the  clear  church-bells  ringing 
through  the  soft  summer  air  ;  the  pianoforte 
in  the  boudoir,  and  Gluck's  "  Che  faro  senza 
Euridice  1  "  lightly,  gently  elicited  from  the 
silvery  keys  (by  hands  that  are  cold  and 
powerless  now),  wreathing  through  the  open 
window  ;  the  kind  faces  and  cheerful  laughter, 
the  timid  anxiety  of  the  ladies  concerning  the 
last  omnibus  home  at  night,  and  the  cheerful 
recklessness  with  which  they  subsequently 
abandoned  that  last  omnibus  to  its  fate,  and 
conjectured  impossibly  fortuitous  conveyances 
to  town,  ultimately  terminating  in  impromptu 
beds.  How  many  a  time  have  I  had  a  shake- 
down on  the  billiard-table  of  the  cottage 

ornee  ?  How  many  a  time But  my  theme 

is  of  Houses  to  Let. 

And  of  "Houses  to  Let,"  it  appeareth  to  me, 
I  have  been  unconscionably  garrulous,  without 
being  usefully  communicative.  I  have  said 
too  much,  and  yet  not  half  enough.  In  houses, 
I  am  yet  at  fault  about  the  little  mushroom- 
like  rows  of  flimsy-looking  tenements  that 
spring  up  on  every  side  in  and  about  the 
suburbs  ;  in  brick-fields,  in  patches  of  ground 
where  rubbish  was  formerly  shot,  and  vaga- 
bond boys  turned  over  three  times  for  a 
penny.  I  have  yet  to  learn  in  what  species 
of  "  House  to  Let "  the  eccentric  gentleman 
formerly  resided,  who  never  washed  himself 
for  five-and-forty  years,  and  was  supposed  to 
scrape  himself  with  an  oyster-shell  after  the 
manner  of  the  Caribbees  ;  where  it  was, 
whether  in  a  house,  a  villa,  a  residence,  or  a 
cottage,  that  the  maiden  lady  entertained  the 
fourteen  torn  cats,  which  slept  each  in  a  four- 
post  bedstead,  and  were  fed  on  turtle  soup. 
I  want  to  know  what  "every  convenience" 
means.  I  should  like  to  have  some  further 
information  as  to  what  "a  select  number" 
actually  implies.  I  am  desirous  of  ascertain- 
ing in  what  category  of  "  Houses  to  Let "  a 
house-agent  would  rank  a  tenantless  theatre, 
a  chapel  without  a  congregation  or  a  minister, 
an  empty  brewery,  or  a  deserted  powder-mill. 

Finally,  I  should  like  to  know  what  a 
"  cottage  "  is.  Of  the  cottage  ornee  I  have 
spoken  ;  the  compact  cottage,  the  detached 
cottage,  the  semi-detached  cottage,  speak  for 
themselves  ;  but  I  am  as  much  puzzled  about 
the  simple  cottage  as  about  the  simple  house, 
mansion,  or  villa.  In  my  youth  I  had  a 
chimera  of  a  cottage,  and  drew  rude  outlines 
thereof  on  a  slate.  It  had  quadrangular  tiles, 
a  window  immediately  above  the  door,  palings 
at  the  side,  and  smoke  continually  i, sluing 
from  its  chimney.  Its  architecture  was  de- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  CAMERA-OBSCURA. 


1] 


cidedly  out  of  the  perpendicular  ;  afterwards, 
perusing  works  of  a  rural  and  pastoral  descrip- 
tion, a  cottage  became  to  me  a  little  paradise 
of  ivy,  and  honeysuckles,  and  woodbine.  It 
had  a  pretty  porch,  where  a  young  lady  in  a 
quilted  petticoat,  and  a  young  gentleman  in  a 
napped  waistcoat,  both  after  the  manner  (and 
a  very  sweet  one  it  is)  of  Mr.  Frank  Stone, 
made  first  and  last  appeals  to  each  other  all 
the  year  round.  The  times  have  changed, 
and  I,  so  I  suppose,  have  changed  with  them. 
I  am  sceptical,  ignorant,  undecided,  about  the 
cottage  now.  Sometimes  it  is  the  slate-pencil 
cottage,  sometimes  the  Frank  Stone  one, 
sometimes  the  cottage  of  the  sixpenny  valen- 
tines, quitting  which,  by  a  bright  yellow  ser- 
pentine path,  a  gentleman  in  a  blue  coat,  and 
a  lady  in  a  pink  dress,  wend  their  way  to  the 
altar  of  Hymen.  Sometimes,  oh  reader  of 
mine  !  I  see  other  cottages,  dreadful  cottages, 
squalid  cottages,  cottages  in  Church  Lane, 
Saint  Giles's,  where  frowsy  women  in  tattered 
shawls  crouch  stolidly  on  the  door-step ; 
where  ragged,  filthy  children  wallow  with 
fowls  and  pigs  amidst  the  dirt  and  squalor. 
Sometimes  I  see  cottages  in  my  fondly 
pictured  rural  districts — cottages  dilapidated, 
half  unroofed,  where  gaunt  agricultural 
labourers  are  sullenly  wrangling  Avith  reliev- 
ing officers  ;  where  white-headed,  brick-dust 
faced  children  cry  for  bread  ;  where  mother 
is  down  with  the  fever,  and  grandmother 
bedridden,  yet  querulously  refusing  to  go  into 
the  dreaded  "  House." 

Perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  all  this.  Perhaps 
all  these  theories  about  mansions,  residences, 
houses,  villas,  and  the  inexplicable  cottages, 
after  all  may  be  but  wild  and  improbable 
theories — crude,  vague,  purposeless  specula- 
tions. But  I  have  said  my  say,  and  shall  be 
wiser  some  day,  I  hope,  in  other  matters 
besides  "  Houses  to  Let." 


THE  CAMERA-OBSCURA. 

A    SUNDAY   MOBN1NO   LECTUEE. 

On,  NATURE  !  ever  wondrous,  ever  new, 

\Vlmse  magic  varies  with  each  passing  glance ; 
Thy  common  scenes  are  lovely  as  romance  ; 

Thy  daily' life  a  miracle  most  true, 
Ever  awake,  our  senses  to  entrance. 

All  thou  dost  touch,  a  similar  touch  can  give, 
And  all  become  enchanted  who  touch  thee : 
Thy  forms,  that  breathe  in  vital  energy, 

Are  of  such  power  their  very  shadows  live, 
Till  Art  partakes  thine  immortality. 

'Tis  Sunday  morn  :  a  bright  and  lovely  day ! 
Come,  then,  with  me,  and  mark  how  Nature  moves 
In  the  broad  field  of  Christian  faiths  and  loves  ; 

And,  in  a  mirror,  lit  by  her  own  ray, 

See  how  her  smile  all  narrow  feuds  reproves. 

Grey  misty  light  the  shadowy  disk  illumes, 

Which  sways  and  lurches  like  a  deck,  at  sea ; — 
And  clouds,  fields,  house-tops,  in  confusion  flee, 

Till  the  round  plane  a  steady  blank  becomes, 
And  all  stand  round  in  darkness,  silently. 


A  mead  appears,  all  bright  with  pasture  green, 
Where  moving  miniatures  of  cattle  graze  : 
A  Liliputian  herdsman  loitering  strays 

Across  the  delicately-pictured  scene ; — 

And  his  dog  follows — searches,  leaps,  and  plays. 

Now  glides  the  disk ;  a  windmill  from  grey  space 
Works  threatening  into  view,  with  whirling  arms, 
Whose  fleeting  shadow  o'er  the  grass,  alarms 

A  group  of  children,  coming  near  the  place, 

Who  pause — and   watch   the  giant's    dangerous 
charms ! 

The  miller's  wife  in  the  trim  garden  stands, 
And  trains  the  tangled  honeysuckle  bowers  ; 
Then  stoops.  —  Ah,  see !    are   those    enchanted 

flowers, 
Which  now  she  gathers  in  her  tiny  hands, 

And   shakes   diem   clear  from  recent  spring-tid 
showers  ? 

A  promenade — with  many  a  varied  group  : 
Ladies  in  undulating  robes — young  maids, 
Old  men,  and  boys — all  living,  yet  all  shades  ! 

And  now  a  child  comes  with  a  rolling  hoop  ! 
'T  is  gone — 't  is  here  again — it  nears — it  fades ! 

Now,  in  a  sandy  bay  upon  the  shore, 
Two  lovers  enter  slowly ; — all  unseen, 
As  they  believe — bending  with  tender  mien — 

Hand  clasping  hand,  and  looks  that  tell  far  more, 
While  thus  they  pass,  and  glide  beyond  the  scene 

A  pier  slides  in ! — the  masons  chip  the  stone, 
And  near  them  stands  a  sun-burnt  sailor-boy , 
A  horse  and  cart,  no  larger  than  a  toy, 

Move  onwards,  while  a  distant  kite  is  blown 
Among  the  clouds,  and  dances  as  in  joy. 

The  harbour,  with  the  shipping  ; — masts  and  spars, 
And  miniatures  of  men,  and  boys  in  boats, 
Who  row  across  ;  and  now  all  darkly  floats 

Black  smoke  along  the  air — yon  steamer  roars  ! 
But  of  her  storm-song  spell-bound  are  the  notes. 

Silence  and  wonder,  darkness,  and  soft  light, 
Surround  us — fill  us  with  their  influence  ; 
We  feel  strange  pleasure,  like  a  novel  sense 

Derived  from  Art  and  Nature — Science,  Sight — 
Which  GOD  permits,  in  His  munificence. 

Glide  onward,  disk  : — and  now  we  're  in  the  bay, 
With  all  its  tossing  billows,  life,  and  foam  ; 
A  sea-gull  soars  above  its  briny  home, 

Descending  now,  to  swim  amidst  the  spray ; 
Now  rising,  o'er  the  masts  and  cliffs  to  roam. 

"ither  the  steamer  beats  her  noiseless  way  I 
Eeal — yet  silent,  as  't  were  all  a  dream ! 
Men,  engines,  motion,  colour — as  we  deem 

Proofs  of  reality — doth  she  display ; — 
Yet 't  is  a  picture  passing  o'er  a  screen  ! 

She  steams  along — her  passengers  we  scan — 
She  hoists  a  sail — she  tacks — a  very  sprite 
Smiting  the  waters  backward  in  her  flight ; 

Her  size,  from  stem  to  stern,  not  half  a  span ! 
And  thus  she  works  her  way  beyond  our  sight, 

The  lone  sea-shore.     The  tide  is  coming  in, 
And  breaks  in  rows  of  silver-gushing  waves, 
As  silently  as  spirits  rise  from  graves! 

And  all  is  rapture — with  no  earthly  din, — 
Nor  e'en  a  whisper  from  the  hollow  caves. 


12 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conduced  by 


Divine,  bright  solitude  of  soundless  motion, 

Whose  foam,  like  year  on  year,  flows  up  the  shore  ! 
Imagination  loves  thee  evermore, 

Bowing  itself  in  this  reflected  ocean, 
God's  slightest  shadow  truly  to  adore  ! 

Again  the  sea-gull  passes  through  the  sljy — 

Dips  in  the  surge,  and  beats  her  sparkling  wings! 
Rises  aloft  in  widening  oval  rings  ! 

Down-slanting  near  dark  rocks,  she  now  doth  fly, 
And  a  white  wavering  line,  soft  gleaming,  flings. 

Once  more  green  meads,  with  cattle  grazing  round! 

A  mimic  orbit  have  we  traversed,  fleet ! 

Are  we  awake?     This  earth — these  moving  feet — 
Seem  perfect ;  yet  no  odour,  taste,  touch,  sound! 

The  real  and  the  visionary  meet ! 

'T  is  a  new  planet-surface  we  behold  ! 

Our  own — yet  not  our  own — diminished — dumb ; 

A  world  of  dream-like  coloured  shadows  come — 
And  go — more  exquisite  than  e'er  was  told 

By  pen  or  peucil ;  yet  they  have  no  home. 

Their  birth  is  from  the  darkness  into  light; 
But  into  darkness  when  their  forms  return, 
For  them  no  spheric  installations  burn — 

No'  glories  treasured  in  the  ecstatic  night ; 

Poor  pilgrims  are  they  of  earth's  shows  extern! 

Not  so,  the  substances  that  lend  them  life  ; 
Not  so,  .the  human  images  that  give 
These  fleeting  miniatures  the  means  to  live; 

For  we  are  born  with  inward  essence  rife, 
Both  substances  and  shadows  to  survive. 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  WINTER  ? 


PEOPLE  are  now  putting  on  the  best  faces 
they  can  to  welcome  the  Spring.  Welcome 
the  Spring,  indeed  !  when  we  have  had  no 
winter  ; — welcome  a  light  pudding,  when  we 
have  had  no  meat !  I  trust  I  am  a  Briton  and 
know  how  to  grumble.  "  In  those  vernal 
seasons  of  the  year  when  the  air  is  calm  and 
pleasant,"  says  Milton,  "it  were  an  injury  and 
sullenness  against  Nature,  not  to  go  out  and 
see  her  riches,  and  partake  in  her  rejoicings 
with  heaven  and  earth."  If  Nature  is  mean 
enough  to  rejoice  after  having  defrauded  me 
of  my  winter,  I  scratch  her  name  out  of  my 
visiting  book  ;  I  won't  "  go  out  and  see  her." 

1  want  my  Winter. — As  Fanshawe  says  : 

"  Spring,  the  year's  youth,  fair  mother  of  new  flowers, 
New  leaves,  new  loves,  drawn  by  the  winged  Hours, 
Thou  art  returned  ;  but  nought  returns  with  thee, 
Save  my  lost  joys'  regretful  memory." 

Now,  Spring,  it  would  serve  you  right  that 
a  lost  joy's  regretful  memory  should  stick  to 
you  also  ;  and  I  mean  to  make  you  cry 
half  April  through  by  letting  you  under- 
stand what  pretty  things  I  might  have  said 
about  you,  if  the  conduct  of  Nature  on  a  late 
occasion  had  not  put  me  out  of  temper.  I 
want  you  to  feel  what  you  have  lost,  and  for 
that  reason  only  touch  you  with  a  little  praise 
which  I  might  have  meant  in  earnest,  but  dis- 
tinctly now  inform  you  that  I  utter  only  out 
of  spite,  to  let  you  see  how  delicately  I  could 


natter,  if  I  chose,  your  vanity  and  beauty. 
Now  hear  what  I  could  have  done. 

Dear  little  Spring,  the  black  and  withered 
twigs,  that  have  worn  all  the  same  livery  of 
mourning,  throughout  the  dreary  months  01 
winter  (because  there  was  no  skating  to  be 
had),  are  tricking  themselves  out  in  their 
holiday  garbs,  because  you  are  coming  down 
to  see  them.  One  is  dressed  in  virgin  white, 
one  wears  a  saffron-coloured  robe,  another 
puts  on  blue,  and  some  twig  somewhere  plays 
the  dandy  in  a  scarlet  uniform.  The  .sunny 
slopes  are  reeking  with  the  early  mists,  and 
the  fields  are  laying  down  their  carpets  for 
the  lambs  to  dance  upon.  The  sap  is  stirring 
in  the  trees  and  swelling  in  the  bud,  and  the 
early  breeze  conies  fresh  and  fragrant,  as  if  it 
blew  through  the  boudoir  of  Nature,  while 
she  was  getting  up  in  the  morning  and  making 
a  free  use  of  her  perfumery.  The  owl  is  hoot- 
ing from  the  turret,  and  by  so  doing  shows 
his  wisdom ;  for  to  hoot  at  Spring  when  she 
appears  out  of  her  turn,  is  only  proper.  Her 
true  cue  is  "  hard  frost,"  and  she  should  1 1 
have  waited  for  it.  The  owl  is  hooting 
from  the  turret,  the  rook  screaming  from  his 
swinging  nest  on  the  tall  tree  top,  and  t  he 
cuckoo  shouting  from  the  lonely  glen.  The 
blackbird  whistles  from  the  bush — and  he 
may  whistle,  if  it 's  Winter  that  he  wants  to 
see  ever  again  on  this  side  of  the  year  2000. 
I  'm  driven  to  be  despondent.  The  blackbird 
whistles  from  the  bush,  and  the  throstle  from 
the  grove,  and  the  deep  coo  of  the  ringdove 
is  heard  in  the  woods.  The  feathered  emi- 
grants who  had  taken  refuge  on  our  shores 
from  the  illiberal  edicts  of  an  arctic  winter — 
though  an  arctic  winter  is  much  better  than 
none — liberty  of  the  plume  being  restored,  go 
back  to  the  North  again.  Those  who  emi- 
grated from  our  winter,  before  they  knew  that 
we  were  not  to  have  any,  are  now  returning 
i  one  flight  after  another,  to  join  in  the  orni- 
thological concert  that  takes  place  under  the 
management  of  Spring.  The  martins  and  the 
wrens  and  the  redstarts  have  come  into  the 
concert  with  small  pipes,  the  nightingale  has 
come  with  a  flute,  the  linnet  and  the  goldfinch 
with  a  lute,  the  lark,  that  sky-rocket  in 
feathers,  gets  its  music  up  so  thoroughly,  that 
as  it  twinkles  a  mere  speck  in  the  clear  air  ot' 
the  sunrise,  almost  out  of  sight  and  very  far 
from  being  out  of  hearing,  we  know  very  well 
what  the  thing  is,  it  is  one  of  the  morning 
stars  singing  for  joy. 

Then  there  are  the  woodlark  and  the  pipit 
— the  lark  of  the  wilderness — whose  health 
requires  that  they  should  bathe  their  beaks 
in  music  every  morning.  From  the  tall  hedge 
or  cottage-shading  tree,  the  magpie,  dressed 
like  a  gentleman  in  black  and  white,  chatters 
as  idly  as  is  usual  with  gentlemen  who  are 
not  men.  In  the  heart  of  the  thick  wood  the 
jay  is  screaming,  or  giving  an  entertainment 
similar  to  that  of  the  late  Mr.  Mathews,  to 
an  audience  as  full  of  noises  as  the  House  of 
Commons.  The  jackdaw  jabbers  from  a 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  HAS  BECOME  OF  WINTER  ? 


13 


steeple,  and  along  the  wild,  or  from  a  naked 
cliff,  the  raven  bids  us  think  about  a  sepulchre, 
if  we  are  superstitious.  If  we  are  reasonable 
souls,  it  does  not.  Except  when  dogs  are 
fighting  and  on  a  few  similar  occasions,  beasts, 
birds,  and  insects  are  a  happy  set  of  fellows, 
and  "  in  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice."  The 
crow  means  to  be  jolly  when  he  sings,  as 
thoroughly  as  any  nightingale. 

Then,  Spring,  if  you  had  a  fair  claim  on  my 
praises,  1  should  not  object  to  state  that  these 
winged  voices — rich,  and  abundant,  and 
varied,  as  they  are,  in  the  glades  and  groves 
of  our,  on  the  whole,  not  disagreeable 
country — make  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
pleasant  noise  with  which  you  are  accom- 
panied. There  is  a  voice  from  all  things. 
Emancipated  from  the  wintry  thraldom  which 
had  claimed  their  waters  (you  perceive  how 
inappropriate  the  praise  would  be,  when  no 
brook  has  been  frozen),  the  streams  are  mur- 
muring through  mead  and  valley  ;  the  trout 
are  leaping  in  their  depths,  and  cattle  lowing 
on  their  banks.  The  bleat  of  the  lamb  comes 
from  the  hill-side  (mint  is,  happily,  at  the 
same  period.fresh  and  green),  and  the  laughter 
of  young  human  voices  fills  the  sunny  glade. 
The  doors  of  habitations  stand  wide  open  to 
1  let  in  the  air  of  heaven  ;  the  fireside — where 
the  poker  stimulates  no  more  the  flagging 
coal,  and  fires  are  dying  of  neglect — the  tire- 
side  is  forsaken  for  the  tield  ;  and  the  whistle 
of  the  ploughman — painfully  prone  to  per- 
form nigger  melodies — comes  cheerily  from 
the  up-turned  glebe.  But  the  great  Spring 
minstrel  is  the  Wind  ;  wind  music  is  the 
sweetest.  In  the  Spring  it  plays  all  kinds  of 
melodies  ;  sometimes,  a  forest  piece  on  its 
trombones  and  bassoons  ;  sometimes,  a  song 
about  a  violet,  upon  one  little  piccolo.  Man 
laughs,  and  loves,  and  thinks,  when  the 
Spring  comes,  with  a  more  delicate  expres- 
sion. In  the  Winter  he  had  skated,  or  he 
ought  to  have  skated,  roared  over  good  jokes, 
and  enjoyed,  when  he  was  shut  up  in-doors, 
a  concentration  of  home  jollity.  Man's 
general  sympathy  with  external  objects  is,  in 
the  presence  of  Spring,  wholesomely  set  in 
action  ;  and  the  pervading  sentiment  of  re- 
surrection is  full  to  him  of  fine,  unconsciously- 
received  suggestions.  "  In  the  motion  of  the 
very  leaves  of  Spring,"  says  Shelley,  "  in  the 
blue  air,  there  is  found  a  secret  correspondence 
with  our  heart.  There  is  eloquence  in  the 
tongueless  wind,  and  a  melody  in  the  flowing 
brooks,  and  the  whistle  of  the  reeds  beside 
them  ;  which,  by  their  inconceivable  relation 
to  something  within  the  soul,  awaken  the 
spirits  to  a  dance  of  breathless  rapture,  and 
bring  tears  of  mysterious  tenderness  to  the 
eyes — like  the  enthusiasm  of  patriotic  success, 
or  the  voice  of  one  beloved,  singing  to  you 
alone." 

Lists  of  fashionable  arrivals  are  now 
charged,  I  believe,  as  advertisements  in 
country  papers.  Whether  birds  are  fashion- 
able, I  am  not  quite  sure,  but  perhaps  I  may 


be  allowed  to  risk  incurring  the  expense  of 
duty  upon  the  following  list  of  movements 
in  what,  I  confess,  must  be  admitted  to  be 
high  life,  passed  as  it  is,  on  tree  tops,  or  in  a 
yet  more  elevated  sphere.  Pigeons  move  in 
higher  circles  than  even  dukes  and  duchesses. 
Liable,  or  not  liable,  to  advertisement  duty, 
here  is  a  list  of  movements  in  high  life  for 
the  present  season. 

Arrivals : — Wryneck,  Reed  Sparrow,  Bunt- 
ing, Smallest  Willow  Wren,  Stone  Curlew, 
Wheatear,  House  Swallow,  Martin,  Sand 
Martin,  Black -cap,  Nightingale,  Cuckoo, 
Middle  Willow  Wren,  Whitethroat,  Redstart, 
Grasshopper  Lark,  Swift,  Lesser  Reed 
Sparrow,  Land  Rail,  Fern  Owl,  Fly-catcher, 
Turtle  Dove,  Ring  Dotterell,  Wagtail,  Water 
Rail,  Largest  Willow  Wren,  Lapwing,  Tit- 
lark, Razor-bill,  Corncrake,  Ring  Ouzel, 
Yellow  Wren. 

Departures  : — Fieldfare,  Redwing,  Wood- 
cock, Hooded  Crow,  Snow  Bunting,  Widgeon, 
Teal,  Snipe,  Merlin,  Solan  Goose,  Grey  Gull, 
Cross-bill,  Bean  Goose,  Herring  Gull. 

Spring  is  said  to  begin  in  March  ;  meteor- 
ologists say  on  one  day,  astronomers  say  on 
another  day ;  but  /say,  that  Spring  1852  began 
in  November  1851.  Spring  has  the  Yankee 
blood  in  her,  and  has  annexed  Winter ;  or, 
at  least,  is  infusing  a  Spring  temper  into  it, 
with  a  view  to  ultimate  annexation.  How- 
ever, let  us  take  March.  Let  us  look  at 
March.  He  used  to  have  a  little  bluster  in 
him — to  be  something  of  a  roaring  blade. 
Whether  he  has  got  married,  or  what  else 
may  be  the  reason,  I  don't  know  ;  but  all  his 
boast  seems  to  be  taken  out  of  him.  There 
ought  to  be  a  wind-spirit  abroad  in  March  to 
sweep  the  floor  of  heaven,  preliminary  to  the 
laying  down  of  a  fresh  pavement  of  sunshine. 
March  ought,  like  a  child,  to  play  with  flowers, 
and  destroy  them  in  its  wilfulness.  If  March 
behaved  like  March,  and,  if  I  had  no  quarrel 
with  the  Spring  on  other  grounds,  I  would 
speak  of  it  somewhat  after  this  fashion : 
Wooed  by  its  smile,  some  insect  troop  will 
venture  forth,  too  soon,  to  thread  a  maze  in 
honour  of  the  welcome  guest ;  and,  ere  they 
have  had  time  to  try  their  glancing  wings, 
the  frown  succeeding  to  the  smile,  chases  the 
affrighted  band,  and  they  are  scattered.  In 
its  sunny  moods  a  coronal  of  violets  is  given 
to  the  child ;  but  the  wrathful  fit  comes  on, 
and  the  sweet  toy  is  torn  to  pieces,  trampled 
beneath  the  foot  of  the  capricious  month. 
Awakened  by  one  of  the  bright  flashes  of  its 
laughing  eyes,  the  bee  looks  out  ;  and,  think- 
ing it  is  summer,  rushes  abroad  in  coat  of 
gold,  sounding  his  premature  summons  on  his 
tiny  trumpet :  but  the  wing  of  the  snow- 
spirit  (which  I  strongly  suspect  Time  of 
having  clipped  with  his  scythe,  some  years 
ago)  shadows  for  a  moment  (or  used  to  shadow 
when  it  was  big  enough)  the  face  of  the  youth- 
ful month  ;  and,  unable  to  borrow  the  um- 
brella of  a  single  flower-cup,  the  false  herald 
perishes,  the  victim  of  his  own  mistake. 


14 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Down  the  long  winding  lane,  over  the 
broad  meadow,  and  on  the  sunny  bank  by  the 
way-side,  are  peeping  up,  amid  the  emerald 
grass,  the  gem-like  flowers  that  wei'e  the 
playthings  of  our  childhood — that  lured  us, 
years  ago,  through  the  dewy  dell.  When  we 
look  at  them,  we  call  to  mind  how  our  hands 
in  their  first  state  of  chubbiness,  or  in  their 
second  state  of  ink  and  slate-pencil  dust, 
grasped  at  the 

"  Daffodils, 

That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 

The  winds  of  March  with  beauty." 

When  our  yet  plastic  and  undeveloped  noses 

breathed  over  the 

"Violets  dim, 

But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes, 
Or  Cytherea's  breath." 

And  •  when   we   wore  our  first  gold   chains, 

made  of 

"  Pale  Primroses 

That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength." 

Then  what  work  have  we  not  made  in 
childhood  with 

"  the  Daisie 

That  well  by  reasson  men  it  calle  male 
The  Daisie,  or  else  the  Eye  of  Daie, 
The  emprise,  and  the  floure  of  flouris  all. 

The  daisy  is  the  pet  of  poets  ;  and,  while  I 
am  tagging  these  snips  of  verse  together,  let 
us  say  some  more  about  the  "wee  modest 
crimson-tipped  flower  " — the 

.     .    "  silver  shield,  with  boss  of  gold, 
That  spreads  itself,  some  fairy  bold 
In  fight  to  cover." 

A  graceful  lady-writer  calls  the  daisy,  the 
Robin  of  flowers.  I  've  an  idea.  Had  she 
been  as  fanciful  as  Mr.  Wordsworth,  she 
might  have  added  its  red  breast  as  amongst 
the  reasons  for  her  pleasant  conceit. 

Now  I  am  going  on  with  what  I  might  say, 
if  I  chose,  concerning  March.  The  alder 
wears  her  dark  wreaths,  and  the  hazel  and 
willow  have  hung  out  their  catkins  in  the 
fields.  The  marsh  is  gay  with  the  bright 
orange-flowers  of  the  marsh-marigold ;  and 
the  shady  grove  and  humid  bank,  with  the 
pilewort's  yellow  stars.  Before  the  end  of 
the  month,  the  leaves  of  the  honeysuckle  are 
nearly  expanded  ;  the  garden  is  beautiful 
with  the  pink  flowers  of  the  mezereon  ;  and 
the  greenhouse,  besides  the  pale  narcissus  and 
the  bright  camellia  japonica,  has  the  brilliant 
tulip,  and  all  the  rich  and  graceful  hyacinth 
array.  Leeks  flourish  in  the  caps  of  Welsh- 
men on  St.  David's  Day  ;  and  in  the  Irish 
bonnets,  on  St.  Patrick's  Day,  shamrock  is 
planted.  David  and  Patrick  are  March 
saints.  Of  David  we  have  heard  how 

.     .     .     "  through  the  press  of  war 
His  gallant  comrades  followed  his  green  crest 
To  conquest." 


As  a  hint  to  future  commentators,  I  suggest 
a  misprint  here.  Leeks  were  more  likely  to 
have  been  written,  by  poetic  license,  as  green 
cress,  than  as  a  crest,  which  we  know  to  be 
a  th  ing  usually  composed  of  hair  or  feathers. 
The  leading  act  of  the  life  of  St.  Patrick, 
performed  on  Croagh  Patrick,  is  thus  beau- 
tifully narrated  by  a  native  minstrel : — 

"  Och  !  Antrim  hills  are  mighty  high,  and  so  's  the 

Hill  of  Howth,  too  ; 
But  we  all  do  know  a  mountain  that  is  higher  than 

them  both,  too  : 
'Twas  on  the  top  of  that  high  mount,  St.  Patrick 

preached  a  sermon ; 
He  drove  the  frogs  into  the  bogs,  and  banished  all 

the  vermin." 

Then,  after  March,  the  noisy  boy,  comes — 
or  used  to  come — April,  ^the  crying  girl. 
Whatever  trick  she  may  play  us,  in  behaving 
as  she  ought  not  to  behave,  she  cannot  trick 
us  out  of  her  great  day  of  tricks  ;  we  will  be 
April  Fools  !  The  man  who  doesn't  like  to 
be  a  fool,  is  fit  for  treasons,  murders,  and, 
particularly,  stratagems  ;  he  is  the  very  man 
to  punish  on  the  first  of  April.  "  Beshrew  the 
man,"  says  Elia,  "  who,  on  such  a'  day  as  this, 
should  affect  to  stand  aloof !  I  am  none  of 
those  sneakers.  I  am  free  of  the  corporation, 
and  care  not  who  knows  it.  He  that  meets 
me  in  the  forest  to-day,  shall  meet  with  no 
wiseacre,  I  can  tell  him!  Stvlt'i^s  sum — 
translate  me  that,  and  take  the  meaning  of 
it  to  yourself  for  yonr  pains.  ...  I  have 
never  made  an  acquaintance  that  lasted,  or 
a  friendship  that  answered,  with  any  one  that 
had  not  some  tincture  of  the  absurd  in  their 
characters.  .  .  .  And  take  my  word  for 
this,  reader — and  say  a  fool  told  it  you,  if  you 
please — that  he  who  hath  not  a  drachm  of 
folly  in  his  mixture,  hath  pounds  of  much 
worse  matter  in  his  composition."  April  has 
her  own  small  jokes  in  the  way  of  fool-making. 
The  prudent  father  of  a  family,  before  taking 
an  extended  walk,  looks  up  into  her  face  for 
a  hint  about  the  weather.  "  There  '11  be  a 
severe  shower ! "  says  April,  with  a  frown. 
So,  the  father  commits  himself  to  walk  out 
with  the  family  umbrella ;  April  takes  to 
shining ;  the  sky  looks  as  if  there  would  be 
no  more  rain  till  Midsummer ;  and  the 
umbrella  makes  the  prudent  man  look  like 
a  fool.  Then  April  has  not  only  fools,  but 
birds.  There  is  that  much  over-rated  vocalist, 
the  nightingale.  No  doubt  his  night-strain 
is  unrivalled ;  because  nobody  else  would  think 
of  playing  melodies  at  midnight,  except  stu- 
dents who  are  learning  the  trombone,  and  are 
ashamed  to  practise  it  when  people  are  about. 
The  nightingale  is  all  very  well  ;  but  why  not 
praise  the  throstle,  and  the  blackbird,  and  the 
wood-lark  1  I  should  like  to  hear  a  better 
ballad-singer  than  the  robin !  As  for  the 
nightingale  being  crossed  in  love,  and  sen- 
timental in  its  habits  ;  though 

"  many  a  poet  echoes  the  conceit, 
And  youths  and  maidens  most  poetical, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


LOCKING  UP  THE  TOWER  OF  LONDON. 


Who  lose  the  deepening  twilight  of  the  Spring 
In  ball-rooms  and  hot  theatres,  they  still, 
Full  of  meek  sympathy,  must  heave  their  siglis 
O'er  Philomela's  pity-pleading  strains. 

We  have  learnt 

A  different  lore  :  we  may  not  thus  profane 
Nature's  sweet  voices,  always  full  of  love 
And  joyance! — 'Tis  the  MERRY  nightingale! 
That  crowds,  and  hurries,  and  precipitates, 
With  fast,  thick  warble,  his  delicious  notes, 
As  he  were  fearful  that  an  April  night 
Would  be  too  short  for  him  to  utter  forth 
His  love  chant,  and  disburtheii  his  full  soul 
Of  all  its  music." 

After  the  nightingale,  there  comes  the 
wryneck,  our  woodpecker,  aud  the  cuckoo : 
lie  is  melancholy,  perhaps.  Spring  pigeons 
are  to  hand,  and  a  rage  for  building  specu- 
lation seizes  all  the  birds.  Now  is  the  time 
for  feathering  their  nests. 

Then,  there  comes  also,  in  April,  the  fes- 
tival Of  the  English  Patron  St.  George,  for- 
merly of  Cappadocia,  the  most  unmitigated 
rogue  that  ever  got  a  church  legend  to  him- 
self, and  suffered  registration  in  the  list  of 
saints. 

There.  I  shall  say  nothing  about  May.  I 
scorn  to  talk  of  May  till  I  have  had  my  Win- 
ter. I  don't  care  for  the  disappointment  that 
the  Spring  must  suffer  in  losing  all  the  praise 
I  could  have  showered  on  it ;  it  is  nothing 
to  the  disappointment  I  have  suffered  from 
the  constant  liquidity  of  the  Serpentine.  If 
I  have  tagged  rhymes  from  all  manner  of 
poets  about  flowers,  and  that  sort  of  thing, 
I  beg  to  inform  Londoners  that  they  are  of 
no  consequence.  Let  them  stand  on  any  of 
their  bridges  in  the  morning,  and  they  will 
see  what  Wordsworth  himself  declares  to  be 
quite  equal  to  Cumberland.  Hear  him  : — • 

"  Earth  has  not  anything  to  show  more  fair. 

Dull  would  he  be  of  soul  who  could  pass  by 

A  sight  so  touching  in  its  majesty! 

This  city  now  doth,  like  a  garment,  wear 

The  beauty  of  the  morning.     Silent,  bare, 

Ships,  towers,  domes,  theatres,  and  temples  lie, 

Open  unto  the  fields  and  to  the  sky, 

All  bright  and  glittering  in  the  smokeless  air. 

Never  did  sun  more  beautifully  steep 

In  his  first  splendour  valleys,  rock,  or  hill ; 

Ne'er  saw  I — never  felt — a  calm  so  deep  !  " 

So  let  us  not  be  sighing  here  in  London  after 
fields  and  flowers.  We  are  better  off.  What 
are  the  lambs  to  us  unroasted  1  And  what 
do  birds  concern  us  with  their  feathers  on  1 
They  had  better  float  in  gravy  than  in  music. 
Others  may  do  as  they  please,  but  I  shall 
stop  in  town.  I  suspect  foul  play.,  I  suspect 
that  Winter  has  been  made  away  with,  and 
Spring  is  too  clearly  a  gainer  not  to  lie  open 
to  suspicion.  Spring  was  seen  where  she  had 
no  business  to  be,  stealing  about  timidly  at 
Christmas  ;  and,  when  her  proper  time  came, 
stealing  away  altogether  to  let  Winter  in 
where,  and  when  he  was  not  wanted.  There 
is  something  wrong  in  all  this ;  although  I 
hope  it  is  all  right ;  but  I  shall  stay  in  town  ; 


for  I  do  not  choose  to  be  mixed  up  with  such 
irregular  transactions. 


CHIPS. 


LOCKING  UP  THE.  TOWER  OF  LONDON. 


persons  are  aware  of  the  strictness 
with  which  the  Tower  of  London  is  guarded 
from  foes  without  and  from  treachery  within. 
Tb.e  ceremony  of  shutting  it  up  every  night 
continues  to  be  as  solemn  and  as  rigidly 
precautionary  as  if  the  French  invasion  were 
actually  afoot.  Immediately  after  "  tattoo  " 
all  strangers  are  expelled  ;  and,  the  gates  once 
closed,  nothing  short  of  such  imperative  ne- 
cessity as  fire  or  sudden  illness  can  procure 
their  being  re-opened  till  the  appointed  hour 
the  next  morning. 

The  ceremony  of  locking  up  is  very  ancient, 
curious,  and  stately.  A  few  minutes  before 
the  clock  strikes  the  hour  of  eleven  —  on  Tues- 
days and  Fridays,  twelve  —  the  Head  Warden 
(Yeoman  Porter),  clothed  in  a  long  red  cloak, 
bearing  in  his  hand  a  huge  bunch  of  keys, 
and  attended  by  a  brother  Warden,  carrying  a 
gigantic  lantern,  appears  in  front  of  the  main 
guard-house,  and  calls  out  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  Escort  keys  !  "  At  these  words  the  Sergeant 
of  the  Guard,  with  five  or  six  men,  turns  out 
and  follows  him  to  the  "  Spur,""  or  outer 
gate  ;  each  sentry  challenging,  as  they  pass  his 
post,  "Who  goes  there?"—  "Keys."  The 
gates  being  carefully  locked  and  barred  —  the 
Warden  wearing  as  solemn  an  aspect  and 
making  as  much  noise  as  possible  —  the  pro- 
cession returns,  the  sentries  exacting  the  same 
explanation,  and  receiving  the  same  answer 
as  before.  Arrived  once  more  in  front  of  the 
main  guard-house,  the  sentry  there  gives  a 
loud  stamp  with  his  foot,  and  the  following 
conversation  takes  place  between  him  and  the 
approaching  party  :  — 

'  Who  goes  there  1  " 

'  Keys." 

'  Whose  keys  ?  " 

'  Queen  Victoria's  keys." 

'  Advance  Queen  Victoria's  keys,  and  all  's 
well." 

The  Yeoman  Porter  then  exclaims,  "  God 
bless  Queen  Victoria."  The  main  guard  de- 
voutly respond  "  Amen."  The  officer  on  duty 
gives  the  word,  "  Present  arms  !  "  the  fire- 
locks rattle  ;  the  officer  kisses  the  hilt  of 
his  sword  ;  the  escort  fall  in  among  their 
companions  ;  and  the  Yeoman  Porter  marches 
majestically  across  the  parade  alone  to  deposit 
the  keys  in  the  Lieutenant's  lodgings. 

The  ceremony  over,  not  only  is  all  egress  and 
ingress  totally  precluded,  but  even  within  the 
walls  no  one  can  stir  without  being  furnished 
with  the  countersign  ;  and  any  one  who,  un- 
happily forgetful,  ventures  from  his  quarters 
unprovided  with  his  talisman,  is  sure  to  be 
made  the  prey  of  the  first  sentinel  whose 
post  he  crosses. 

All  of  which  is   pleasantly  absurd,    and 


16 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


I  Conducted  by 


reminds  us  of  the  stately  manner  in  which  the 
Crown  was  carried  about,  when  the  White 
Tower  was  on  fire. 


THREE  GUNS  IN  ALBANIA. 


TRUE  yachting  takes  a  man  a  bit  about  the 
world.  Last  August,  I  left  Cowes,  one  of  a 
party  in  a  yacht,  which,  if  nobody  objects,  I  will 
call  the  Scowler.  The  party  consisted,  as  to 
its  heads,  of  three  men  :  1.  Myself,  not  to.  be 
described  by  myself.  2.  Francis  Silvertop,  a 
man  of  fashion,  and  a  crack  shot  over  the 
Moors.  3.  Major  Blaze,  a  card  accustomed 
to  turn  up  in  unaccustomed  places,  and  tre- 
mendously experienced  in  foreign  sports.  We 
all  carried  our  guns,  a  taste  for  game  being  a 
common  weakness  with  us.  After  a  few  days 
spent  at  Malta,  we  steered  Eastward ;  and 
one  fine  afternoon,  towards  the  end  of  October, 
cast  anchor  in  Corfu  Bay. 

Shooting  is  not  to  be  enjoyed  [in  Corfu 
itself ;  for  every  Greek  who  has  a  gun,  and 
can  beg,  borrow,  or  steal  powder  and  shot,  is 
watchful  to  bag  any  luckless  specimen  of  game 
that  he  may  chance  to  see  or  hear  of  in  the 
swampy  ground  of  the  valleys,  or  the  drier 
elevations  of  the  olive  groves.  ''The  shooting 
which  will  bring  an  Englishman  to  Corfu, 
is  to  be  had  on  the  opposite  shores — the  coasts 
of  Albania,  the  classic  regions  of  Thessaly  ; 
and  there,  during  the  winter,  he  may  have 
the  finest  shooting,  perhaps,  in  the  world. 

The  Sanitar  Boat  visited  the  Scowler  :  the 
harbour-master  satisfied  himself  touching 
the  clean  "bill  of  health"  from  Malta:  my 
two  friends  went  ashore  with  me ;  called  at 
the  palace  of  the  Lord  High  Commissioner ; 
dined  at  the  said  palace  ;  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  the  best  fellows  in  the  garrison  ;  and 
nothing  remained  to  hinder  us  from  spending 
one  day  in  Albania.  Neither  Silvertop  nor 
myself  had  ever  been  there  before ;  Major 
Blaze  had.  We  had  accepted  the  friendly 
offer  of  a  brown-visaged,  red-night-capped, 
dark-whiskered  Corfiote  to  act  as  pilot,  and 
were  all  prepared  to  start,  when  the  Major 
puzzled  us,  at  starting,  with  a  pull  upon  his 
old  experience  :  "  Is  the  Guardiano  on  board, 
Peter  1 v  was  his  first  inquiry. '  "  Yes,  signer." 
"  And  the  dogs  ?  "  "  Yes."  So  the  boat  was 
shoved  off,  and  glided  from  the  ditch  into  the 
open  bay  of  Corfu.  We  were  soon  on  board 
the  Scowler ;  and  on  the  deck  found  an 
odd-looking  figure,  dressed  in  coarse  rifle- 
green cloth,  his  shoulders  protected  by  a 
short  capote,  or  shaggy  cloak,  with  arms,  and 
his  dark-mustachioed  face  topped  with  a 
geranium-coloured  cap.  This  was  the  Guar- 
diano, a  Corfu  policeman.  One  of  these  gen- 
tlemen accompanies  every  shooting  party  from 
Corfu  into  Albania,  to  see  that  there  shall 
be  no  risk  incurred  of  taking  the  infection 
of  the  much-dreaded  plague,  by  handling 
forbidden  things.  "  To  bed,  now,"  said  the 
Major ;  "  we  shan't  rest  to-morrow.  Bu- 
trinto,  Peter."  "  Butrinto  !  vera  good,  sir," 


was  the  pilot's  reply.  Butrinto  was  our  des- 
tination ;  a  place  once  of  note  under  its 
classical  name  of  Buthrotum,  and  now  as 
celebrated  for  the  variety  of  its  game  and  its 
woodcocks,  as  Cateito,  a  little  further  down 
the  coast,  is  for  its  snipe-marshes. 

The  Scowler  was  soon  running  for  the 
Albanian  shore,  before  a  pleasant  breeze.  The 
night  was  somewhat  chilly  ;  but  the  stars 
were  bright,  and  the  shore-lights  from  Corfu 
glistened  in  long  streaks  on  the  tideless  waters 
of  the  Adriatic.  We  rounded  the  little  island 
of  Vido,  that  lies  in  the  middle  of  the  bay, 
crowned  with  enormously  strong  fortifica- 
tions, whose  guns,  should  their  proprietors 
so  will  it,  could  lay  all  Corfu  town  in  ashes  ; 
the  Guardiano  lay  curled  up  asleep  in  the 
fore  hatchway  ;  and,  as  we  stood  across  what 
is  called  the  Northern  Passage,  I  turned  in 
with  my  companions. 

Morning  discovered  us  at  anchor  in  the 
Bay  of  Butrinto;  the  Major  was  on  deck, 
looking  about  first  for  weather  signs,  and 
then  for  scenery.  "  By  jingo,  this  is  very 
fine ! "  Before  us  lay  the  Albanian  shore, 
with  a  wide  valley  running  up  between 
two  chains  of  hills  clad  with  verdure,  and 
running  into  other  chains,  which  inter- 
mingled till  they  were  lost  in  the  blue  dis- 
tance. On  the  side  of  one  hill,  some  way  off, 
were  the  white  walls  of  a  straggling  Albanian 
village.  Near  the  shore  was  an  old  ruined 
castle,  now  tenanted  by  a  Turkish  Aga,  the 
sole  representative  of  the  supreme  authority, 
and  who  consults  his  best  interests  by  exhi- 
biting civility,  on  any  needful  occasion,  to 
English  sportsmen.  Many  a  hill  in  the 
neighbourhood  bore  the  ruins  of  a  castle  or 
tower,  the  relics  of  the  military  sway  of  the 
celebrated  and  notorious  Ali  Pasha.  Almost 
the  most  striking  feature  of  the  landscape 
was  its  perfect  quiet  ;  no  labourer  was  to  be 
seen  a-field  ;  no  herdsman  with  his  flocks  ; 
no  hum  of  population  :  it  was  more  than 
silence ;  it  was  desolation  to  the  ear  ;  but, 
to  the  eye,  fertility.  Behind  the  yacht,  at  a 
distance,  rose  the  heights  of  San  Salvador,  a 
mountain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Bay  of 
Corfu  to  that  on  which  the  town  is  built, 
and,  as  it  seemed,  beyond  that  the  citadel  of 
Corfu  was  refracted  through  the  morning 
light,  and  stood  above  and  apart  from  the 
water.  A  flock  of  gulls  were  soaring  about, 
every  now  and  then  making  a  dash  at  their 
prey  in  the  shallows  that  ran  a  long  way  out 
from  the  shore,  while  at  a  little  distance, 
rested  on  the  water  a  whole  host  of  wild- 
ducks  and  other  water-fowl,  with  three  or 
four  majestic  swans  among  them,  apparently 
unconscious  of  an  enemy.  These  provoked 
us  to  bring  up  our  double-barrelled  Mantons, 
and  paddle  quietly  towards  the  game.  The 
swans  and  ducks  were  perfectly  at  their  ease, 
and  I  had  raised  my  gun,  when,  certain  Alba- 
nian fishermen,  who  were  lying  in  their  boats 
unnoticed  under  the  shore,  threw  their  heavy 
net  with  an  astounding  splash.  It  was.  all 


Charles  Dickens.  1 


THREE  GUNS  IN  ALBANIA. 


17 


over — away  went  ducks  and  geese  and  swans 
scared  by  the  sound ;  and  the  double  bang  ! 
bang  !  of  our  guns  served  only  as  a  parting 
salute.  Pietro,  who  had  been  sculling  the 
dingey  with  all  caution,  muttered  between  his 
teeth  a  complimentary  word  to  the  fishermen  ; 
but,  suddenly  brightening  up,  suggested  to  the 
Major  the  propriety  of  buying  some  fresh  fish 
for  breakfast  ;  accordingly,  the  dingey  visited 
the  dirty  fishing-boat,  and  opened  treaty  with 
its  dirtier  proprietor.  The  price  first  asked 
was  about  double  that  eventually  taken,  and 
the  fish  (probably  red  mullet)  having  been 
thrown  into  the  dingey,  and  the  money  thrown 
back  into  the  fishing  boat,  and  Pietro,  having 
taken  especial  care  not  to  let  the  boats  touch 
each  other,  and  thereby  incur  for  us  the 
penalty  of  quarantine,  on  the  information  of 
the  Guardiano,  sculled  us  back  to  breakfast. 
I  pity  these  fishermen.  They  live  in  a  per- 
petual quarantine  as  regards  any  shore  but 
their  own.  They  come  into  Corfu  Bay, 
transfer  their  fish  to  another  boat  which 
takes  the  cargo  to  market ;  and,  if  they  re- 
main there  an  hour,  their  vessel  is  made  to 
bear  the  dreaded  yellow  flag,  and  is  care- 
fully avoided  by  all  other  craft.  Their  life 
seems  wholly  to  be  passed  in  the  vessels, 
on  the  Albanian  coast,  with  their  nets ; 
and,  should  repairs  compel  them  to  abide 
awhile  upon  the  islands  among  their  fellow 
men,  it  is  only  after  a  fortnight's  imprison- 
ment in  the  Lazaretto. 

Breakfast  over  ;  cigars  lighted  ;  powder- 
flasks,  shot-belts,  and  percussion-caps  ready  ; 
guns  duly  loaded,  dogs  (three  spaniels  and  a 
retriever)  brought  out  from  the  fore-hatch- 
way ;  and  the  Guardiano's  paper  cigar  manu- 
factured and  lighted,  that  he  might  start  on 
good  terms  with  himself,  for  what  he  feared 
would  be  a  heavy  day's  work,  we  stepped 
into  the  boat ;  and  at  about  nine  o'clock 
found  ourselves  grounding  on  the  Albanian 
shore,  a  little  below  the  Aga's  Castle.  Peter 
received  his  directions  as  to  the  creek  up 
which  he  was  to  bring  lunch,  and  pushed  oif 
again.  The  shore  was  low  and  swampy,  and 
piles  of  firewood  were  heaped  up  along  it, 
under  the  guardianship  of  a  wretched-looking 
Turkish  soldier,  in  a  dirty  yellow  jacket  with 
black  braid,  who  was  appended  to  an  enor- 
mously long  gun  and  (of  course)  a  pipe.  He 
exchanged  nods  with  the  Guardiano.  The 
Major  led  our  way,  I  following  with  Silver- 
top  ; — Silvertop,  clad  in  a  dapper-shooting 
costume  of  faultless  cut,  and  one  conglo- 
merate of  pockets.  We  passed  under  the 
walls  of  the  old  Castle,  and  entered  upon  a 
wild,  marshy,  reedy  ti'act,  which  stretched 
some  little  way  before  us,  and  was  intersected 
by  numerous  creeks.  "  We  shall  find  snipe 
here,"  said  the  Major  ;  and  as  he  spoke,  snipes 
rose  to  confirm  his  opinion.  The  sport  once 
begun  went  on  in  earnest,  and  the  snipes  got 
up  in  front,  and  on  the  right  and  left,  in 
a  manner  and  in  a  number  that  entirely 
astounded  me.  We  gradually  advanced,  ex- 


tending our  line  of  beating  ;  and  before  we 
had  passed  the  swampy  tract  of  ground,  had 
bagged  enough  snipe  to  make  a  Lincolnshire 
fen  poacher  open  his  eyes  for  ever.  Silver- 
top  at  length  found  himself  separated  from 
our  party  by  an  uninviting  swamp,  and,  not 
yet  become  reckless  about  his  apparel,  wan- 
dered on  seeking  for  a  firmer  passage.  At 
length  he  reached  a  spot  where  the  creek 
widened  into  a  small  lagoon,  fringed  with 
tall  rushes  and  reeds  ;  he  pushed  them  aside, 
and  stared  when  he  saw  the  whole  surface  of 
the  lagoon  literally  alive  with  teal,  widgeon, 
and  every  kind  of  wild  duck.  Hundreds 
of  these  birds  were  gathered  on  this  their 
favourite  feeding-ground  ;  and  Silvertop  was 
somewhat  nonplussed  at  the  spectacle,  when 
he  looked  up  and  saw  the  sun  shining 
above  him,  as  it  might  do  on  an  English 
summer's  day ;  the  only  trace  of  winter 
visible  being  the  snowy  peaks  of  the  Pindus 
chain,  glistening  from  very  far  away  through 
a  gap  in  the  adjacent  hills.  Luckily  some 
of  the  birds  were  scared  ;  and  as  they  flew 
over  Silvertop's  head  he  secured  a  couple ; 
and  after  some  splashing  in  the  mud,  suc- 
ceeded in  carrying  off'  his  trophies,  and 
rejoining  us,  his  friends.  We  had  quitted 
the  snipe  country  for  the  present,  and  now 
entered  upon  a  wood,  pursuing  a  sort  of 
green  lane  which  ran  through  it,  full  of  ruts 
and  holes,  and  very  like  an  English  woodland 
path.  .The  wood  on  each  side  was  pretty 
thick  with  trees,  and  between  them  was  the 
most  wonderful  underwood.  It  looked  as 
though  the  strongest  thorns,  brambles,  and 
briars,  had  been  suffered  to  grow  and  entwine 
themselves  at  will  and  undisturbed  since  the 
Creation  ;  only  a  bill-hook  could  make  means 
of  passage  through  the  tangled  wall.  The 
spaniels  crept  in  here  and  there  ;  and,  after 
several  unsuccessful  attempts,  re-appeared  in 
the  lane.  "  Mark  cock  !  "  shouted  the  Major, 
and  a  woodcock  came  out  above  the  brambles, 
speeding  down  the  lane.  I  secured  him  for 
my  bag.  The  woodcocks  seemed  as  much 
inclined  to  play  at  follow-my-leader  as  the 
snipes  had  been  ;  and  for  a  couple  of  hours 
sport  was  found  for  the  English  guns.  We 
reached  the  extremity  of  the  wood,  and  then 
beat  back  again  down  the  side  towards  the 
sea,  still  gathering  woodcocks,  but  occasionally 
losing  a  bird  among  the  brushwood.  A  hare 
also  made  its  appearance,  and  Silvertop  made 
that  his  own.  Having  again  reached  the 
open  ground,  we  followed  the  windings  of  a 
creek  ;  till  under  the  bank  was  seen  the 
dingey,  with  Pietro  waiting. 

The  hour  of  lunch  had  arrived,  and  the 
morning's  work  rendered  it  very  welcome, 
while  the  wet  which  we  had  sustained  about 
the  legs  made  a  draught  of  weak  brandy-and- 
water  both  advisable  and  pleasant.  The 
Guardiano,  who  had  been  following  us  all  the 
morning  at  the  distance  of  about  half-a-mile 
in  the  rear,  carne  in  for  his  share  ;  and  having 
received  it,  retired  into  the  same  state  of 


18 


HOUSEHOLD  WOHDS. 


[Conducted  by 


mental  seclusion  as  he  hadhitherto  maintained. 
Luncheon  despatched,  the  game  already  killed 
was  sent  back  in  the  boat  to  the  yacht ;  Pietro 
ordered  to  be  at  the  landing-place  at  five  ;  and 
we  all  started  off  again  inland. 

We  returned  up  the  side  of  the  wood,  and, 
on  reaching  the  extremity,  turned  off  to  the 
left,  when  our  progress  was  apparently  stopped 
by  a  small  stream.  Silvertop  began  looking 
about  for  a  bridge,  while  the  Major,  without 
pausing  a  moment,  tucked  the  skirts  of  his 
sporting-coat  under  his  arms  to  keep  his 
pockets  dry,  and  holding  his  gun  over  his 
head,  waded  through  the  stream,  which  was 
about  up  to  his  hips,  and  gave  a  satisfied 
stamp  or  two  on  the  opposite  bank.  We  took 
his  hint.  I  followed  quickly  enough,  rather 
pleased  than  otherwise  with  a  fresh  incident 
of  the  day's  proceedings,  and  Silvertop  was 
not  less  ready,  though  he  evidently  cast  a  look 
of  pity  on  his  shooting  costume  ;  whereat  the 
Major's  eye  twinkled  a  little. 

The  stream  we  had  just  passed,  seemed  to 
be  the  threshold  of  more  swampy  ground  than 
we  had  yet  encountered,  and  presently  we 
found  ourselves  walking  along,  very  uncon- 
cernedly, through  a  tract  of  land  on  which 
the  water  was  often  half-way  up  to  our  knees. 
Our  minds  were  now  again  directed  to  the 
snipe,  and  so  successfully,  that  the  Major 
himself  spoke  of  the  sport  as  "good,"  and  his 
companions  looked  upon  it  as  something  very 
far  beyond  the  power  of  an  adjective  to 
qualify.  This  tract  passed,  and  the  afternoon 
passing  away,  we  determined  on  beating  back 
towards  the  shore,  but  this  time  in  a  most 
extended  range.  The  Major  was  to  beat  the 
copses  which  lay  under  the  hills  to  the  right  ; 
I  was  to  go  back  through  the  wood  where  we 
found  woodcocks  in  the  morning  ;  Silvertop 
was  to  beat  off  to  the  left,  and  have  another 
look  after  the  wild  ducks.  The  creek  on 
which  he  saw  ducks  in  the  morning  did  not 
run  very  far  up  ;  but  beyond  it,  quite  unknown 
to  him,  there  was  a  stream  that  ran  down  to 
the  sea ;  this  stream  he  reached,  and  began 
to  follow,  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
separated  from  his  friends.  He  wandered  on, 
and  for  some  reason  or  other  best  known  to 
himself,  the  Guardiano  followed  him,  though 
still  at  the  usual  respectful  distance.  Pre- 
sently, to  Silvertop's  great  astonishment,  a 
gaunt  miserable  figure  appeared  from  under 
the  bank,  and  regarded  him  with  a  fixed  and 
stolid  gaze  ;  it  was  the  first  human  being  any 
of  us  had  seen  in  the  country  that  day.  His 
appearance  was  abrupt  enough  and  singular  ; 
on  his  head  was  a  miserable  fez,  or  Turkish 
cap,  which  once  might  have  been  red,  but 
then  neutral  tint ;  there  was  no  trace  of  hair 
upon  his  temples,  and  his  whole  apparel  ap- 
peared to  consist  of  a  dirty  yellow  capote.  He 
.  was  a  peasant,  probably  come  out  of  some 
miserable  hut  on  the  hill  or  in  the  valley  to 
catch  fish,  or,  having  heard  the  guns,  to  obtain 
the  Albanian's  great  hope  in  life,  a  little 
powder.  Silvertop  was  addressed  by  the 


stranger  in  a  whining  voice,  of  which  one 
word  was  evidently  "Bai'onte  ;"  the  English- 
man said  "  Ah  !  "  and  bowed  politely,  having 
some  idea  about  national  peculiarities  of 
salutation,  but  the  Albanian  went  on  with  his 
whine  about  "  Baronte." 

The  situation  was  utterly  incapable  of 
explanation,  till  the  Guardiano  arrived,  having 
quickened  his  course  on  hearing  voices,  and 
he  vouchsafed  a  solution  of  the  difficulty  by 
remarking  to  Silvertop,  "  Want  powder,  sir," 
The  Englishman  was  perfectly  ready  to  bestow 
this  new  kind  of  alms,  and  was  going  towards 
the  object  of  it,  when  he  was  stopped  by  the 
Guardiano,  who  took  his  powder-flask,  and 
said  a  few  words  to  the  Albanian.  The  latter 
approached  a  little  way,  took  off  his  cap,  put 
it  down  on  the  ground,  and  retired  some 
yards.  The  Guardiano  opened  the  powder- 
flask,  and  shook  a  portion  of  its  contents  into 
the  cap,  but  carefully  avoided  touching  it, 
because  being  of  woollen  manufacture  it  is 
among  the  plague-branded  articles  of  quaran- 
tine. The  powder-flask  was  returned  to  its 
owner,  and  the  Albanian,  taking  up  his  cap, 
went  off  with  much  apparent  gratitude.  The 
Guardiano,  having  done  what  was  wanted, 
struck  off,  unobserved,  by  another  path,  and 
Silvertop  wandered  on  till  he  reached  an  open 
space,  which  ran,  uninterrupted  by  trees, 
quite  across  the  valley.  He  could  see  me,  about 
half  a  mile  to  his  left,  plodding  away,  and 
about  a  mile  beyond  him  he  could  discern 
the  occasional  smoke  of  the  Major's  gun, 
which  gave  evidence  of  his  having  found 
something  to  amuse  him  in  the  hill-side  shrub- 
beries. Either  of  us  might  have  incurred  the 
penalties  of  quarantine  fifty  times  over,  for  all 
the  Guardiano  could  tell,  but  the  Albanians 
are  scarce,  and  also  repulsive  ;  at  any  rate 
the  plague  has  never  yet  reached  Corfu  by 
such  means.  Silvertop,  having  tried  some- 
what of  a  cross-country  movement,  was 
stopped  by  the  creek  already  mentioned, 
which  had  again  narrowed  in  breadth,  but  of 
which  the  waters  were  wofully  muddy.  He 
followed  the  bank  some  way,  but  found  he 
was  approaching  the  lagoon  ;  and  so,  en- 
couraged by  the  Major's  late  example  in 
fording,  he  selected  an  apparently  favourable 
spot,  and  stepped  cautiously  in.  Two  steps 
took  him  half  across  the  creek  ;  he  took  the 
third,  and  found  himself  floundering  in  a 
treacherous  hole,  with  the  water  up  to  his 
chest,  and  the  mud  splashed  into  his  eyes. 
Luckily  there  were  overhanging  bushes  on 
the  bank,  and  by  their  aid  he  dragged  himself 
out.  There  was  no  help  for  it ;  his  gun  had 
escaped  wetting,  and  hie  came  out  safe  :  the 
only  thing  that  suffered  was  his  shooting 
dress.  So  he  trudged  on,  and  made  for  the 
rendezvous.  He  arrived  there  first  of  the 
party,  and  saw  the  dingey  coming  off  from  the 
yacht,  while  his  companions  were  fast  ap- 
proaclung  from  the  inland  covers. 

The  evening  was  as  beautiful  in  its  calm  as 
the  morning  had  been  in  its  brightness.  The 


Charles  Dickenn.] 


VILLAGE  FUNERALS  IN  NAPLES. 


19 


sun  was  going  down  behind  Santa  Deca  (the 
hill  of  the  Ten  Saints,  in  Corfu),  and  the  peaks 
of  the  Pindus  mountains  glowed  with  rosy 
hues,  in  the  light  shed  upon  the  silver  snows. 
Groups  of  wild  ducks,  in  sixes  and  sevens, 
were  continually  passing  overhead  to  their 
evening  feeding  grounds ;  the  Albanian  fishing 
boats  were  moving  out  of  the  bay,  with 
supplies  for  the  market  at  Corfu  ;  and  Pietro, 
in  the  dingey  again,  took  the  opportunity  to 
make  a  purchase  of  fish,  this  time,  for  our 
dinner.  Silvertop  sat  down,  and  mused  with 
himself  on  the  day ; — shooting,  and  yet  no 
keepers,  no  preserves,  no  game-laws,  streams 
to  ford,  holes  to  tumble  into,  and  a  health 
officer  dogging  one's  heels. 

By  way  of  finale,  a  huge  eagle  came  sail- 
ing by.  Silvertop  discharged  his  last  barrel 
at  him ;  but,  except  a  shake  of  the  fea- 
thers, and  an  extra  flap  of  the  wings,  the 
eagle  took  no  notice  of  the  insult ;  we  were 
then  partly  rowed  and  partly  punted  through 
the  shallows  to  the  Scowler.  Fifteen  couple 
of  snipe,  twenty  of  woodcocks,  and  eight  brace 
of  et-ceteras,  were  the  spoil  we  counted. 

Once  on  board  the  yacht,  a  change  of  apparel 
was  quickly  effected ;  and,  as  we  sat  down  to 
a  snug  dinner  in  the  cabin,  the  rattling  of  the 
chain  told  us  that  the  anchor  was  up,  and 
the  yacht  sped  on  her  return  voyage  to 
Corfu.  The  night  deepened  quickly  around 
us  ;  and  when,  later  in  the  evening,  I  lighted 
a  cigar  on  deck,  we  were  crossing  the 
Northern  passage,  and  the  only  sound  which 
broke  the  silence  was  the  howling  of  the 
jackals  on  the  Albanian  shore.  The  wind 
suited,  and,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  the 
anchor  was  let  go  in  our  former  roadstead ; 
and,  having  resolved  to  sleep  ashore,  we 
again  landed  hi  the  citadel  ditch.  The 
Guardiano  touched  his  cap,  and  vanished  in 
the  gloom. 


VILLAGE  FUNERALS  IN  NAPLES. 

Naples,  Fel>.  26. 

IF  our  Ferdinand  were  King  of  England, 
having  his  won  way  among  you,  doubtless 
many  Englishmen  would  think  that  Death 
and  Burial  might  form  the  happiest  event  in 
their  existence.  Do  not  be  surprised,  there- 
fore, if  I,  living  in  Naples,  and  wishing  to 
write  upon  a  cheerful  topic,  find  Death  and 
Burial  to  be,  at  any  rate,  not  the  most  gloomy 
I  could  lay  my  pen  upon. 

There  was  a  poor  fellow  to  whom,  one 
evening,  1  sent  a  supper.  Next  morning,  the 
church-bell  was  tolling  for  his  funeral.  To 
let  him  eat  my  supper  over- night,  and  to  bury 
him  in  the  morning,  was  to  be  very  quick 
with  poor  Giacomo.  In  his  case  the  law, 
which  requires  burial  twenty-four  hours 
after  death,  had  been  evaded,  as  it  often  is,  by 
ante-dating  the  hour  of  decease.  Quick 
burial  is  commonly  sought  ;  "  for,  you  know, 
my  dear  fellow,"  said  an  Italian  to  me,  "  we 
have  none  of  those  foolish  prejudices  which 
you  English  have." 


A  lighted  candle  at  the  mouth  distinguished 
death  from  life  ;  if  death  be  its  verdict,  the 
dead  is  dressed,  and  the  chamber  ornamented 
as  circumstances  permit.  It  becomes  a  re- 
ception chamber  into  which  every  one  is  free 
to  enter,  according  to  the  proverb  of  the 
country,  "  from  a  marriage  feast  or  a  funeral, 
drive  no  one  away."  I  went  a  few  days  since 
to  visit  a  poor  old  pensioner  of  mine  ;  but, 
on  coming  to  the  cottage,  found  the  door 
wide  open,  and  Costanziello  lying  with  his 
feet  towards  the  threshold,  on  his  funeral 
bed.  If  the  door  be  not  left  open,  say  the 
country  people,  the  body  will  tumble  to  the 
ground.  And,  as  for  the  direction  of  the 
feet,  "to  be  carried  out  feet  foremost,"  is 
only  a  periphrasis  for  death ;  and,  if  an 
invalid  were  carried  out  of  his  house-door, 
while  alive,  in  that  position,  it  would  be  con- 
sidered an  event  of  fatal  omen.  So  strong 
is  the  prejudice,  that  I  once  laboured,  in  vain, 
to  make  an  Italian  country-servant  place  my 
bed  opposite  the  chamber-door.  The  idea 
lingers  in  Italy  from  the  old  Roman  times  : 
Persius,  in  his  Third  Satire,  expresses  death 
by  saying,  that  a  man  "  stretched  his  stiff 
heels  towards  the  door."  Many  tapers  were 
arranged  about  the  body  of  poor  Costanziello, 
and  his  family  sat  silently  in  a  circle,  waiting 
for  sympathy  and  consolation.  "  A  taper  at 
baptism,  and  a  taper  at  death,"  say  the  poor 
people  of  this  country.  The  thought  of  the 
old  Roman  used  to  be  a  torch  at  marriage, 
and  a  torch  at  death.  To  "  live  between  the 
torches,"  is  the  expression  with  which  Pro- 
pertius  in  one  place  indicates  the  interval 
between  a  man's  wedding  and  his  funeral. 

When  the  priests  came  to  remove  Cos- 
tanziello's  body,  the  silence  was  at  an  end. 
There  arose  a  shouting  and  a  screaming  which 
remind  one  strongly  of  the  old  Roman  "  con- 
clamatio."  The  violent  outburst  of  passion 
in  these  southern  climes,  at  such  a  moment, 
is  sometimes  terrific.  The  priests  barely 
escape  personal  violence  now  and  then.  I 
remember — indeed,  how  could  I  forget  ? — one 
funeral  scene  ;  a  poor  woman  had  lost  her 
son,  a  fine  youth,  drowned  at  sea.  His  body 
had  not  been  recovered.  For  many  nights 
the  mother  wandered  alone  by  the  sea-shore, 
shrieking  for  her  child,  and  carrying  dry 
clothes  with  her  in  the  crazed  hope  that  he 
would  come  to  laud  and  need  her  tender 
nursing.  At  the  same  time,  there  lay  dying 
in  the  village  one  of  the  political  exiles,  far 
from  home  and  friends,  and  suddenly  all  the 
love  of  the  .distracted  mother  poured  itself 
out  upon  him.  Her  spirit,  blind  with  grief, 
saw  her  own  son  in  him  ;  and,  for  the  few 
last  hours  of  his  life,  she  lavished  on  the 
friendless  exile  all  the  fulness  of  her  mother's 
heart.  He  died  ;  and,  in  the  quiet  of  my 
own  chamber,  I  was  startled  by  the  desolate 
woman's  shrieks.  She  had  placed  herself 
upon  a  covered  balcony,  and  as  the  youth  was 
carried  out  feet  foremost,  held  out  her  sou's 
clothes  towards  him,  urging  him,  in  her 


20 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


madness,  to  return,  with  an  intense  pathos  of 
voice  and  gesture. 

In  the  villages  about  Naples  there  are 
many  pretty  funeral  customs.  The  un- 
married, when  they  die,  have  a  palm  leaf; 
or  failing  that,  a  bunch  of  flowers,  or  a  sprig 
of  olive,  called  the  palma,  placed  in  their 
clasped  hands  ;  and  they  wear,  also,  a  garland 
on  the  head.  The  married  have  their  hands 
crossed,  and  a  rosary  placed  in  one. 

The  order  of  the  funeral  is  a  great  subject 
of  care  ;  the  people  pawn,  or  incur  debt,  to 
obtain  the  attendance  of  a  certain  number  of 
priests ;  to  get  for  the  priest  a  particular 
robe  ;  to  pay  for  the  chanting  of  a  particular 
part  of  the  service  ;  a  procession  of  torches, 
and  a  high  mass  on  the  succeeding  Sunday. 
As  I  have  seen  such  funeral  processions, 
winding,  with  a  line  of  torch-light  through 
the  olive  grounds,  1  have  thought  often  how 
literally  they  repeat  a  picture  which,  in  the 
Eleventh  Book  of  the  "  ^Eneid "  (1.  144), 
Virgil  long  ago  presented.  The  chanting  of 
the  priests  upon  the  road  succeeds  the  mourn- 
ful music  of  old  dwellers  in  this  land  upon  a 
like  occasion,  and  the  sprinkling  with  holy 
water  after  the  funeral  service  has  been  read, 
supplants  lustration  of  the  men.  • 

The  act  of  burial  is  here  exceedingly  repul- 
sive. There  are  the  "  Confratelli,"  who  are 
banded  into  a  kind  of  burial  society.  They 
have  their  own  ground.  In  my  village  they 
have  an  oratorio  near  the  church,  of  which 
the  soil  is  thought  so  sacred  that  men  who 
tread  there  pick  it  reverently  from  their 
feet.  As  space  is  needed,  the  Confratelli  are 
disinterred.  A  messenger  is  then  sent  to  the 
family  to  ascertain  whether  they  desire  to 
preserve  the  head  of  the  deceased.  If  they 
do,  they  must  send  a  carlino  and  a  bottle  of 
vinegar  to  defray  the  expenses.  The  head  is 
then  taken  off,  and  the  skull  beautifully 
polished.  The  skulls,  prepared  thus,  are 
arranged  against  the  walls  in  various  devices, 
each  with  its  deceased  owner's  name  written 
upon  it.  At  the  "  Feast  of  the  Dead"  two  or 
more  recent  skulls  from  the  collection  are 
laid  out  on  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the 
church,  with  tables  and  a  crucifix.  The 
friends  of  the  deceased  thus  honoured  pay 
extreme  devotion  in  the  presence  of  the  pre- 
cious relics. 

Another  mode  of  burial  common  in  Eng- 
land also,  and  everywhere  most  objectionable, 
is  the  arrangement  of  bodies  in  vaults  under 
the  church.  A  third  mode  is,  I  hope,  peculiar 
to  the  kingdom  of  the  Two  Sicilies.  In  Naples, 
as  everyone  knows,  there  are  three  hundred 
and  sixty-five  holes  to  receive  the  poor  dead 
of  the  city.  Here,  in  this  country  village, 
there  are  only  two,  one  for  infants,  one  for 
adults.  The  body  of  the  deceased  is  brought 
to  the  mouth  of  the  pit.  and  there  stripped  of 
its  outer  garments.  This  is  done  because  the 
relatives  can  ill  afford  to  lose  them  ;  they 
are  articles  of  luxury  put  on  in  order  that 
the  dead  may  make  an  honourable  passage 


through  the  streets.  They  belong  often  to 
relatives.  I  know  a  man  to  this  day  who 
is  always  reproached  by  his  enemies  as  a 
heretic,  because  he  would  not  lend  his  breeches 
to  his  father's  body  for  the  passage  from  the 
chamber  to  the  grave.  At  the  pit's  mouth 
stand  the  grave-diggers,  who  seize  the  body 
carelessly,  as  though  it  were  a  sack  of  char- 
coal. Let  anyone  look  into  the  pit,  if  he  does 
not  shrink  from  the  horror,  and  he  will  per- 
ceive a  large  stone  or  rock,  on  either  side  of 
which  lie  human  bodies  of  any  sex  and  age,  in 
every  position  and  stage  of  corruption.  The 
stone  is  placed  there  for  a  purpose.  The  ser- 
vant of  the  pit,  holding  the  body  in  a  dexterous 
position,  gives  a  violent  push ;  you  hear  it  fall 
down  with  a  heavy  crash  upon  the  rock,  and 
swerve  to  right  or  left,  leaving  the  entrance 
free, — a  heavy,  sickening  blow,  which  beats 
the  skull  in,  or  breaks  dead  bones.  Let  us 
change  the  subject. 

There  is  a  custom  in  the  country  places 
here,  which  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen 
elsewhere,  of  abstaining  from  fire  during  the 
whole  time  that  a  corpse  is  in  the  house.  It 
would  be  a  disgrace  were  smoke  to  be  seen 
issuing  from  the  chimney  of  a  house  of  mourn- 
ing, and  the  fire  is  frequently  not  lighted  for 
some  days  after  the  burial.  The  mourners, 
it  is  supposed,  prostrated  by  their  loss,  are 
unable  to  think  of  food ;  the  neighbours, 
therefore,  think  for  them.  Hence  has  grown 
the  custom  of  sending  presents  of  food  to  the 
house  of  death.  I  have  known  families  to  be 
supplied  in  this  way  with  a  fortnight's  stock 
of  maccaroni,  meats,  or  sweetmeats  ;  all  such 
presents  being  cooked  to  tempt  an  unwilling 
appetite.  There  is  beauty  in  the  custom,  but 
it  dates  from  heathen  times.  Juvenal,  in  his 
Third  Satire  (1. 214),  connects  hatred  of  fire  with 
grief ;  the  hearth  was  sacred  to  the  household 
gods ;  "  a  continual  fire"  was  everywhere  an  old 
Roman  phrase  for  a  house  unvisited  by  grief. 

Among  the  country  people  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood, it  is  also  believed  that  the  dead  have 
leave  to  walk  on  the  vigil  of  the  Feast  of  the 
Dead,  and  then  some  families,  on  retiring  for 
the  night,  leave  food  on  the  table.  "  We 
always  used  to  leave  a  plate  of  maccaroni," 
said  a  woman  to  me ;  "  and  grandmother 
used  to  say,  that  perhaps  grandfather  or  my 
uncles  would  come  and  eat  it.  Though  it 
was  prepared  very  nicely,  and  grated  cheese 
put  over  it,  we  always  found  it  untouched 
in  the  morning  ;  but  grandmother  then  said 
that  the  spirits  were  satiated."  This  idea  was 
in  the  Roman  Silicernia,  and  has  been  a  super- 
stition in  countries  widely  separated  from  each 
other  since  the  remotest  times. 


Nearly  Ready,  Price  5s.  Gd.,  neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FOURTH    VOLUME 

OF 

HOUSEHOLD     WORDS. 

Containing  Nos.  79  to  103  inclusive,  (from  September  27 
1851,  to  March  13, 1852.) 


Fublie'ied  at  the  Office.  No  16.  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BKA'BUKI  &  £?!!<»,  Wb'tefriar».  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SHAKF.SPKABK. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL: 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


°-  105.] 


SATURDAY,  MARCH  27,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id. 


FLOATING  SENTINELS. 


WHAT  finger-posts,  warning-boards,  mile- 
stones, sign-posts,  watchmen,  watch-dogs, 
lanterns,  and  long  poles  with  wisps  of  straw 
at  the  top,  are  to  the  wayfarer  by  land — a 
certain  fleet  of  wooden  and  iron  sentinels, 
bobbing  about  among  the  waves,  are  to  the 
wayfarers  round  our  most  dangerous  coast. 
They  are  of  various  shapes,  and  sizes,  and 
colours,  and  each  has  its  special  duty.  We 
hear  that  a  fleet  of  these  sentinels  has  just 
come  ashore  for  a  holiday,  and  accordingly  we 
betake  ourselves  to  their  house  and  premises, 
which  we  find  to  belong  to  the  Honourable 
Corporation  of  the  Trinity  Board,  at  Black- 
wall.  We  are  received  by  the  worthy  and 
hospitable  godfather  of  these  Buoys,  Captain 
Poulter,  Superintendent  under  the  Elder 
Brethren,  who  kindly  offers  to  introduce  us  to 
the  Buoys  at  their  abode  in  the  great  store- 
room of  the  Trinity  Wharf,  where  they  are 
now  taking  their  ease  and  some  "  refresh- 
ments "  after  their  long  absence  at  sea. 

We  proceed  along  the  wharf,  and  arrive  at 
a  huge  building  of  the  simplest  order  of 
architecture,  viz.,  the  order  of  the  "barn," 
being  a  great  one-roomed  house.  We  enter  by 
a  door  of  considerable  dimensions,  suited  to 
the  convenience  of  the  nautical  Patagonians  ; 
and,  without  any  intermediate  ceremonies,  we 
mid  ourselves  at  once  in  the  presence  of  the 
burly  crowd  of  British  Coast-Buoys. 

Imagine  yourself  in  the  midst  of  an  assem- 
blage of  three  or  four  hundred  peg-tops  and 
humming-tops  of  eight  and  ten  feet  in  height, 
some  humorously  standing  on  their  heads 
with  their  pegs  uppermost,  others  lying  on 
their  great  round  stomachs  asleep,  or  in  medi- 
tation ;  a  few  youngsters  are  only  of  six  feet 
in  height,  at  present,  but  here  and  there  are 
some  of  seventeen  feet  and  upwards,  being 
grown  to  full  maturity.  Some  of  these  very 
jolly  buoys  are  all  white,  others  all  black  ; 
some  all  red  ;  others  of  black  and  white  in 
stripes — horizontal  or  vertical  stripes — or 
black  and  white  in  chequers.  Some  are  all 
green,  with  an  ominous  word  in  great  white 
letters  upon  them — "  WRECK." 

But  though  the  general  form  of  these 
Patagonian  Peg-tops  is  pear-shaped  or  conical, 
their  appearance  is  greatly  diversified  by 
sundry  insignia  they  bear,  stuck  on  the  top 


of  their  pegs  on  their  \ipper  side — whichever 
side  is  intended  to  be  uppermost — these 
insignia  being  squares,  circles,  bird-cages,  rat- 
traps,  diamonds  or  lozenges,  upraised  fingers, 
funnels,  stars,  and  other  crosses  and  orders, 
which  denote  the  rank  of  the  Buoy  in  question, 
and  which,  by  a  mutual  telegraphic  under- 
standing between  it  and  the  captains  of  vessels, 
serve  to  designate  the  position  and  point  of 
duty  it  is  placed  to  occupy  and  fulfil  at  sea. 

The  Buoys  have  all  been  at  sea  for  six 
months ;  and  they  are  now  ashore  for  six 
mouths,  at  the  end  of  which  period  they  will 
all  go  to  sea  again. 

We  are  presented,  in  due  form,  by  Captain 
Poulter  to  most  of  the  head  buoys  of  this  great 
maritime  establishment.  This  robust  figure 
in  the  white  pea-jacket,  with  a  thin  neck  and 
a  small  round  head,  is  Master  Knowle  ;  and 
the  fellow  to  him,  here,  is  Master  South-East 
Whiting  !  This  figure  in  the  black  jacket, 
with  a  large  cross  through  his  head,  is  Master 
Long  Sand  Head  ;  this  tall,  gourd-shaped 
youngster,  in  a  long  coat,  encircled  with  broad 
horizontal  stripes,  is  Master  South-West  Ship- 
wash  ;  this  large  red-coated  youth,  with  a  red 
funnel-head,  is  no  less  a  person  than  Master 
North-East  Goodwin  (of  Goodwin  Sands, 
Hamsgate),  and  his  companion,  here — though 
they  are  much  further  apart  when  out  at  sea — 
in  the  long  black  pilot-coat,  with  a  black  round 
bird-cage  head,  is  Master  South-East  Good- 
win !  Master  North  Cross  Sand,  in  his  red- 
ochre  jacket,  Master  Soutli  Scroby,  in  black, 
and  Master  Morte  Stone,  of  Bristol  Channel, 
who,in  his  severe  simplicity  of  outline,  presents 
the  figure  of  an  acorn,  or  filbert,  are  all  excel- 
lent persons,  whose  acquaintance  we  are 
delighted  to  make.  We  also  make  a  low  bow 
to  Master  South  Calliper,  not  so  much  on 
account  of  his  broad  black-and-white  stripes, 
as  out  of  reverence  for  the  mysterious,  inverted 
bushel-basket  sort  of  crown  he  wears  upon 
his  head  !  Another  figure  now  claims  a  marked 
attention.  Master  Elbow,  of  Broadstairs  ! 
He  is  painted  in  black-and-white  Scotch  Tweed 
chequers,  lies  upon  his  stomach  when  on 
duty,  and  is  surmounted  by  an  iron  rod  with 
a  "  stay "  or  support  of  another  iron  rod 
placed  at  an  acute  angle  abaft,  on  the  united 
points  of  which  at  the  top  there  is  placed  a 
small  circle  of  iron.  Sat  verbum — see  the 
chart  of  the  Channel.  The  very  diversified 


VOL.  V. 


105 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


appearance  of  these  Buoys  excites  our  admira- 
tion ;  but  let  no  one,  for  an  instant,  suppose 
that  there  is  any  mere  notion  of  "  ornamental 
art  "  in  these  varieties.  Each  has  its  special 
post  ;  so  that  if  you  took  Master  Long  Sand 
Head  this  morning,  and  made  him  change 
places  with  Master  South-East  Goodwin, 
before  to-morrow  moi-uiug  there  would  be  a 
score  of  wrecks'  and  no  end  of  confusion  in 
ships'  reckonings — in  fact,  any  exchange  sud- 
denly made  would  produce  extraordinary 
disasters.  But  who  is  this  ?  Master  Aid- 
borough  Knapes  !  This  ingenious  young 
person  presents  the  appearance  of  an  enor- 
mous kitchen  candlestick,  the  foot  and  entire 
pedestal  of  which  remain  under  water  when 
he  is  on  duty,  by  which  means  he  is  ballasted 
and  kept  in  an  upright  position.  His  peculiar 
faculty,  and  the  cause  and  consequence  of  his 
singular  shape,  is  that  of  being  able  to  dive 
under  a  ship's  bottom,  and  instantly  bob  up 
again  on  the  other  side,  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  As  he  is  in  a  position  which 
renders  him  very  liable  to  be  run  over  at 
night,  and  even  by  day,  he  finds  this  peculiar 
faculty  very  convenient.  This  White  Buoy, 
supposed  to  be  of  Irish  origin,  which  lies  in 
the  same  horizontal  attitude  when  at  sea,  and 
displays  a  similar  insignia  upon  his  iron  rods 
above,  is  Master  South  Margate  ;  and  this 
prodigious  black  Humming  Top,  who  stands 
bolt  upright,  with  a  small  iron  circle  exhibited 
on  the  top  of  a  structure  of  iron  bars  fixed 
into  his  flat  head,  is  Master  East  Margate  ! 
We  beg  tli  at  our  presentation  to  the  rest  of 
these  floating  sentinels  may  be  postponed  to 
another  visit,  as  we  have  now  many  other 
things  to  see.  The  Buoys,  in  reply,  quote 
Dr.  Johnson,  as  we  are  informed,  and  say, 
"  They  can  wait !  " 

We  have  mentioned  our  friend  Captain 
Poulter,  as  the  godfather  of  all  these  big 
buoys ;  but  he  stands  in  a  yet  nearer  and 
dearer  relation  to  many  of  them,  the  inven- 
tion and  design  of  which  are  attributable  to 
him,  under  the  advice  of  the  Board,  and 
their  fabrication  having  taken  place  under  his 
immediate  eye.  Not  only  does  he  give  each 
of  them  a  new  coat  (of  many  colours),  and 
a  new  breeching,  too,  every  six  months,  but 
he  has  instituted  a  change  in  the  structure 
of  those  made  of  wood,  which  tends  to  pre- 
serve the  coat  in  its  original  purity  for  a 
much  longer  period  than  before  its  adoption. 
Formerly  the  wooden  buoys  used  to  be  bound 
Avith  iron  hoops,  and,  notwithstanding  the 
paint,  they  soon  corroded  sufficiently  to  emit 
streaming  stains  of  rust,  so  that  a  white  buoy 
shortly  became  a  mottled  buoy,  and  eventually 
almost  a  Eed  Indian.  The  change  and  pre- 
servation of  the  coat  has  been  effected  by  an 
internal  arrangement  of  wood-work,  as  hold- 
fasts and  strengtheners,  so  that  all  the  outer 
hoops  and  iron-work  are  dispensed  with;  yet, 
such  is  the  dread  of  innovation  in  the  sage  and 
mature  mind  of  maritime  authority,  that  it 
took  the  little  interval  of  seventeen  years  to  get 


this  improvement  brought  into  general  adop- 
tion. But  buoys,  made  entirely  of  wrought- 
iron,  have  subsequently  been  introduced 
among  the  fleet  of  wood,  and  are  found  to 
have  advantages  in  certain  localities.  The 
last  improvement  proposed  by  the  Super- 
intendent, and  adopted  by  the  Board,  is  the 
construction  of  a  larger-sized  buoy  of  wrought- 
iron,  as  a  three-decker — or  having  three  com- 
partments, each  air-tight,  so  that  in  the  event 
of  a  ship  dashing  against  it,  and  bursting 
in  one  compartment,  the  buoy  would  still 
float  by  means  of  the  air  in  the  other 
compartments.  These  biioys  are  of  the 
enormous  size  of  seventeen  feet  in  height, 
and  one  of  them  is  twenty  feet.  We  should 
not  omit  to  state  that  a  buoy  is  made  to 
retain  its  upright  position  by  means  of  a  lower 
division,  or  cell,  which  has  a  hole  in  it  below 
to  admit  the  water,  with  an  air-hole  above  ; 
by  means  of  which  water- weight  at  the  lower 
end,  the  buoy  is  ballasted.  This  lower  division, 
whether  in  wood  or  iron,  is  called  the  ballast- 
bag.  By  similar  means  a  buoy  is  made  to 
float  horizontally  or  aslant,  as  may  be  most 
suitable  to  circumstances.  A  buoy  is  kept 
in  its  place  by  a  large  chain  affixed  to  a  ring 
at  the  bottom,  which  descends  the  requisite 
number  of  fathoms,  when  it  is  fastened  to  a 
large  flat  iron  slab,  called  a  "  sinker,"  as  well 
it  may  be,  for  it  weighs  twelve  hundred 
weight :  and  sometimes,  where  the  situa- 
tion is  exposed  to  the  violence  of  winds  and 
tides,  as  much  as  two  tons.  There  are  occa- 
sions, also,  when  a  mushroom  anchor  is  em- 
ployed, which  weighs  nearly  this  amount, 
having  besides  a  holding  property,  that  would 
render  it  impossible  to  be  dragged  by  any 
amount  of  force  which  the  buoy  could  expe- 
rience, or  his  chain  endure. 

The  importance  of  the  chain  being  of  an 
ascertained  and  reliable  strength  for  a  given 
purpose,  is  obvious,  and  we  should  not  omit  to 
mention  the  means  that  Captain  Poulter  adopts 
for  testing  and  proving  every  chain  used  for  a 
buoy,  or  supplied  to  any  of  the  light- ships  in 
the  service.  The  required  amount  of  strength 
being  known,  he  causes  the  chain  to  be  tried, 
by  appending  weight  to  it  far  greater.  If  the 
force  required,  for  instance,  amount  to  a  strain 
equal  to  eight  or  ten  tons,  he  applies  a  weight 
of  twenty  tons.  In  general,  he  tries  each  chain 
up  to  sustaining  a  weight  of  thirty  tons, — 
eighty  tons  being  known  as  the  fair  breaking 
point.  If  a  chain  has  undergone  the  ordeal 
of  thirty  tons  uninjured,  he  then  examines 
every  fathom,  link  by  link,  and  selects  any 
one  link  that  appears,  in  the  least  degree,  to 
suggest  an  imperfection,  or  to  be,  in  the  least 
degree,  less  strong  than  the  rest.  The  chain 
is  then  taken  to  an  anvil,  and  this  particular 
link  being  singled  out,  two  blacksmiths  with 
massive  hammers  continue  to  strike  it,  cold, 
in  successive  blows.  It  may  be  beaten  into 
triangles,  squares,  octagons,  ovals,  and  finally 
flattened,  and  cut  away  from  the  chain  ;  but 
it  must  not  break,  split,  or  show  a  flaw.  If 


Charles  Dickens.] 


FLOATING  SENTINELS. 


it  does  "  flinch"  in  any  respect,  the  whole  chain 
is  condemned,  and  returned  to  the  severely- 
tried  contractor.  It  would  be  well  for  the 
public  service  if  all  government  contracts  (so 
long  as  the  odious  and  mischievous  system 
exists  of  proposing  to  men  to  under-bid  each 
other,  instead  of  offering  a  fair  sum  to  the 
best  man)  were  tested  with  the  same  severity. 
A  record  of  all  these  chain-tests  is  kept,  and 
of  a  most  substantial  kind ;  the  link  in  question 
being  preserved,  ticketed  and  hung  up,  and  a 
book  kept  ;  so  that  reference  can  be  made 
directly,  if  any  chain,  furnished  by  the  Trinity 
Buoy  Wharf,  is  reported  to  have  "  parted," 
when  it  ought  to  have  held  fast. 

Attached  to  this  establishment  is  a  black- 
smith's shop,  and  a  whitesmith's,  for  the 
repair,  testing,  and  so  forth,  of  all  iron-\york, 
and  for  the  manufacture  of  any  small  articles 
needed  for  the  buoys  or  the  light-boats — the 
latter  being  supplied  and  fitted  out  with  every 
thing  necessary  at  this  Wharf.  A  room  is  set 
apart  as  a  butcher's  shop,  where  the  masters 
of  the  light-boats  cut  up  and  salt  all  their 
store  of  meat  ;  and  by  the  side  of  it  is 
another  small  room,  which  contains  the  pump- 
works  of  an  Artesian  well,  of  two  hundred  and 
forty-five  feet  in  depth,  where  all  the  supply 
of  fresh  water  for  their  tanks  is  obtained. 

Let  us  proceed  to  look  at  the  general  store- 
rooms for  supplying  the  light-houses,  light- 
boats,  and  beacons  along  the  coast  —  not 
forgetting  any  little  additional  matter  that 
may  add  to  the  comfort  and  safety  of  the 
buoys. 

We  pass  through  store-rooms — clean,  as 
only  naval  officers  seem  to  know  how  to 
keep  a  place  clean  (for  certainly  the  sight  of  a 
morsel  of  rag,  a  fallen  button,  or  a  pin,  would 
"  stand  out "  as  an  effect  upon  the  surface)  ; 
and  in  side  offices  and  closets  we  discover 
shelves  full  of  lamp-glasses  of  different  sizes  ; 
cupboards  full  of  reflectors  ;  drawers  full  of 
lamp-wicks,  like  rolls  of  linen ;  shelves  crowded 
with  bright  copper  oil-measures  ;  nooks  and 
corners  filled  with  bales  of  lamp-leathers, 
cloths,  and  whitening,  and  soap,  and  other 
cleaning  and  polishing  materials  ;  while  over- 
head are  hanging  groves  of  mops,  hand-brushes, 
and  brooms.  All  this  light-house  chandlery 
on  the  left  side  :  on  the  right  are  stowed,  like 
a  dead  wall  rising  up  to  the  ceiling,  a  battery 
of  black  round-headed  oil -cans,  each  fixed 
firmly  in  a  circular  black  basket,  so  as  to  be 
protected  from  injury  when  carried  up  cliffs, 
or  sent  up  by  the  side  of  rocks  or  light-house 
stone-work  from  boats  below,  or  other  rough- 
and-ready-work,  on  emergencies. 

We  pass  on  to  the  oil-store.  This  is  a 
great  square  room,  paved  with  large  slabs  of 
slate,  so  clean  and  clear  from  the  slightest 
crumb  to  catch  the  eye,  that  the  entire  surface 
looks  like  one  enormous  slate.  On  the  right- 
hand  side  is  ranged  a  compact  set  of  oil- 
tanks  and  cisterns,  all  painted  in  Venetian 
red,  and  fixed  close  against  the  wall.  At 
the  opposite  end  stands  a  row  of  smaller 


tanks,  containing  olive  oil,  for  engines,  also 
painted  red.  Each  has  a  large  brass  tap, 
with  a  copper  mouth-piece  hung  beneath  it, 
to  catch  any  dripping,  together  with  a  copper 
trough  on  the  floor  below,  to  prevent  waste 
or  untidiness.  Copper  oil-measures  of  all 
sizes  are  ranged  on  shelves.  These  tanks  and 
cisterns  contain  the  enormous  quantity  of  one 
hundred  and  thirteen  tons  of  oil.  All  the 
light-houses,  light-boats,  and  beacons  on  the 
coast  are  supplied  from  this  source. 

Passing  out  through  other  store-rooms,  the 
floors  of  which  are  half-covered  with  small 
kegs  of  whitelead  for  painting  purposes,  and 
with  ranges  of  small  red  windlasses,  or  cranes, 
for  heaving  up  lanterns  to  the  mast-heads  of 
light-boats,  we  arrive  at  the  chain-cable  tiers 
of  the  buoys,  all  ranged  according  to  their 
several  sizes  and  lengths,  and  all  painted 
black,  and  shining  in  their  dark  massive 
repose.  A  little  railway,  or  tram-road,  is 
constructed  from  the  level  of  the  store- 
rooms, which  runs  straight  down  to  the  end 
of  the  wharf,  so  that  trucks  laden  an4  empty 
can  go  and  return  from  the  stores  to  the 
boats,  without  delay  or  effort,  and  a  cargo  of 
all  sorts  of  things  is  thus  "  trundled  oat "  in 
a  surprisingly  short  space  of  time.  Certainly 
no  practical  operations,  requiring  strength, 
precision,  and  celerity,  are  carried1  out  with 
such  undeviating  accuracy,  as  when  they  are 
under  the  direction  of  an  active  and  intel- 
ligent naval  officer  of  experience. 

A  light-ship  (we  call  them  all  light-boats) 
is  a  creature  of  peculiar  construction;  all  its 
fittings-up  are  peculiar ;  its  crew  is  peculiar, 
and  all  their  duties  are  peculiar.  Imagine 
a  three-masted  vessel  of  the  size  of  a  small 
steam-boat,  but  with  bulwarks  of  great 
strength,  and,  in  short,  presenting  all  the 
features  of  strength  and  compactness,  and 
the  whole  frame-work  painted  a  dull  Venetian 
red.  All  its  fittings-up  and  apparatus  on 
deck  are  painted  red  also.  Every  piece  of 
machinery  that  is  on  deck  is  either  painted 
red,  or  protected  by  a  red  water-proof  canvas 
cover.  There  is  a  lantern  for  each  mast-head, 
but  not  visible  during  the  day.  Each  one  is 
lowered  and  sleeps  in  a  locker,  or  case,  at  the 
foot  of  the  mast — or  rather,  where  the  mast 
joins  the  deck.'  -  The  lantern  is  a  circular 
frame-work  of  metal,  with  glass  windows  ail 
round,  and  varying  from  three  to  four  feet  in 
diameter.  They  are  hoisted  up  to  their 
position  at  the  mast-head  every  night,  by 
means  of  a  small  crane,  called  from  its  shape 
an  A  crane.  Some  of  these  lights  i,n  the 
light-ships  are  revolving,  for  which  the^e  is  a 
clock-work  apparatus  on  the  deck,  with  a  com- 
munication up  the  sides  of  the  mast.  During 
the  day-time,  a  signal  to  vessels  is  given  by 
means  of  a  top-mast,  on  the  summit  of  which 
is  placed  a  large  globe  made  of  wooden  hoops, 
and  having  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a 
globular  bird-cage.  To  get  this  up  to  such  j 
a  position,  as  no  shrouds  run  so  high,  and  the  I 
globe  could  only  be  fixed  there  by  a  manual 


24 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


operation  (to  leave  it  swinging  would  be  out 
of  the  question,  as  it  would  soon,  be  knocked 
to  atoms)  was  found  to  be  a  work  of  so 
much  difficulty,  that  Captain  Poulter  at 
length  devised  an  alteration  in  the  construction 
of  the  globe,  by  which  it  should  be  taken  up 
one  half  at  a  time,  and  then  fixed  on  the  top  of 
the  topmast.  The  man  who  first  performed 
this  experiment,  found  that  he  could  not  iix 
the  globe  without  standing  in  the  inside  of 
one  half  while  he  fastened  up  the  other.  This 
being  successfully  done,  it  then  occurred  to 
him,  and  to  all  those  on  deck  who  were  look- 
ing on,  that  there  had  been  no  provision  for 
his  getting  out !  There  stood  the  man  in  the 
globe-cage  at  the  tip-top  of  the  topmast,  in  a 
situation  at  once  painful  and  ludicrous — so 
excellently  had  he  fastened  himself  in  this 
novel  prison.  After  a  time,  he  was  enabled 
to  break  out  and  come  down,  and  the 
globe  has  now  a  little  trap-door  underneath. 
These  hoop  globes  are  of  great  use,  being 
visible  from  a  great  distance  at  sea.  A  flag 
is  not  visible  far  off,  as  it  straightens  in  the 
direction  of  the  wind.  Many  of  the  buoys 
display  a  hoop-globe  of  similar  construction 
on  the  top  of  an  iron  rod  sticking  out  of  their 
heads. 

In  the  exposed  and  stormy  positions  where 
most  of  the  light-ships  are  destined  to  be 
moored,  they  are  continually  exposed  to 
tossing  seas,  and  to  waves  running  completely 
over  the  decks — and  this  for  days  together. 
Every  precaution  is  taken  to  keep  out  the 
sea  from  the  interior  of  the  vessel,  where 
men  are  destined  to  live  under  such  tem- 
pestuous circumstances,  cut  off  from  all  the 
rest  of  the  world.  The  decks  are  saturated 
all  over  with  a  mixture  of  resin  and  turpen- 
tine, so  as  to  render  them  impervious  to  wet, 
and  not  only  is  each  hatchway  carefully 
defended,  but  even  the  apertures  through 
which  the  mooring-cables  pass  up  from  below, 
are  protected  by  iron  hoods,  like  helmets  of  a 
primitive  form. 

The  crew  of  the  light-ship  is  composed 
of  eleven  inen,v  with  a  mate  and  captain. 
They  are  all  picked  men,  as  to  character ; 
and  to  provide  against  illness,  as  well  as  to 
break  the  monotony  of  the  life,  seven  only 
remain  on  board  at  a  time,  and  four  ashore, 
always  ready  to  attend  a  summons.  Here 
then,  in  some  position  of  the  most  dangerous 
kind,  oil  the  most  dangerous  part  of  our 
dangerous  coast,  does  the  light-ship  ride — 
or  rather  toss,  roll,  heave,  and  plunge — at 
anchor  ;  battered  by  the  raging  seas,  howled 
round  by  the  raging  winds,  threatened  at  all 
times  by  wreck  upon  the  lee  of  those  very 
sands  or  rocks  she  is  placed  to  warn  others 
to  avoid,  and  remaining  fixed  at  her  post  in 
"thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain,"  even  while 
the  "hurly-burly"  of  the  elements  seems  de- 
termined at  every  moment  to  drive  her  to 
utter  destruction,  Great  care,  however,  is 
taken  to  provide  for  her  safety,  as  far  as 
practicable.  She  is  always  moored  by  the 


mushroom  anchor,  and  anchors  of  a  ton 
weight. 

The  fitting-up  of  the  interior  is  of  the  most 
careful  and  ingenious  description.  The 
berths,  the  mess-table,  and  seats  (all  fixtures), 
the  lockers,  the  oil-room,  with  its  tanks,  each 
with  a  copper  trough  under  its  nose,  to  pre- 
vent the  least  waste  or  uncleanliness  ;  the 
copper  oil-measures  "all  of  a  row  ;"  the  spare 
hoop-globes  for  the  topmasts,  made  to  collapse, 
so  as  to  present  a  flat  surface,  and  thus  occupy 
much  less  space  ;  Captain  Poulter 's  iron  in- 
vention for  securing  any  link  of  a  chain-cable 
which  may  be  thought  faulty,  so  that  it  can- 
not break  ;  the  rocket-store ;  the  life-pre- 
servers ;  the  powder-magazine ;  the  obviously 
pervading  system  that  there  is  a  place  for 
everything,  and  everything  must  be  in  its 
place, — all  these  things  denote  a  degree  of 
foresight  and  order  that  reflect  the  highest 
credit  upon  the  service,  as  well  as  the  officer 
who  superintends  them. 

The  men  are  promoted  according  to  se- 
niority and  good  conduct.  It  is  a  high  honour 
to  be  made  a  lamp-lighter.  He  must  be  a 
steady  man,  of  much  light-boat  experience, 
and  be  able  to  read  and  write.  Why  must  a 
man  be  able  to  read  and  write  in  order  to 
rise  to  the  post  of  a  lamp-lighter,  we  enquired  ? 
We  were  informed  that  it  was  expected  of 
him  to  keep  a  reckoning  of  his  "oil  and 
wicks,"  of  which  a  strict  account  was  always 
required.  The  senior  lamp-lighter  becomes 
mate  ;  the  senior  mate  •becomes  master. 

In  vessels  requiring  such  an  exact  perform- 
ance of  duties,  where  great  precision  like 
this,  relating  to  all  the  lamps  and  their  appa- 
ratus, is  imperatively  necessary,  in  addition 
to  the  care  of  the  ship  under  her  perilous 
circumstances  ;  it  may  be  imagined  that  many 
hours  of  the  time  not  devoted  to  sleep  are 
fully  occupied.  Still,  there  will  be  spare 
time  ;  and  the  men  are  ordered  to  make  mats 
and  other  articles.  Still,  there  will  be  more 
spare  time  ;  and  as  this  might  be  filled  up  by 
"  Sroo  aud  tobacco,"  it  has  been  thought  pru- 
dent to  encourage  reading,  writing,  and  the 
employment  of  leisure  in  any  sort  of  industry 
for  which  the  men  have  a  "  turn."  This  has 
brought  to  light  many  an  original  genius  (of 
a  sort),  and  some  have  had  a  sudden  fancy 
that  they  could  paint  a  portrait,  or  a  ship- 
wreck, or  a  church,  with  a  sailor  and  his  lass 
going  to  be  married  ;  and  others  have  shone 
forth  as  makers  of  nautical  Tonbridge-ware  ; 
some  have  knitted  purses  and  stockings,  and 
nightcaps  and  comforters  ;  and  others  have 
made  shoes  and  ankle-jacks — to  say  nothing 
of  "  fashionable"  coats  and  trousers — all  self- 
taught.  Occasionally  the  heterogeneous  col- 
lection of  these  works  of  art  and  utility  which 
is  brought  ashore  as  the  product  of  the  extra 
spare  time,  forms  an  exhibition  of  an  amusing, 
and  yet  more  interesting  kind,  as  the  product 
of  those  honest  active  minds,  and  huge  maho- 
gany hands. 

These  Light-ships,  thus  nobly  manned,  are 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  BTJEIED  CITY  OF  CEYLON. 


25 


the  grand  floating  sentinel?  of  the  British 
Channel;  and  in  conjunction  with  the  Buoys, 
are  the  great  protection  against  shipwreck 
along  our  perilous  coast.  Experience  shows 
that  it  is  much  better  these  things  should  be 
thus  managed  by  a  regular  system  laid  down 
by  a  competent  Board,  than  by  any  individual 
speculations. 


THE  BUEIED   CITY   OF   CEYLON. 


ROBKRT  KNOX  was  the  captain  of  an  English 
ship  which  was  wrecked  in  1659,  upon  the 
coast  of  Ceylon.  The  other  survivors  of  the 
wreck  perished  in  the  forest — about  which 
they  wandered  many  days  naked  and  hungry. 
The  captain  fell  in  with  some  people  of  the 
nation,  who  took  him  to  Kandy.  There  he 
was  kept  a  prisoner  for  about  twenty  years, 
forbidden  to  attempt  departure  by  the  penalty 
of  death ;  but  otherwise  permitted  imre- 
strained  intercourse  with  the  inhabitants. 
He  at  length  escaped,  and  found  his  way 
home  to  England,  where  he  soon  published  a 
very  interesting  account  of  his  life  in  Ceylon. 
During  his  flight  from  Kandy,  which  is  in  the 
centre  of  the  country,  to  the  northern  coast — 
a  very  ticklish  enterprise — he  passed  the  ruins 
of  the  ancient  capital  of  Ceylon. 

This  ancient  capital,  Anurajapoora  by 
name  (which  means  the  city  of  Anuraja,  its 
founder),  once  the  chief  town  of  a  luxuriant 
kingdom,  and  evidently  of  considerable  ex- 
tent, lies  buried  in  the  northern  portion  of 
the  island.  At  the  time  when  it  was  in 
its  most  flourishing  condition,  it  has  been 
estimated  that  Ceylon  contained  five  millions 
of  inhabitants.  It  does  not  now  contain  one- 
third  of  that  number,  but  Ceylon  is  an  island 
that  has  seen  better  days  ;  Eastern  wealth  of 
matter  has  long  yielded  before  the  rivalry  of 
Western  wealth  of  mind.  Ceylon  was  one  of 
the  good  things  of  the  world  more  than  one 
thousand  years  ago.  The  island  then  carried 
on  an  important  trade  with  China  and  Siam  ; 
it  was  connected  with  those  countries  by 
religious  ties  ;  and  it  was  through  Ceylon  that 
the  productions  of  the  far  East  made  their 
way  to  the  Red  Sea  and  the  Persian  Gulf.  Its 
agriculture  was  then  in  a  thriving  condition; 
for  the  mountains,  even  now,  are  covered  to 
their  summits  with  terraces  on  which  rice 
grew  for  the  sustenance  of  men  who  have 
become  dust — and  which  have  become  rice, 
and  food,  and  men,  and  dust  again,  through 
many  a  long  succession  of  ages.  The  kings  of 
Ceylon,  too,  had  conquered  Southern  India. 

A  few  of  the  larger  monuments  and  more 
massive  structures  of  Anurajapoora  still  re- 
main standing  and  exposed  ;  but,  generally 
speaking,  the  various  ruins  have  become  so 
overgrown  with  vegetation,  that  they  resemble 
natural  hills,  covered  with  a  forest,  rather 
than  the  remains  of  works  of  art.  "  Here 
and  there,"  writes  Robert  Knox,  in  the  ac- 
count of  his  flight,  "  Plere  and  there  by  the 
side  of  this  little  river,  is  a  world  of  hewn 


stone  pillars,  which  I  suppose  were  formerly 
buildings  ;  and  in  three  or  four  places  are  the 
ruins  of  bridges  built  of  stone,  some  remains 
of  them  yet  standing  upon  stone  pillars.  They 
told  me  that  ninety  kings  reigned  here  suc- 
cessively, where,  by  the  ruins  that  still  remain, 
it  appears  they  spared  not  pains  and  labour 
to  build  temples  and  high  monuments  to  the 
honour  of  their  gods,  as  if  they  had  been  made 
only  to  hew  rocks  and  great  stones,  and  lay 
them  up  in  heaps  ;  these  kings  are  now 
happy  spirits,  having  merited  it  by  these  their 
labours." 

In  1815,  the  British  became  the  rulers  of 
the  whole  island  ;  and  early  in  184(5,  I  turned 
my  face  in  that  direction — having  seen  all  the 
lions  of  Kandy — and,  with  several  attendants 
carryingall  the  necessary  comforts  fora  journey 
in  the  East,  succeeded  in  getting  over  the  sixty 
miles.  The  road  was  but  a  "trace;"  that  is,  trees 
were  felled  in  the  forest,  where  the  road  was 
to  be,  and  thrown  on  one  side  ;  the  brooks 
and  rivers  were  unspanned  by  bridges,  and  the 
sides  of  the  hills  no  smoother  than  they  had 
been  made  by  nature.  Here  and  there  some 
big  tree  stretched  across  the  "  trace  ;"  not 
having  been  able  to  combat  the  storms,  when 
deprived  of  the  support  of  its  neighbours  on 
that  side,  it  had  fallen.  Tropical  trees  of  a 
very  large  size  are  so  accustomed  to  grow  in  a 
tangle,  mutually  pi'opping  one  another,  that 
they  take  weak  hold  of  the  ground  with  their 
roots,  and  need  no  very  heavy  storm  to  blow 
them  down,  when  they  are  left  lone  and  lorn. 
Such  trees  my  horse  could,  now  and  then,  leap 
over,  but  more  frequently  we  had  to  force  a 
way  through  the  jungle  round  the  base  of  an 
obstructive  monster.  Forcing  the  jungle  is 
no  joke  when  the  wiry  plants  cling  to  each 
other,  and  co-operate  against  an  interloper  ; 
the  brushwood  being  so  dense,  that  one 
cannot  see  live  feet  into  the  forest  on  either 
side. 

However,  I  reached  Anurajapoora,  famous 
now  as  the  head  quarters  of  miasma,  foul 
damps,  feverish  winds,  and  ague  exhalations, 
formerly  the  abode  of  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  men,  sunning  themselves,  generation  after 
generation,  in  the  presence  of  a  series  of  kings, 
who  held  court  in  pomp  and  splendour  where 
there  is  now  nothing  but  jungle. 

On  reaching  the  site  of  the  ancient  city, 
I  immediately  went  to  the  top  of  a  small 
hill,  formerly  a  majestic  pile  of  building. 
Thence  I  .surveyed  the  district.  Here  and 
there  all  around  rose  various  mounds,  for  the 
most  part  covered  with  thick  jungle  to  the 
summit,  and  varying  in  height  from  fifty  to 
three  hundred  feet.  All  these  were  ruins  of 
large  domed  buildings,  erected  to  enclose  some 
relic.  Pillars  surround  these  mounds  ;  some 
elegant  shafts,  and  others  massive  columns, 
which  originally  supported  spacious  verandahs, 
by  which  each  mass  was  surrounded.  These 
buildings  were  almost  all  alike  in  form  and  in 
the  purpose  they  had  served.  They  had  been 
originally  bell-shaped,  and  designed  for  the 


26 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


entombment  of  some  bone  of  the  great  prophet, 
Buddha,  or  a  well-known  saint.  The  annals 
of  Ceylon,  which  begin  in  the  fifth  century  be- 
fore our  era,  give  circumstantial  details  respect- 
ing the  erection  of  these  stupendous  piles  ; 
and  there  can  be  little  doubt,  judging  from  the 
ruins  alone,  that  two  of  them  at  least  were 
higher  than  St.  Paul's  Cathedral.  The  build- 
ing of  these  dagobahs,  as  they  are  called,  was 
thought  to  be  an  act  of  merit,  consequently 
kings  who  had  probably  not  been  very  noted 
in  their  prime  for  a  religious  cast  of  mind, 
endeavoured,  as  the  years  stepped  on,  to 
make  up  for  lost  time  by  erecting  these  sacred 
structures.  They  were  built  commonly  of 
brick,  coated  with  hard  cement.  The  base 
and  foundation  consisted,  however,  of  enor- 
mous blocks  of  granite,  which  abounds  in  the 
north  of  the  island,  and  the  sides  were  richly 
ornamented  with  carvings  in  bas-relief,  exe- 
cuted with  some  skill  and  correctness.  The 
carvings  generally  represent  religious  proces- 
sions, in  which  the  elephant,  horse,  ox,  camel, 
and  goat  take  a  large  part.  A  small  spire 
usually  surmounted  the  great  bell-shaped 
dome  ;  and  this  form  of  construction  is  charac- 
teristic of  the  sacred  dagobahs  of  Buddhism 
in  every  country  which  builds  dagobahs,  from 
Ceylon  and  Siam  to  Tartary  and  China. 

One  of  these  singular  structures  was  opened, 
in  another  part  of  the  island,  by  Mr.  Layard 
— not  Layard,  late  of  Nineveh,  but  his  father, 
who  was  a  Civil  servant  in  Ceylon  for 
upwards  of  thirty  years — and  the  interior  was 
found  accurately  to  correspond  with  the 
descriptions  left  us  in  the  native  annals.  A 
small  cavity  was  found  in  the  centre  ;  in  its 
shape  a  miniature  of  the  dagobah  itself,  the 
four  sides  of  which  were  found  to  be  mathe- 
matically correct  in  bearing  North,  South, 
East,  and  West.  The  contents  were  ; — a  rude 
stone  urn,  containing  some  decayed  bones,  a 
little  heap  of  coins,  several  gold  and  silver 
plates,  and  ornaments  of  no  great  value,  and  a 
collection  of  dust  which  had  probably  once 
lived  and  breathed  in  the  shape  of  an  offering 
of  flowers. 

Had  these  buildings  been  erected  in  the 
dry  atmosphere  of  Egypt,  they  would  have 
doubtless  been  at  the  present  day  objects 
of  curiosity  and  admiration  to  a  great  many 
visitors  ;  but  in  Ceylon,  where  the  atmo- 
sphere is  moist,  and  the  parasitic  plants 
seek  in  every  direction  for  support  and  soil, 
trees  are  soon  to  be  seen  growing  on  the 
highest  piles  of  masonry,  and  every  breeze 
tends  to  break  up  the  building,  and  adds  its 
crumb  to  the  surrounding  fuins.  The  most 
remarkable  of  these  dagobahs  at  Anurajapoora 
were  raised  during  the  second  and  third  cen- 
turies before  the  Christian  era  ;  and,  when 
we  consider  the  time  and  the  destructive 
influences  to  which  they  have  so  long  been 
subject,  we  rather  wonder  that  the  faintest 
outline  of  their  old  form  should  remain. 

These  are  not  the  only  evidences  of  the 
former  greatness  of  Anurajapoora,  although, 


from  their  size  and  elevation,  they  are  the 
most  conspicuous.  The  vast  extent  of  the 
ancient  city  is  proved  by  the  ruins  of  the 
walls,  which  have  been  completely  traced. 
They  form  a  square  of  which  each  side  is 
sixteen  miles  in  length  ;  and,  although  we 
know  very  well  that  such  cities  were  not  like 
our  own — that  they  contained  large  gardens, 
tanks,  and  fields  within  them — yet  there  can 
scarcely  be  a  doubt  that,  in  this  case,  the 
population  must  have  been  large,  and  its 
wealth  and  importance  great,  if  it  was  thought 
worth  while  to  build  so  ample  a  defence. 

The  tanks — now  sources  of  malaria  and 
fever,  from  neglect  and  the  breaking  down 
of  their  sides — were  formerly  works  of  much 
importance.  Many  of  them,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  capital  (that  is,  in  the  north 
of  the  island),  were  from  ten  to  fifteen  miles 
in  circumference,  and  supplied  water  to  ex- 
tensive tracts  of  country.  Those  within  the 
walls  were  surrounded  by  dykes  formed 
of  gigantic  blocks  of  granite,  which  astonish 
even  the  European  traveller  by  their  enormous 
size.  The  natives  of  the  vicinity  gravely 
tell  us,  and  firmly  believe  too,  that  these 
works  were  the  works  of  giants,  and  not  of 
ordinary  men.  It  was  estimated  by  an  intel- 
ligent officer  who  visited  the  district  in  1830, 
that  it  would  be  beyond  the  power  of  the 
British  Government  in  the  island,  with  its 
present  resources,  to  restore  one  of  these  vast 
excavations  to  its  first  condition. 

The  native  annals  tell  us,  that  in  the  second 
century  before  our  era,  one  of  the  greatest 
of  Ceylonese  Kings,  Gaimour,  erected  a  great 
palace  for  the  accommodation  of  several 
hundreds  of  priests  ;  it  was  two  hundred  and 
seventy  feet  square,  and  as  many  in  height, 
containing  nine  stories,  and  in  every  story 
one  hundred  apartments.  It  stood  upon 
sixteen  hundred  granite  pillars.  On  account 
of  its  having  been  roofed  with  metal,  it 
was  called  the  Lowa  Maha  Paya,  or  Great 
Brazen  Palace. 

When  we  read  a  narrative  like  this  in 
the  early  annals  of  a  remote  island,  we  feel 
disposed  to  regard  it  as  a  fiction.  Possibly 
it  was  not.  The  building  has  disappeared  ; 
but  the  granite  columns  remain  to  attest  the 
truth  of  at  least  one  part  of  the  descrip- 
tion. Massive,  grand,  and  dark — exposed  to 
the  rain  and  winds  of  nearly  two  thou- 
sand years — the  majority  of  them  yet  rise 
above  the  surface  of  the  ground ;  some  have 
fallen,  and  some  have  been  removed,  but  the 
places  of  all  are  clearly  to  be  distinguished  ; 
and  the  traveller,  by  pacing  the  district,  can 
satisfy  himself  of  the  general  correctness  of 
the  measurements  given  by  the  Cingalese 
historian,  for  the  ground  plan,  at  any  rate. 
The  building  was  visited  by  a  Chinese 
traveller,  Fa  Hian,  in  412  A.D.,  and  the 
account  he  gave  of  it,  as  translated  by 
M.  Eemusat  in  Paris,  exactly  corresponds 
with  the  description  I  have  quoted.  A 
spacious  hall  occupied  the  centre,  adorned 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  TRUE  ACCOUNT  OF  AN  APPARITION. 


27 


with  gilt  statues  of  lions  and  elephants.  At 
one  end  of  it  an  ivory  throne  of  beautiful 
workmanship  was  erected  for  the  high  priest ; 
on  one  side  shone  a  golden  image  of  the  sun  ; 
on  the  other  side  a  silver  image  of  the  moon. 
It  was  probably  to  these  ruins  that  Knox 
referred  in  the  quotation  we  have  given  from 
his  very  interesting  work. 

It  is  worthy  of  observation,  that  the  ruins 
in  Anurajapoora,  which  strike  the  visitor  as 
most  worthy  of  notice,  are  not  the  remains  of 
royal  palaces.  The  dagobahs  and  the  great 
brazen  palace  were  evidently  erected  by  the 
zeal  of  mistaken  piety.  The  walls  of  the  city, 
massive  and  extensive  as  their  foundations 
prove  them  to  have  been,  seem  to  have  been 
raised  for  the  protection  of  the  people,  and 
there  cannot  be  a  doubt  of  the  utility  of  the 
immense  embankments  of  the  tanks,  when  we 
consider  the  tropical  situation  of  the  island, 
and  the  fact  that  its  supply  of  rain  is  only 
periodical. 

We  retired  to  the  cool  grot  afforded  by  the 
cella,  or  inmost  fane,  of  a  tremendous  temple ; 
and,  in  the  presence  of  at  least  twenty  cen- 
turies—  lunched.  Before,  however,  falling 
to  in  earnest,  we  thought  it  but  decently 
respectful  to  dedicate  the  first  glass  of 
champagne  to  the  founder  of  the  place  ;  and 
we  drank,  in  the  solemn  silence  the  scene  de- 
manded— a  bumper  to  the  immortal  memory 
of  Anuraja. 


A   TRUE   ACCOUNT   OF   AN 
APPARITION. 

ON  a  wintry  afternoon  in  the  month  of 
February — carnival  time — in  Paris,  I  sat  in 
my  room,  in  the  Rue  Rambouillet,  Quartier 
Latin,  alone.  The  course  of  lectures  in  the 
College  de  France  which  I  had  been  following, 
were  suspended  for  the  holidays.  All  serious 
things  were  put  aside  for  that  round  of  gaiety 
which  was  to  fortify  the  Parisians  against  the 
supposed  privations  of  Lent.  I,  however,  had 
determined  to  eschew  all  pleasures  for  awhile. 
Upon  a  serious  review  of  my  career  for  some 
months  previously,  I  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  nothing  short  of  hard  study  and 
moderate  fare,  in  my  hermitage,  far  removed 
from  the  gaiety  of  Paris,  in  the  time  of 
carnival,  could  atone  for  the  past,  and  bring 
me  upon  good  terms  with  myself.  So,  upon 
this  afternoon — being  the  third  day  of  my 
voluntary  confinement — I  had  returned  from 
the  restaurant,  and  putting  on  my  dressing 
gown  and  Greek  cap,  sat  down  with  my  book 
open  before  me. 

There  is  a  solemn  sensation  in  a  wintry 
afternoon,  when  the  dusk  conies  on  early,  and 
we  sit  quietly  alone,  which  belongs  to  no 
other  season.  Mine  was  a  retired  street,  and 
my  room  being  au  sixidme,  I  was  as  much 
removed  from  the  bustle  of  Parisian  life  as  ii 
I  had  been  in  Palmyra  or  Pompeii.  Yet, 
sometimes,  in  the  pauses  of  my  reading,  out  oi 
the  very  solitude  and  stillness,  perhaps  from 


an  involuntary  listening  for  some  sound,  there 
grew  up  a  low  noise  in  the  air,  which  seemed 
always  about  to  become  more  distinct ;  but 
dying  away,  returned  again,  in  a  manner  that 
aerplexed  me.  I  speculated  upon  the  cause  of 
.t.  I  fancied  it  was  the  whole  noise  of  the 
city  blended  and  softened  down  into  one  deep 
murmur.  I  imagined  the  variety  of  sounds 
of  which  it  was  composed.  I  analysed  it  into 
;he  rumbling  of  vehicles,  voices  of  people, 
oells,  shutting  of  doors,  working  of  machines, 
falling  of  waters,  music,  laughter,  waitings  : 
and,  letting  my  fancy  take  such  shapes  as  it 
would,  I  saw,  in  my  reverie,  many  scenes 
from  which  such  sounds  might  arise.  I  found 
pleasure  in  such  fancies,  and  gave  myself  up 
to  them  easily.  When  I  aroused,  the  sound 
was  hushed  ;  but  on  waiting  awhile  and  listen- 
ing attentively,  the  same  murmur  seemed  to 
fill  the  air.  A  suspicion  that  it  was  a  decep- 
tion of  a  sense  overstrained  by  listening,  set 
me  meditating  ;  for  with  this,  as  with  most 
trifling  things  which  baffle  our  inquiries  into 
their  causes,  I  was  reluctant,  having  begun 
my  speculations,  to  give  them  up  without 
coming  to  some  satisfactory  conclusion. 

I  rose  from  my  seat  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  In  the  square  yard  below,  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees  were  not  stirred  by  a 
breath  of  wind.  The  sky  was  cloudy  as  if 
snow  were  about  to  fall :  in  the  dusk,  here  and 
there,  I  saw  lights  at  the  windows.  My 
neighbour,  the  daguerreotyper,  who  lived 
with  his  wife — a  Norman  woman — and  ftmr 
children,  in  a  little  erection  upon  the  next 
roof,  I  could  see  smoking  and  reading  by  the 
fire.  For  three  weeks,  nobody  had  been  on 
his  roof  to  pose  for  a  portrait  ;  the  sun  having 
altogether  withdrawn  his  smiles  from  the 
people  of  Paris  during  that  time,  and  the 
secret  of  taking  photographic  portraits  par 
tons  les  temps,  not  having  been  then  discovered. 
He  was  a  cheerful  man,  and  his  wife  was  a 
cheerful  woman,  yet  he  was  poorer  even  than 
I  was.  He  had  a  little  glass-case  beside  a 
shop-door  in  the  Rue  Dauphine,  with  an 
announcement  that  he  would  take  portraits, 
in  a  style  there  exhibited,  at  two  francs  fifty 
centimes  ;  or  in  family  groups,  of  not  less  than 
four,  at  one  franc  per  physiognomy ;  and  direct- 
ing the  public  to  "M.  Brison,  Rue  Rambouillet, 
No.  2,  top  of  the  house."  His  roof  was  never 
crowded  at  the  best  of  times,  and  in  diill 
weather  his  occupation  was  gone.  At  such 
times,  with  the  wind  that  way,  I  have  missed 
the  savoury  smell  of  soup  or  bouilli  at  the 
accustomed  hour  of  eleven  in  the  morning. 
A  Frenchwoman  can  make  soup  of  anything  ; 
and  the  poverty  must  be  sad  indeed,  when 
she  can  no  longer  provide  this. 

I  took  an  interest  in  this  family.  I  climbed 
up  their  dark  staircase  one  day,  six  flights  of 
stairs  and  a  ladder,  and  as  soon  as  I  could 
recover  my  breath,  demanded  a  portrait  at 
two  francs  fifty  centimes.  They  had  attracted 
my  attention  from  my  window,  and  I  was 
prompted  more  by  curiosity  than  aught  else 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  hjr 


to  pay  them  a  visit.  The  sun  was  feeble 
ti'.at  day  ;  and  after  "  posing"  eight  times,  and 
waiting  while  his  wife  gave  an  extra  polish  to 
the  plate  ;  and,  finally,  for  the  ninth  time 
putting  on  that  look  of  profound  sagacity, 
mingled  with  good-humour,  which  all  people 
try  to  get  into  their  portraits,  I  was  obliged 
to  give  it  up.  The  time  was  not  wholly  lost ; 
I  had  seen  something  of  Monsieur  Brison's 
home  in  the  time  that  I  had  waited,  and  this 
was  my  chief  object  in  going  to  him.  Indeed 
a  portrait  would  have  been  of  no  manner 
of  use  to  rue,  and  I  half  suspected  myself 
of  a  secret  design  in  choosing  such  a  dull  day. 
So  I  rose  to  go  away ;  and,  after  remarking 
upon  the  trouble  to  which  I  had  put  him, 
held  out  two  francs  in  my  hand.  Poverty 
was  written  on  his  walls,  and  in  his  patched 
blue  blouse;  but  he  resolutely  refused  my 
offer,  with  a  speech  that  would  have  brought 
down  an  avalanche  of  applause  on  the  stage 
ot  the  Gymnase.  if  he  had  pronounced  it  there 
in  a  tone  a  trifle  more  tragic  than  that  in 
which  he  then  spoke,  and  had  paused  to  take 
the  sense  of  the  house  on  the  propriety  of  his 
sentiment.  That  man's  cheerfulness  puzzled 
me.  I  strove  to  account  for  it  upon  philo- 
sophical principles,  and  thought  all  daguer- 
reotypers  in  Paris  must  be  cheerful,  because 
they  live  on  the  roofs,  and  are  most  subject 
"to  skyey  influences."  So  I  fell  meditating 
deeply  upon  this  subject. 

When  I  looked  out  again,  it  was  getting 
darker,  and  there  was  a  slight  fog,  which  made 
some  lights,  a  long  way  off,  across  the  house- 
tops, glimmer  in  a  halo.  Looking  round  iny 
room,  it  had  to  me  a  drearier  air  than  usual, 
with  its  scanty  furniture,  and  floor  of  polished 
tiles.  My  fire  was  nearly  out — if  an  English- 
man could  give  the  name  of  fire  to  a  fi.«w  chips 
of  charcoal,  shut  up  closely  in  a  porcelain 
cylinder,  standing  out  in  the  room,  and  com- 
municating with  the  chimney  by  a  rusty 
tin-pipe.  I  opened  its  little  door ;  and,  kneel- 
ing down,  was  just  in  time  to  blow  out  the 
last  remains  of  vitality.  The  weather  was 
cold,  but  I  did  not  care  to  light  it  again.  It 
was  becoming  too  dark  to  read,  and  I  deter- 
mined not  to  light  my  lamp.  I  sat  down 
again,  and  wrapped  my  dressing-gown  about 
me  with  a  shiver.  The  great  pipe,  which  my 
friend  Louis  Eaynal  gave  me,  when  he  came 
back  from  Africa,  hung  upon  the  wall.  I  sat 
looking  at  its  enormous  bowl — carved  into  the 
face  of  an  Arab,  with  a  fierce  grin  and  small 
black  eyes — until  I  could  scarcely  see  it; 
though,  now  and  then,  1  knew  not  why,  it  sud- 
denly became  more  distinct.  When  I  was  tired, 
my  eye  wandered,  and  fixed  itself  upon  the 
carving  of  the  Crucifixion  on  the  mantelpiece. 
This  was  of  white  wood,  and  consequently 
remained  distinct,  for  a  longer  time,  in  the 
deepening  twilight  of  the  room.  I  was  not 
son-}-  when  I  could  see  it  no  longer.  I  would 
have  preferred  that  that  carving  had  not 
been  in  the  room  alone  with  me  that  after- 


It  was  growing  darker  still  ;  and,  as  the 
few  objects  near  me  faded  away,  and  my 
attention  was  no  longer  occupied,  I  heard 
again  the  murmuring  in  the  air,  which  had 
troubled  me  at  first,;  but  this  time  it  was 
still  more  perplexing.  Now  and  then,  as  I 
listened,  it  seemed  about  to  become  deeper ; 
and  then,  with  the  utmost  effort,  I  could  not 
hear  it  at  all.  It  was  its  monotony  (while  it 
lasted)  that  teased  me.  If  any  one  of  the 
multitudinous  noises,  of  which  I  supposed  it 
to  be  composed,  would  have  predominated  for 
a  moment,  I  should  have  been  content.  It 
some  clanging  peal  of  bells  would  have 
broken  out  near  me,  or  come  from  a  distance 
upon  a  sudden  shifting  of  the  wind,  I  would 
have  lighted  my  lamp,  and  gone  on  with  the 
perusal  of  my  book.  But  it  was  still  the 
same  confusion  of  noises — so  perfectly  blended, 
that  although  sometimes  it  became  louder,  no 
distinct  sound  could  be  caught  :  as  if,  at  a 
certain  moment,  all  its  components  increased, 
in  exact  proportion,  in  order  to  preserve  a 
perfect  monotOTiy. 

It  is  strange  that  this  trifling  fancy  was 
gradually  sapping  the  foundations  of  my  reso- 
lution— holding  me  with  so  singular  a  fasci- 
nation, that  I  was  compelled  to  abandon  my 
studies  for  that  day.  T  began  to  suspect  that 
the  sudden  change,  from  a  life  of  pleasure,  to 
one  of  solitary  study,  had  wrought  some 
injury  to  my  mind.  I  experienced  a  degree 
of  timidity  and  irresohition  that  I  had  never 
known  before.  I  had  other  strange  fancies. 
Once,  while  walking  to  and  fro,  in  my  room,  I 
had  seen  my  features,  darkly,  in  the  glass, 
and  instinctively  shrunk  from  looking  there 
again.  Afterwards,  on  reflecting,  I  could  not 
divest  myself  of  the  notion  that  they  were 
not  my  features  that  I  had  seen  there,  but  a 
face  wholly  different.  I  sat  down  again,  and 
thought  of  going  out  and  wandering  in  the 
streets.  I  knew  that,  during  the  cold  weather, 
great  wood  fires  were  lighted  at  midnight,  in 
certain  open  places  in  the  city,  that  the 
houseless  might  not  perish  of  the  cold  ;  and  I 
thought  of  spending  the  night  by  one  of 
these,  and  not  returning  to  my  room  until  day- 
light. 

From  this  mood  I  was  suddenly  startled  by 
a  noise,  as  of  something  falling  on  the  floor 
of  the  adjoining  room.  I  was  startled,  be- 
cause I  had  always  known  that  room  to  be 
uninhabited  ;  and  as  it  communicated  by  a 
door  with  my  room,  I  knew  that  I  should 
have  heard  of  any  change  in  this  respect.  It 
was  one  of  those  rooms,  often  met  with  in  the 
great  houses  of  Paris  (where  each  floor  is 
divided  into  many  apartments,  or,  as  we 
should  say  in  England,  sets  of  chambers),  into 
which  it  had  been  found  impossible  to  admit 
sufficient  daylight  for  a  sitting-room.  In  such 
a  case,  the  usual  course  would  have  been  to 
let  it  with  my  room  as  a  sleeping-chamber ; 
but  I  had  declined  it,  and  it  had  remained 
unoccupied  during  the  several  years  of  my 
residence  there. 


Charles  Dickens.) 


A  TRUE  ACCOUNT  OF  AN  APPARITION. 


I  listened  attentively  for  a  repetition  of  the 
noise ;  and  now  all  my  wild  fancies  were 
forgotten  in  this  new  feeling  of  curiosity.  I 
had  never  been  in  that  room,  for  the  door  had 
always  been  kept  locked,  and  the  key  was  in 
the  possession  of  the  porter  below  ;  but  I 
recollected,  now,  having  frequently  heard 
noise  in  the  night,  which  I  had  attributed  to 
the  wind  out  of  doors,  but  which,  I  seemed 
now  to  remember,  had  come  from  the  empty 
garret.  I  had  once  heard  from  the  Concierge 
(though  I  had  taken  it  for  an  idle  story),  that 
Danton — memorable  among  the  tyrants  of 
the  Revolution — had  lived  in  a  room  in  that 
house.  And  now  I  thought  I  remembered 
that  it  was  in  a  house  in  that  quarter  where 
he  had  spent  the  night  (it  was  the  night  of 
the  terrible  butcheries  at  the  prisons  of  La 
Force  and  the  Conciergerie)  in  conversation 
with  Camilla  Desmoulins,  until,  seeing  the 
first  glimmering  of  the  dawn  across  the 
house-tops,  he  told  Camille  that  a  terrible 
blow  had  been  struck  at  Royalism,  even  while 
they  had  been  sitting  there.  It  seemed  to 
me  remarkable  that  I  had  not  thought  of 
this  before.  I  remembered  now  distinctly 
the  words  "  across  the  house-tops,"  in  the 
account  that  I  had  read  ;  and  a  superstitious 
conviction  forced  itself  upon  me,  that  it  was 
iu  that  very  room  that  Danton  (affecting,  as 
was  common  with  the  revolutionary  leaders, 
an  appearance  of  poverty)  had  dwelt. 

My  fancy  had  wandered  away  among  the 
scenes  of  that  terrible  Revolution,  when  I 
was  roused  again  by  a  second  noise.  But 
this  time  it  was  the  sound  of  a  light  footstep 
walking  in  the  room.  I  listened,  arid  waited, 
with  my  eye  fixed  upon  the  door,  and  now  for 
the  first  time  I  remarked  a  faint  light  shining 
through  the  keyhole.  The  footstep  ceased  for 
a  moment  ;  and  then  I  saw  by  the  long  light 
in  the  crevice,  that  the  door,  which  I  had 
alwa}'s  supposed  to  be  locked,  was  ajar.  I 
had  not  heard  any  movement  of  the  handle  of 
the  lock,  but  I  felt  convinced  that  it  had  only 
just  been  opened  ;  for  it  was  impossible,  other- 
wise, that  I  should  not  have  observed  it.  The 
door  trembled  for  a  moment,  as  if  an  unde- 
cided hand  were  upon  the  lock,  and  then, 
opening  wide,  I  saw,  to  my  surprise,  the 
figure  of  a  man  standing  in  the  doorway. 

He  held  in  one  hand  a  thin  candle,  with  a 
shade,  which  threw  that  part  of  the  room  in 
which  I  sat  into  darkness ;  but  I  could 
see  him  distinctly,  as  he  stood  there  a  mo- 
ment, apparently  hesitating  whether  to  go 
on  or  turn  back.  His  face  was  deadly  pale, 
and  his  eyes,  in  the  light  that  struck  up- 
ward, through  the  aperture  in  the  shade, 
were  fixed  and  sunken.  His  dress  was  that 
which  was  worn  by  the  old  revolutionary 
leaders  ;  but  he  bore  no  resemblance  to  the 
portraits  of  Danton.  I  recognised  him  at  a 
glance.  The  prominent  forehead,  the  short 
pointed  nose,  the  scornful  curl  of  the  upper 
lip,  the  powdered  hair,  the  frilled  shirt,  tiie 
broad  sash,  and  even  the  nosegay  in  his  hand 


—  all,  except  the  general  faded  look  of  his 
attire,  identified  him  at  once  with  the  ideal 
indelibly  fixed  in  my  mind,  by  portrait  and 
tradition,  of  the  great  fanatical  Jacobin,  Maxi- 
milian Robespierre.  The  door  closed  sharply 
behind  him,  as  if  by  the  current  of  air,  for 
his  light  was  extinguished  at  the  same 
moment.  I  heard  his  footstep  across  my 
room  ;  the  door  closed  behind  him  as  he  went 
out  upon  the  landing.  I  listened,  but  could 
hear  no  footstep  descending  the  stairs.  I 
walked  to  the  door,  and  looked  down  into 
the  darkness  of  the  great  staircase,  and 
listened,  but  the  house  was  quite  still. 

Was  I  to  believe  my  senses  ?  Here  I  sat, 
exactly  as  I  had  sat  ten  minutes  before.  My 
stove  was  cold  :  my  room  was  dark  :  I  was 
alone  :  my  book  was  open  before  me.  I  saw 
the  light  still  in  the  daguerreotyper's  window, 
on  the  roof,  and  at  other  places,  far  off.  I 
walked  over,  and  tried  the  door  of  the  room, 
but  it  was  fast  locked  again.  Everything  was- 
in  its  usual  state.  In  a  few  minutes  from 
the  time  when  I  first  fancied  that  I  heard  the 
noise,  the  door  had  been  unfastened,  this 
strange  apparition  had  passed  through  my 
room,  the  door  was  re-fastened,  and  no  trace 
of  what  had  happened  remained.  I  was  not 
dreaming  ?  No.  But  how  often,  in  sleep, 
had  I  questioned  myself  of  the  reality  of  ray 
dream,  and  invariably  ended  by  convincing 
myself  that  I  was  awake — sometimes  even 
remembering  that  I  had  so  deceived  myself 
before  ;  but  always,  at  last,  conquering  my 
own  objection,  and  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  this  time,  at  least,  I  btood  amid  the  real 
life  of  the  daylight  world.  But  I  rubbed 
my  eyelids,  rose  again,  and  walked  to  and 
fro,  and  convinced  myself  that  I  was  really 
awake. 

What  could  I  think,  but  that  my  reason 
was  becoming  weakened  1  The  life  I  had  led 
for  some  time  had  been  wild  and  reckless. 
I  had  become  so  accustomed  to  excitement, 
that  it  was  almost  necessary  to  my  existence  ; 
so  that  when  I  applied  myself  to  a  steadier 
life,  I  experienced  something  of  the  depression 
of  the  drunkard  in  the  first  days  of  his 
reformation.  The  mood  in  which  this  vision 
had  found  me  was  favourable  to  such  hallu- 
cinations. My  mind  had  been  unsettled. 
My  fancies  would  not  let  me  apply  myself  to 
my  task.  Whimsical,  and  filled  with  vague 
apprehensions,  I  knew  that  my  mental  state 
exactly  coincided  with  the  descriptions  of 
those  who  have  been  visited  by  similar 
apparitions. 

Smoking  would,  I  thought,  soothe  me.  I 
lighted  some  wood  in  my  stove  with  a  fusee, 
and  taking  down  my  pipe  from  the  wall,  filled 
it,  and  sat  there  smoking  hour  after  hour. 
The  great  transparent  bowl  glowed  in  the 
darkness  at  every  puff,  so  deeply,  that  I  could 
watch  the  wreaths  of  smoke  by  the  light  that 
it  gave.  I  strove  to  fix  my  mind  upon  cheer- 
ful images — thinking  of  an  English  home, 
where  the  fatted  calf  was  ever  ready  to  be 


30 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bjr 


killed  when  I  should  return  ;  but  chiefly  of 
thee,  Eugenie,  (of  whom  I  knew  myself 
unworthy,)  lily-handed,  lovelier  than  the  love- 
liest of  all  flowers ! 

I  dropped  asleep,  and  awoke  several  times, 
always  dreaming  and  waking  up  with  the 
feeling,  that  my  strange  vision  was  a  portion 
of  my  dream  ;  but  the  burning  embers  in  my 
stove  recalled  to  me  what  had  passed,  and 
each  time,  putting  on  more  fuel,  I  dropped 
asleep  again. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  had  been  sleeping 
the  last  time.  When  I  awakened,  my  fire  was 
out,  and  I  was  in  darkness.  I  knew,  how- 
ever, that  it  was  past  midnight,  the  hour  at 
which  my  ghostly  visitor  would  probably 
have  returned,  if  he  had  had  an  intention  of 
returning.  My  slumbers  had  tranquillised 
me.  Looking  out  of  the  window,  it  did  strike 
me  that  a  certain  dark  object,  close  upon  the 
next  roof,  had  somewhat  the  look  of  a  monk, 
staring  out  of  his  cowl  at  me  through  my 
window ;  but  I  speedily  recognised  it  for  a 
portion  of  the  daguerreotyper's  apparatus 
for  fixing  his  customers  in  the  required  posi- 
tion. The  fog  had  cleared  away.  There  were 
no  lights  on  any  of  the  roofs,  or  at  any  windows 
far  and  wide.  In  the  distance  rose  the  dusky 
towers  of  St.  Sulpice ;  and  the  stars  were 
shining. 

I  had  determined  to  go  to  bed,  and  think 
no  more  of  my  apparition  until  the  morning, 
when  turning  to  light  my  lamp,  my  eye  caught 
again  a  faint  light  through  the  key-hole  of 
the  adjoining  room.  This  was  stranger  still ; 
for  I  knew  that  no  one,  in  the  habit  of  shutting 
doors  so  noisily,  could  have  passed  through 
my  room  while  I  had  been  sleeping.  I  lighted 
my  lamp  and  listened.  I  heard  again  a 
light  footstep,  and  presently  a  voice  as  of 
some  one  talking  to  himself,  though  loud 
enough,  sometimes,  for  me  to  distinguish  his 
words  : 

"  A  good  wind  getting  up,  such  a  wind  as 
blows  sharp  dust  into  the  face  on  a  frosty 
night.  Whew  !  I  wouldn't  turn  a  dog  out. 
This  is  cheerless  ;  but  better  than  that  hot 
cursed  place,  full  of  shrieking,  whining  men 
and  women.  How  the  dusky  Satan  took  that 
girl,  and  turned  her  till  her  brain  was  giddy, 
and  she  swooned  !  She  had  a  pretty  simple 
look  ;  but  she  would  not  have  been  there  if 
she  were  as  innocent  as  her  face.  They  knew 
me.  The  priest  taunted  me  with  my  free  use 
of  the  guillotine.  No  matter.  That  peasant 
girl  did  not  shrink  from  the  monster,  nor 
look  upon  my  hands  to  see  if  they  were  blood- 
stained, when  we  joined  the  others  in  their 
devilry.  Oh,  it  was  a  pretty  sight  for  them 
to  see  a  man  with  some  thousands  of  murders 
on  his  mind,  looking  so  merry,  and  handling 
a  nosegay  so  delicately — a  nosegay  that  they 
knew  so  well  in  all  my  portraits  !  Well,  well ! 
enough  of  this  for  to-night.  My  feet  can 
scarcely  forget  their  habit.  The  fascination 
of  that  whirling  multitude  haunts  me.  I 
seem  to  have  her  still — my  peasant  girl. 


Steadily !  Hold  me  firmly.  Now  then  ! 
Away  ! " 

My  mysterious  neighbour  seemed  to  be 
turning  rapidly  about  the  room.  I  heai*d  the 
quick  movement  of  his  feet ;  and  then  a  noise, 
as  if  a  heavy  body  had  come  violently  in  con- 
tact with  the  wainscot.  I  walked  on  tiptoe 
to  the  doqr,  and  looked  through  the  keyhole, 
but  my  sight  only  ranged  over  a  small  portion 
of  the  room,  and  I  could  see  no  one.  There 
was  a  silence  for  some  moments.  Then  I  heard 
him  talking — again : 

"  This  kind  of  sport  does  not  suit  the 
middle  of  the  night.  I  shall  wake  the  whole 
floor.  Let  me  see ;  how  am  I  to  amuse 
myself  ?  No  rest  for  me  to-night.  At  day- 
light I  must  begone." 

I  heard  again  a  noise,  as  if  he  had  flung 
himself  heavily  into  a  chair  ;  and  then  there 
was  a  long  silence  again.  I  sat  listening  for 
any  sound,  and  wondering  at  the  strange 
words  that  I  had  heard ;  but,  when  the 
church-clocks  had  twice  chimed  the  quarters, 
the  room  was  still  quiet.  Looking  at  the  key- 
hole, the  light  was  gone ;  but,  on  observing 
again,  I  thought  I  saw  a  faint  glimmer,  as  if 
the  candle  were  still  burning,  with  the  shade 
down.  After  a  while,  however,  I  resolved  to 
retire  to  bed ;  taking  first  the  precaution  to 
place  a  chair  against  the  door,  in  such  a 
manner  that  it  would  fall  and  awaken  me,  if 
he  attempted  again  to  enter  my  room  ;  besides 
which,  I  placed  my  sword-stick  within  reach. 
I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  some 
trick  of  my  fellow-students  to  alarm  me,  or 
that  my  neighbour  was  a  harmless  madman, 
personating  the  great  republican  ;  although  I 
felt  uneasy  at  remembering  that  he  was  in 
possession  of  the  key  of  the  door  opening  into 
my  room.  Resolved,  however,  at  any  rate,  to 
shake  off  my  alarm,  I  strove  to  rally  myself 
upon  the  subject.  "  If  M.  Robespierre,"  said 
I,  aloud,  "takes  a  fancy  to  walk  through 
my  room  again,  he  will  be  kind  enough  to  shut 
the  doors  with  less  noise,  if  I  am  sleeping." 

Instantly,  I  heard  the  footstep  again ;  the 
handle  of  the  lock  turned  ;  the  chair,  with 
some  articles  that  I  had  designedly  placed 
upon  it,  fell  with  a  loud  clatter  ;  the  door 
opened  wide  ;  and  the  same  figure  that  I  had 
seen  before  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"  Keep  off ! "  I  exclaimed,  seizing  my 
sword-stick,  and  planting  myself,  like  Rode- 
rick Dim,  with  my  back  to  the  wall. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  said  my  disturber, 
with  a  low  bow. 

"  Who  are  you  1  What  do  you  do  here  ?  " 
I  demanded,  waxing  bolder. 

"  M.  Hector  Favart — at  your  service  ;  stu- 
dent of  the  Ecole  de  Medicine  ;  having  the 
honour  to  do  duty  in  the  Third  Legion  of  the 
Garde  Nationale — an  honour  that  will  take 
me  out  of  doors  at  daylight  this  frosty 
morning." 

"  What !  "  said  I,  letting  my  sword-stick 
fall  from  my  hand  —  "the  cousin  of  my 
Eugenie  1 " 


Charles  Dickens.] 


KING  DIRT. 


31 


"Eug6nie  de  la  Tour?" 

"  Eugenie  de  la  Tour." 

"  The  same  ! " 

".But  how  do  you  find  yourself  in  that 
room  '?"  I  asked,  still  somewhat  incredulous. 

"I  took  this  little  place  to-day,"  said  he, 
"  as  a  quiet  room  to  read  in,  and  to  sleep  in  at 
night.  By  the  way,  I  have  to  apologise  for 
coining  through  your  apartment  in  your 
absence,  for  the  porter  had  not  yet  given  me 
the  key  of  the  other  door  upon  the  landing." 

"  I  saw  you,"  said  I ;  "  but  how  did  you 
contrive  to  lock  your  door  again  without  my 
hearing  it  1" 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  when  this  door  is 
once  shut,  it  cannot  be  opened  again,  from 
your  side,  without  a  key  ?" 

"  I  understand,"  said  I,  advancing,  with  the 
light,  to  shake  hands  with  him.  But  his 
unaccountable  resemblance,  in  dress  and  fea- 
tures, to  Robespierre  himself  (which  I  had 
almost  forgotten),  his  pale  face,  and  sunken 
eyes,  struck  me  again  so  forcibly,  as  the  light 
siioue  upon  him,  that  I  started  back.  "  I 
hope  you  will  not  think  me  unpolite,"  said  I, 
"  if  I  observe,  before  coming  closer,  that  I  am 
struck  very  forcibly  with  the  remarkable  re- 
semblance that  you  beav  to  a  certain  historical 
pereonage." 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  he  laughed,  in  a  tone  that 
sounded  strangely  hollow.  "  To  whom,  now  1 
Tell  me.  To  Louis  Seize,  or  the  Cardinal 
Richelieu ;  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  or  the 
Emperor  Napoleon ;  the  lean  Frederick  of 
Prussia,  or  the  portly  Mirabeau  1 " 

"  To  none  of  those,"  said  I. 

"  To  a  man  of  the  Revolution — eh  1  A 
Girondin,  or  a  Cordelier ;  a  Feuillant,  or  a 
Jacobin  ?" 

"To  a  Jacobin!"  said  I,  "without  any 
offence." 

"  No  doubt ! "  he  replied  ;  "  but  to  which 
of  them  ?  Not  to  Marat,  the  blackguard,  I 
hope  1  nor  little  Camille  Desmoulins  1  nor 
the  jolly  Danton  ?  Something  more  of  the 
Robespierre  look  about  me — isn't  there  ? " 
Holding  the  nosegay  in  one  hand,  he  placed 
himself  exactly  in  the  attitude  of  Robespierre 
in  the  portraits. 

"  I  certainly,"  said  I,  "  did  have  such  an 
impression  when  I  first  saw  you  ;  and  now 
that  you  stand  in  that  position,  I  cannot  help 
being  struck  with  the  similarity  between 
you." 

He  laughed  again,  in  the  husky  tone  of  a 
man  afflicted  with  a  severe  cold.  "  The  day 
I  was  born,  my  nurse — who  never  before,  in 
her  life,  admitted  a  child  to  have  the  slightest 
resemblance  with  anybody  but  his  own  father 
— could  not  help  exclaiming,  '  A/i,  le  petit 
Robespierre  !  '  for  she  had  seen  the  great  man 
when  a  girl.  Everybody  said  I  resembled  him 
exactly  ;  everybody  was  right.  Faith  !  to- 
night, at  the  fancy  ball  at  the  Chaumi£re,  I 
make  my  appearance  in  this  style,  with  nose- 
gay complete,  and  everybody  recognises  me 
in  a  moment." 


"  Ha  !  ha  ! "  I  exclaimed,  laughing  in  my 
turn.  "  The  mystery  is  unravelled  !  Pray,  step 
in  ;  I  will  light  my  fire  in  a  moment.  I  think 
I  have  materials  for  a  bowl  of  punch." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  he.  "  I  dare  not 
go  to  bed,  lest  I  should  oversleep  myself,  and 
forget  my  engagement." 

"  To  your  fair  cousin,  Eugenie  !  "  said  I, 
when  the  bowl  stood  smoking  on  the  table, 
while  we  struck  our  glasses  together,  in  rati- 
fication of  the  toast. 

"  To  one  not  less  fair ! "  said  he,  filling 
again,  "whose  name  I  need  not  tell." 


KING  DIRT. 

A  Song  adapted  to  a  slow  Sanitary  Movement. 

DRINK  from  the  dark  and  mantling  pool, 

With  festering  weeds  begirt, 
A  deep  black  draught  to  the  lazy  rule 

Of  poverty's  king — KING  DIRT  ! 
Though  I  stoop  my  head,  and  trail  the  skirt 

Of  my  robe  in  the  miry  way, 
All  know  that  the  ragged  and  old  King  Dirt 
Hath  a  potent  and  patent  sway. 
I  laugh  to  see 

How  all  devoted  my  people  be, 
Grovelling  low,  and  bepraising  me. 

And  many  friends,  wealthy  and  steadfast,  have  I, 
Though  they  oft  look  askant  as  they  pass  me  by ; 
And  many  a  purse-proud  burgher,  wise 
In  his  generation,  on  me  relies  ; 
And  many  town-councillors,  seeing  no  hurt, 
Sneer  down  my  enemies — proud  of  King  Dirt ! 
Aud  I  laugh  on  still,  while  they  let  me  be, 
And  extend  my  realm  unceasingly  ! 

Opponents  of  Progress,  who  love  the  inert, 
Who  claim  for  inanity  Wisdom's  desert, 

Loving  friends,  round  me  cling ! 

Fill  high  the  bowl,  and  sing 
Long  live  your  lazy  king,  squalid  King  Dirt  I 

There 's  a  low-roomed  house  in  a  ruinous  street, 

Where  filth  and  penury  lovingly  meet ; 

And  the  cobwebbed  roof,  and  the  rotting  wall, 

And  the  rag-stifled  casement,  dark  and  small, 

Are  unheeded  there,  among  many  more — 

So  wretched  the  homes  of  the  wretchedly  poor ! 

A  poor  worn  weaver  there  works  for  his  bread — • 

Working  on,  working  on,  far  in  the  night ; 
His  daughter  breathes  hollowly,  lying  a-bed, 
And  the  wasting  clay 
Lets  the  spirit  play 
Over  her  face  with  a  flickering  light ! 

The  clock  of  a  neighbour  ticks  solemn  and  ]ow 

On  the  neighbour's  side  of  the  crazy  wall ; 
And  the  loom  clicks  on  with  an  answer  slow, 
And  the  shuttle  flies  silently  to  and  fro, 
As  it  weaves  the  robe  for  bridal  or  ball. 

But  the  loom  is  stopped ;  and  down  by  the  bed 
The  father  kneels  by  his  dying  child ; 

But  vainly  he  speaks — her  time  is  sped  ; 
No  answer  there  comes  to  his  outcry  wild, 

For  the  child  stares  out  with  her  glazed  eyes, 

Till  the  eyes  turn  back — and  she  silently  dies ! 


32 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Aiul  they  call  it  a  Fever, 

Putrid  or  low ; 
But  I  and  the  weaver 

Both  of  us  know 

That  the  fetid  well-water,  and  steaming  styes, 
And  the  choked  drains'  gases,  that  unseen  rise, 
Subtle  and  still, 
Snre  and  slow, 
Certain  to  kill 

With  an  unheard  blow, 

Are  the  fiends  who  poisoned  that  maiden's  bmith, 
And  cling  to  her  still  us  she  sleeps  in  death  ! 

And  the  weaver,  haggard,  and  worn  to  the  bone, 
With  clasped  hands  and  despairing  moan, 
Knotviny  the  poison  that  lurks  in  the  room, 
Still  doggedly  stays  till  he  meets  his  doom  ! 

I  laugh  to  think, 

How  they  greedily  drink 

Of  the  poisoned  cup 

Till  they  drink  it  up  ! 
And  ever  to  time-honoured  filth  revert. 
And  love  to  the  death  their  old  King  Dirt ! 


BIRMINGHAM  GLASS  WORKS. 


LITTLE  children  are  sometimes  as  much 
puzzled  as  older  people,  about  how  the  world 
got  on  before  they  and  other  wise  moderns 
were  born  ;  about  how  men  lived  without  the 
conveniences  and  comforts  afforded  by  our 
arts  of  life.  We  are  not  quite  so  conceited  now 
a,s  we  were  a  century  ago,  in  regard  to  our 
superiority  to  the  ancients  ;  for,  tiie  farther 
we  go  back  among  ancient  monuments,  the 
more  evidence  we  find,  that  some  of  our 
most  recent  inventions  and  luxuries  were  in 
common  use  before  old  Troy  was  founded, 
and  before  the  venerable  Abraham  set  out 
on  his  travels  a  young  man.  About  one 
thing,  however,  little  children  are  right 
enough,  as  far  as  we  know.  They  are  not 
absurd  in  asking,  how  people,  in  old  times, 
ever  got  on  without  glass  windows  ?  We 
knew  a  little  child,  who  was  fond  of  looking 
out  of  the  window  in  bad  weather,  when 
there  was  no  getting  a  walk :  and  the  same 
child  had  to  go  a  long  journey  in  a  post- 
chaise,  day  after  day,  before  railroads  were 
made  ;  and  how  any  child  could  have  borne 
the  being  boxed  up  in  a  post-chaise  so  long, 
without  a  window  to  look  out  of  when  it  was 
windy,  and  the  rain-drops  to  watch  on  the 
pane  during  the  showers,  there  is  no  saying. 
She  was  so  far  aware  of  this,  that  she  asked 
everybody  likely  to  answer  her,  what  people 
did  when  there  were  no  windows  1  The 
more  she  was  told  of  wooden  shutters,  that 
were  closed  in  bad  weather,  or  of  horn  or 
parchment  panes,  which  let  in  a  dim,  dirty 
light,  but  could  not  be  seen  thi'ough,  the 
more  she  pitied  the  ancients,  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  amusement  of  watching  the 
jerking,  capricious  drops  on  a  window,  which 
seem  never  to  be  able  to  make  up  their  minds 
which  way  they  shall  run,  in  their  inevitable 
general  direction  from  top  to  bottom.  And 
what  groping  work,  trying  to  read,  write,  or 


sew,  behind  pai-chment  panes  !  and  how  cold, 
most  days  of  the  year,  if  the  wooden  shutters 
were  opened  to  lot  in  light !  Something  of 
this  may  be  seen  now,  in  the  homes  of  some 
people  who  speak  our  language,  and  otherwise 
live  pi-etty  much  as  we  do — the  settlers  in 
the  wilder  parts  of  the  American  woods, 
where  the  glazier  has  not  yet  found  his 
way. 

When  the  mail  drives  up  at  night,  with  its 
load  of  hungry  passengers,  there  shines  the 
settler's  dwelling — the  yellow  light,  and  the 
scent  of  broiling  ham  or  venison,  diffusing 
themselves  at  once  through  the  square  holes, 
which  will  be  closed  by  shutters  when  the 
mail  drives  off.  The  light  streams  out,  and 
strikes  red  upon  the  stems  of  the  pines,  or 
yellow  upon  those  of  the  beeches  ;  the  fra- 
grance streams  out  upon  the  fainting  senses 
of  travellers,  and  unto  the  nostrils  of  the 
negroes,  who  gather  about  the  door,  as  the 
heavy  coach  jolts  up  to  the  threshold,  and 
the  chill  night  air  rushes  in  upon  the  cooking 
dame  and  her  "  help,"  and  makes  the  lamp 
flare  ;  or,  if  the  air  be  not  chilly,  swarms  of 
mosquitoes  invade  the  dwelling,  and  amply 
prove  the  curse  of  the  want  of  glass  windows. 
Yet  this — if  we  leave  out  the  mosquitoes,  and 
aggravate  the  dulness  and  dampness  of  the 
air — was  what  our  forefathers  had  to  put  up 
with,  not  so  very  long  ago.  Three  centuries 
since — when  Alnwick  Castle  was  in  its  glory, 
and  had  all  manner  of  conveniences  that 
ordinary  dwellings  were  without — the  glass 
windows  of  the  Duke  of  Northumberland 
were  put  up  only  when  the  family  were  at 
home,  and  taken  down  immediately  on  their 
departure,  for  fear  of  accident.  So  lately  as 
two  centuries  ago,  the  only  glazed  windows 
in  Scotch  dwellings  were  those  of  the  upper 
rooms  in  palaces ;  the  lower  windows  being 
still  furnished  simply  with  wooden  shutters. 
It  is  true,  this  was  one  thousand  years  after 
some  of  our  churches  and  abbeys  had  been 
graced,  and  kept  warm  and  dry,  by  the  use 
of  glass  windows.  At  least,  we  know  that 
artists  were  brought  from  the  Continent  to 
glaze  the  windows  of  a  church  and  monastery 
at  Wearmouth,  in  the  county  of  Durham,  in 
the  year  674  ;  and  the  mention  of  the  subject 
brings  before  us  the  beautiful  painted  windows 
that  the  pious  put  up  in  our  cathedrals,  and 
other  churches,  long  before  that  Duke  of 
Northumberland  was  born,  whose  '•'  case- 
ments" were  taken  such  care  of  whenever 
he  left  Alnwick. 

Suppose  any  one  had  mentioned,  at  any  of 
these  dates,  such  a  thing  as  a  whole  house 
made  of  glass, — what  a  romance  the  notion 
would  have  appeared  !  Some  say,  indeed, 
that  old  Chaucer  did  imagine  such  a  thing  ; 
and  in  his  "  House  of  Fame  "  there  is  a  de- 
scription of  a  dream  of  a  temple  of  glass, 
with  metal  pillars,  Stretching  far  away,  and 
crowds  of  people  from  all  regions  roaming 
about  within  it :  but  Chaucer's  readers  re- 
ceived this  as  a  dream.  The  chimera  has  come 


Ch»rle«  Dickens.] 


BIRMINGHAM  GLASS  WORKS. 


33 


among  us,  and  sat  down  iu  our  midst,  in  j  very  fine  sand  for  glass-making  ;  but  this 
solid  reality.  Most  of  us  can  testify  to  it  on  !  roomful  is  from  Leighton- Buzzard,  where 
the  evidence  of  our  own  senses.  But  so  few 


have  visited  the  awful  birthplace  of  this 
chimera— so  few  have  any  idea  of  the  fire 
caverns,  the  dim  vaults,  the  scorching  air, 
the  rush,  roar,  glare,  and  appalling  handi- 
craft from  amidst  which  that  light  and 
graceful  creation  came  forth  to  lie  down  on 
the  grass  in  Hyde  Park,  that  we  must  tell  a 
little  of  what  we  saw  when  we  went  hunting 
out  its  birthplace. 

In  plain  words,  we  have  been  permitted  to 
see  the  glass-works  of  the  Messrs.  Chance, 
near  Birmingham.  In  old  reports  of  the 
glass-manufacture,  we  find  Birmingham  low 
in  the  list  of  places  in  England 
going  forward.  It 


down 
where 


can  never 


the    process    is 
be   so  aimin. 


there  is  a  sandpit  belonging  to  this  firm.  As 
it  is  silted,  wreaths  of  it  rise,  like  white  smoke, 
and  curl  under  the  rafters.  Thus,  we  have 
seen  the  materials  ;  and  must  next  observe 
the  apparatus  for  the  cooking  of  them. 

It  is  a  desperately  rainy  day  ;  and  the  roads 
which  lead  from  one  place  to  another  are 
inches  deep  in  black  mud  and  puddles.  Of 
course,  the  canal  does  not  look  very  engaging  ; 
and  the  procession  of  boats  on  it,  laden  with 
coal,  is  about  as  wet  as  everything  else. 
There  are  carts  in  the  alleys  filled  with  broken 
glass  ;  and  there  are  heaps  of  broken  glass 
piled  up  against  the  walls.  Women  are  at 
the  cart's  tail,  or  under  sheds,  picking  the 
glass  ;  that  is,  separating  whatever  is  stained 


which  produced  the  Crystal  Palace  must 
stand  first  in  the  world  until  something 
greater  has  been  done.  It  is  only  within 
three  centuries  that  the  manufacture  has 
been  heard  of  at  all  in  the  district ;  and 
a  century  ago  it  was  not  known  in  the  town 
of  Birmingham.  Messrs.  Chance's  works  are 
riot  in  the  town,  but  at  Smethwick  —  half- 
an-hour's  drive  from  it :  and,  indeed,  they 
would  take  up  too  much  room  in  any  town. 
The  buildings  occupy  many  acres  ;  and  the 


The  establishment  |  with  iron  in  the  process  of  glass-making,  or 


stretch   out   various  branches 
The  number  of  men,  women, 


otherwise  coarse,  to  be  made  into  coarse  glass 
again,  while  the  clear  and  fine  is  set  apart  for 
higher  purposes.  A  cart-load  of  rubbish  and 
sweepings  is  about  to  be  shot  into  a  canal- 
boat.  Being  drawn  across  our  path,  the  cart 
is  ordered  away,  but  the  man  in  charge  calls 
out  from  the  other  side,  that  we  must  wait 
our  turn.  Shocked  at  such  a  speech,  men 
within  hearing  rush  to  turn  the  horse,  and 
spill  the  rubbish  on  the  wharf,  which  afflicts 
the  strange-looking  carter.  The  poor  fellow 
is  not  quite  sane.  One  of  the  pleasant  inci- 
dents often  observable  iu  these  large  establish- 
ments is  the  employment  of  poor  creatures 
who  would  otherwise  be  sadly  desolate.  Where 
there  is  a  will  there  is  a  way,  in  such  large 
concerns,  of  finding  something  that  the  foolish 
or  the  partially  infirm  can  do  ;  and  it  seems 
as  if  the  will  was  never  wanting. 

Up  an  inclined  plane  we  go  now,  under 
heavy  drops  from  the  eaves,  and  take  shelter 
in  a  place  curiously  furnished.  The  large 
floor  is  almost  wholly  occupied  with  great 
caldrons  of  ash-grey  clay  ; — very  handsome 
caldrons,  round,  smooth  inside  and  out,  with 
a  thick  smooths-rounded  edge,  and  each 
standing  on  its  own  platform.  These  are  the 
"  pots  "  in  which  the  "  metal  "  is  to  be  melted 
in  the  furnace.  There  are  three  pot-makers 
in  the  establishment ;  each  of  whom  makes 
three  pots  in  a  week.  One  of  them  is  busy 
now,  with  a  labourer  and  a  girl  to  help  him. 
The  labourer  is  treading  the  clay.  He  lias  a 
watering-pot  in  his  hand  :  his  feet  are  bare, 
and  his  trousers  turned  up  ;  and  he  tramps 
about  on  his  platform  with  a  squashing  tread, 
which  is  not  pleasant  to  us,  and  can  hardly 
be  more  so  to  him.  Everybody  says  there  is 
no  way  but  this  of  making  the  clay  fit  for 
pots  ;  but  we  cannot  help  fancying  that  one 
will  soon  be  found.  The  girl  is  at  a  table, 
with  a  mass  of  clay  at  her  right  hand.  She  is 
making  it  into  sausage-like  rolls ;  and  her 
employer  is  building  up  his  pot,  by  laying 

Elsewhere,  we  see  heaps  of  chalk  ;  and,  in  j  these  rolls  in  order  round  the  edge,  and  squeez- 
one  shed,  the  greatest  quantity  of  fine  sand  ing  them  down  smooth,  so  as  to  exclude  the 
we  ever  saw  in  one  place,  except  on  the  sea-  air,  and  make  the  whole  of  as  close  a  grain  as 
shore.  St.  Helens,  near  Liverpool,  yields ;  possible.  The  bottom  is  no  less  than  live 


canal  has  to 
among  them. 

ami  children  employed,  are  twelve  hundred 
or  upwards.  The  schools  on  the  estate  con- 
tain from  four  hundred  to  five  hundred  chil- 
dren (not  all  connected  with  the  works, 
however)  ;  and  the  consumption  of  coal  is, — 
but  we  will  excuse  any  reader  from  believing 
it,  without  seeing  the  coal  heaps, — from  eight 
hundred  to  one  thousand  tons  per  week.  To 
those  of  us  who  consider  and  calculate  about 
buying  ten  or  twenty  tons  of  coal  per  year, 
it  is  a  marvellous  thought, — that  of  the  coal- 
bill  for  an  establishment  which  consumes 
nearly  one  thousand  tons  in  a  week,  and  in 
every  week  of  the  year  ; — say  forty-seven 
thousand  tons  in  a  year.  Visitors  to  the 
works  may  pass  hither  and  thither  for  four 
or  five  hours  together  without  entering  the 
same  place  twice ;  and  they  may  go  again 
and  again,  without  coming  upon  many  traces 
of  their  former  visits.  The  vastness  of  the 
buildings  is  as  striking  as  their  number  ; 
and  the  passage  through  lofty,  dim,  cool, 
vault-like  sheds,  is  an.  admirable  preparation 
for  entrance  among  the  furnaces  and  kilns. 

In  one  of  these  sheds  we  see,  heaped  up 
against  the  walls,  masses  of  sulphate  of  soda. 
This  portion  of  the  material  is  brought  from 
the  alkali  works  of  the  same  firm,  not  very 
far  off.  In  another  shed  there  are  millstones, 
revolving  on  edge,  for  grinding  to  dust  the 
small  proportion  of  coal  required  hereafter. 


34 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bj 


inches  thick,  and  the  sides  nearly  as  much  ; 
and  five  or  six  months  are  required  for  the 
drying  of  a  pot — passing,  as  it  does,  through 
various  degrees  of  heat,  from  that  of  the  room 
in  \yhich  it  is  built  (seventy  degrees  when  we 
were  there)  to  that  which  is  to  cause  its  de- 
struction. Inquiring  when  this  catastrophe 
was  likely  to  happen,  we  found  that  a  pot 
may  last  any  time  between  one  day  and  three 
months.  Few  last  so  long  as  three  months. 
It  must  be  a  grief  to  see  a  pot  fall  to  pieces 
in  one  day,  aftei  having  been  watched  in 
the  drying  for  half-a-year ;  but  there  may 
be  some  little  consolation  in  its  not  being 
wholly  lost.  The  fragments  are  ground  down 
to  powder,  and  mixed  with  four  times  the 
amount  of  fresh  clay,  to  make  new  pots.  The 
clay  is  from  Stourbridge.  The  pots  hold  thirty- 
five  hundred-weights  each  of  molten  metal. 

And  now  we  must  go  and  look  at  the 
molten  metal  in  the  pots,  and  see  how  it  is 
treated.  We  find  ourselves  on  a  sort  of  plat- 
form, in  front  of  six  furnace  mouths,  which 
disclose  such  a  fire  within  as  throws  us 
into  a  secret  despair  ;  despair  for  ourselves, 
lest  we  should  lose  our  senses,  and  for  the 
men,  because  it  seems  impossible  to  live 
through  the  day  in  such  a  heat.  Looking  into 
one  of  the  openings,  as  well  as  we  can  from 
behind  a  screen,  we  see  that  the  spectacle  is 
one  of  exquisite  beauty.  There  are  the  great 
pots,  transparent  with  heat,  and  of  the  palest 
salmon  colour,  just  distinguishable  by  their 
rims  from  the  fire  which  surrounds  them. 
Eising  on  tiptoe,  we  can  see  the  metal — a 
calm  surface,  somewhat  whiter  than  the  pots. 
Turning  to  the  men,  we  observe  that  they 
work  over  a  row  of  troughs  of  water.  We 
should  like  to  plunge  our  head  in,  if  the 
water  were  not  so  dirty.  It  is  for  cooling  the 
pipes.  The  workman  dips  one  end  of  his 
pipe  into  the  metal,  taking  up  a  portion  which 
Is  of  the  consistence  of  honey.  He  lays  his 
pipe  across  the  troiigh,  and  laves  it  with 
water,  while  a  boy  blows  into  the  end,  swell- 
ing the  metal  into  a  small  globe.  The  effect 
of  the  breath  is  seen  in  a  paler  central  bubble, 
spreading  itself  through  the  red  mass,  and 
expanding  it.  When  more  metal  has  been 
taken  up,  enough  for  a  sheet  of  glass,  it  is 
to  be  carried  to  the  next  shed,  where  there 
are  more  furnaces,  and  the  globe  is  to  become 
a  cylinder.  Before  we  follow  it  there,  we  are 
offered  the  privilege  of  blowing  through  a 
pipe.  We  empty  our  lungs  into  it,  again  and 
;i;_;;>in,  but  without  producing  the  slightest 
effect.  Our  breath  goes  away  easily  enough, 
but  no  bubble  ensues ;  we  look  rather  foolish  ; 
so  we  hasten  away,  to  see  what  becomes  of  the 
globe  we  have  seen  created. 

We  pass  a  man  who  is  hewing  out,  with 
a  small  hatchet,  a  hollow  in  a  block  of  wood, 
large  enough  for  the  globe  to  be  rolled  about 
in.  In  the  next  shed,  each  workman  has  one 
of  these  blocks  to  himself.  It  contains  some 
water ;  and  as  he  rolls  his  red-hot  globe 
in  it,  a  boy  sprinkles  more  water  upon  it. 


The  water  seethes  and  bubbles,  but  does  not 
reek.  The  heat  is  actually  too  great  to  permit 
evaporation.  The  globe  is  tossed  about,  and 
blown  into  again.  If  the  pipe  is  raised  in  the 
air  while  blown  into,  the  metal  -becomes 
cheese-shaped  :  if  held  horizontally,  the  form 
produced  is  a  globe  :  if  pointed  downwards, 
the  globe  is  elongated.  This  particular  mass 
is  elongated.  In  a  moment  it  must  be  heated 
again.  Between  the  range  of  blocks  and  the 
furnace,  there  are  bridges  across  a  deep 
chasm ;  a  bridge  to  each  furnace  mouth. 
The  workman  runs  along  his  particular 
bridge,  holds  his  metal  into  the  furnace^ 
withdraws  it  for  another  toss,  heats  it  again, 
with  another  puff  through  the  pipe,  and  at 
last  has  blown  a  hole  through  the  further  end. 
The  whole  expands,  the  edges  retreat,  and 
we  now  see  the  cylinder  form  arranging 
itself.  There  he  stands  on  his  bridge — as 
half-a-dozen  more  men  are  standing  on  their 
respective  bridges,  swinging  the  cylinder  at 
arm's  length,  even  swinging  it  completely 
round  in  the  maddest  way  ;  the  scarlet  colour 
at  the  further  end  shading  off  beautifully  into 
soberer  reds  up  to  the  point  of  the  pipe,  where 
the  central  knot  is  still  scarlet.  When  it  is 
of  the  right  length  (that  is,  for  the  Crystal 
Palace  panes,  somewhat  above  forty-nine 
inches),  the  cylinder  must  be  detached  from 
the  pipe.  For  this  purpose  it  is  laid  upon 
a  wooden  rest ;  a  touch  of  cool  iron  breaks 
off  the  pipe  ;  with  pincers,  a  strip  of  red-hot 
glass  is  drawn  off  from  the  end  of  the  pipe, 
and  laid  like  a  ribbon  round  the  cylinder, 
near  its  closed  end.  After  this,  a  gentle  tap 
severs  the  closed  end,  and  we  have  the  cylinder 
complete. 

While  it  lies  cooling  for  a  minute  or  two, 
we  observe  the  making  of  a  glass  shade,  large 
enough  to  cover  a  time-piece,  or  a  statuette 
on  its  pedestal.  Stopping  short  of  blowing 
a  hole  in  his  cul-de-sac,  the  workman  deposits 
his  red  bubble  in  a  wooden  mould  which 
stands  in  the  chasm  below  his  bridge.  The 
sides  are  flattened,  while  the  top  and  ends 
remain  round  ;  and  thus,  amidst  a  little  rush 
of  sparks,  the  shade  receives  its  form.  The 
work  done  on  these  bridges  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  imposing  to  a  novice  of  any  part  of  the 
business.  Some  of  the  men  have  bare  feet 
and  legs  ;  some  have  no  clothing  but  drawers 
and  a  blue  shirt ;  one  or  two,  indeed,  add  the 
article  of  gold  earrings,  being  Frenchmen. 
All  have  glistening  faces  ;  and  all  swing  their 
glowing  cylinders  as  if  they  were  desperate 
or  demented  ;  a  condition  which  we  suspect 
we  are  approaching,  under  the  pressure  of  the 
heat,  and  the  strangeness  and  the  hurry  of 
incessantly  getting  out  of  the  way  of  red-hot 
globes,  long  pipes,  and  whirling  cylinders. 

If  we  are  to  follow  our  own  particular  pane 
of  glass,  we  must  be  off;  for  the  cylinder  is 
cool  enough  to  be  carried  in  a  man's  arms  to 
the  annealing,  in  preparation  for  the  splitting. 
How  this  round  thing  is  ever  to  grow  flat,  we 
cannot  conceive.  Supposing  it  split,  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BIRMINGHAM  GLASS  WORKS. 


35 


inside  must  have  a  more  contracted  surface 
than  the  outside.  Well ;  we  shall  see.  It 
has  to  be  annealed,  before  anything  more  can 
be  done  to  it,  and  for  this  purpose,  it  is 
carried  to  the  kiln,  where  it  is  to  be  well 
baked,  and  gradually  withdrawn  into  a  lesser 
and  lesser  heat,  until  it  will  bear  what  else  it 
has  to  undergo.  As  we  cannot  stand  here 
for  a  day  or  two  till  it  is  done,  we  must 
transfer  our  attentions  to  another  cylinder,  to 
see  how  the  splitting  is  effected. 

The  diamonds,  for  cutting,  are  shown  to  us. 
One  is  mounted  as  on  one  point  of  a  pair  of 
pincers,  the  diamond  looking  inwards.  The 
pincers  are  mounted  upon  wheels.  This  is  for 
cutting  off  the  edge  of  the  cylinder,  which  is 
more  or  less  jagged.  The  little  carriage  runs 
round  under  the  upright  cylinder,  the  diamond 
marking  the  glass  as  it  travels  ;  and  a  gentle 
tap  severs  the  jagged  end  at  the  mark.  Next, 
the  cylinder  is  laid  along  upon  a  table,  and 
another  mounted  diamond  is  run  through  the 
inside  of  it,  from  end  to  end,  guided  by  a 
ruler.  Another  tap,  and  there  is  a  split 
along  the  line,  and  the  edges  actually  overlap. 
The  glass  is  seen  to  be  thicker  than  it  is  to 
remain.  It  will  lose  one  fifth,  or  one  sixth  of 
its  thickness  in  the  grinding.  A  curious  fact 
is  observed  here.  Looking  at  the  edge  of  a 
piece  of  red  glass,  we  see  that  it  is  not  red 
throughout — that,  in  fact,  the  glass,  seen  side- 
ways, is  greenish  ;  but  how  this  happens  we 
cannot  divine.  It  is  done  by  taking  up  first  a 
little  of  the  red  honey  from  the  ruby  glass- 
pot,  and  afterwards  white — again  and  again, 
in  proportion  to  the  intended  paleness  of  the 
hue.  Thus,  the  red,  while  completely  incor- 
porated in  substance  with  the  rest,  is  spread 
over  only  the  inner  surface  ;  and  thus,  when 
cut,  the  sheet  can  be  embossed  with  white 
figures.  Red  or  white,  the  cylinder  is  now  to 
become  a  sheet  of  glass. 

We  adjourn  to  the  mouth  of  a  kiln,  where 
we  see  that  a  slab  of  stone,  inoveable,  forms 
the  floor.  On  this  slab  lies  a  sheet  of  glass  ; 
and  our  cylinder  is  to  be  unrolled  upon  it,  or 
its  lower  side  would  be  made  rough  by 
contact  with  the  stone.  A  little  lime  or  chalk 
is  sprinkled  on  the  sheet,  and  then  the  cylinder 
is  laid  down  upon  it.  As  it  heats,  it  begins 
to  gape  at  the  slit.  The  process  is  aided  by 
the  man  at  the  kiln.  He  takes  up  a  pole 
which  has  a  wooden  block  at  the  end  of  it, 
thrusts  in  the  block,  and  proceeds  to  iron  out 
the  relaxing  cylinder.  His  block  begins  to 
smoke,  and  presently  throws  out  sparks,  more 
and  more ;  but  he  perseveres  until  every  corner 
is  levelled  ;  the  sheet  lies  as  flat  as  a  pancake, 
and  its  two  surfaces  are  equalised,  in  its  semi- 
fluid condition.  By  observing  the  reflection 
of  the  fire  on  its  surface,  we  see  that  it  is 
rapidly  melting.  But  it  is  not  to  melt  away  ; 
so  the  slab  is  drawn  away  backwards,  by  a 
stout  chain  ;  and  another  is  to  take  its  place 
from  one  side. 

We  go  round  to  see  what  becomes  of  the 
sheet.  We  find  it  in  a  somewhat  cooler  part 


of  the  kiln,  about  to  be  removed,  that  the 
stone  slab  may  go  back  to  its  proper  work. 
A  boy  is  to  effect  the  removal.  He  lifts  up 
the  sheet  with  a  long  '•'  fork,"  as  he  calls  it, 
and  gently  lays  it  on  the  top  of  a  pile  of 
predecessors,  which  are  gradually  cooling. 
When  nearly  cooled,  they  are  to  be  trans- 
ferred, in  the  iron  box  which  now  contains 
them,  and  where  they  are  to  stand  on  edge, 
separated  by  iron  bars,  to  a  sort  of  railway 
truck,  where  they  stand,  shut  up  in  their  box, 
until  they  have  become  accustomed  to  a  natural 
temperature,  and  may  be  carried  on.  to  the 
grinding.  There  we  must  leave  them,  while 
we  take  a  look  at  the  treatment  of  two  other 
kinds  of  glass — flint-glass,  or  crystal,  and 
crown  glass. 

There  is  no  flint  now  really  used  in  the 
manufacture,  though  there  was  when  crystal 
glass  was  called  after  it.  Flints  were,  in 
those  days,  heated  red-hot,  and  thrown  into 
cold  water,  when  they  fell  to  pieces,  so  far  as 
to  be  easily  reducible  to  powder.  It  is  still 
easier,  however,  to  pick  up  the  sand  ready 
powdered  at  Lynn  and  in  the  Isle  of  Wight. 
Red  lead  is  added,  to  give  density  to  the 
glass  ;  but  in  what  proportions  we  did  not 
inquire  here,  having  learned  elsewhere  that 
that  is  the  one  question  which  a  stranger 
ought  not  to  ask.  It  is  the  grand  secret  of 
most  glasshouses.  Red  lead  also  promotes 
the  melting  of  the  sand  ;  it  gives  a  greater 
refracting  power,  and  a  higher  lustre  ;  and  it 
is  some  protection  against  fracture  from 
sudden  changes  of  temperature.  It  renders 
the  glass  more  ductile  in  the  working  also  ; 
but  there  must  not  be  too  much  of  it,  or  the 
material  will  be  too  soft.  In  these  works, 
the  flint  glass  has  a  furnace  to  itself — built 
for  it.  It  is  melted  in  crucibles,  or  small 
pots,  over  and  over  again,  until  it  is  pure.  It  is 
left  in  the  pots,  and  the  furnace  is  shut  up, 
and  allowed  to  cool  very  slowly  ;  when  the 
pots  fall  away,  and  leave  the  glass  in  masses. 
A  man  holds  each  mass  between  his  eye  and 
the  light ;  and,  if  he  sees  any  speck,  he  splits 
the  glass,  and  removes  the  offending  particle. 
Peeping  into  the  annealing  oven,  we  see  flat 
cakes  of  flint  glass,  about  an  inch  thick  ;  and 
it  is  with  a  sort  of  veneration  that  we  look 
upon  them.  They  have  grand  work  to  do 
soon.  They  are  to  bring  down  to  us  much 
that  is  too  high,  and  up  to  us  much  that  is 
too  small,  for  our  discovery  without  their 
help.  They  are  to  open  to  us  the  spectacle 
of  starry  systems — reach  beyond  reach,  until 
our  faculties  can  endure  no  more.  They  are 
to  show  us  (what  we  could  not  believe  with- 
out seeing)  how  every  drop  of  water  in  a 
stagnant  pond  is  thickly  peopled  with  living 
animals,  and  how  whole  quarries  and  sea- 
beaches  are  composed  of  the  remains  of  dead 
animals.  They  are  to  separate  the  rays  of 
the  sun  into  parts  for  us  ;  and  to  enable  the 
aged  to  read  and  work,  forgetting  their 
years  ;  and  to  repair  many  a  mischief  of  im- 
perfect sight ;  and  to  improve  the  beacon- 


3(5 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


lights  upon  our  coasts,  saving  many  a  sea- 
inan  from  the  snares  of  the  ocean,  and 
giving  him  years  more  of  life.  It  is  this  par- 
ticular glass  of  which  all  kinds  of  lenses  are 
made  ;  and  when  we  think  of  what  is  in- 
cluded in  this  set  of  uses,  we  feel  that  all  the 
woiiders  of  windows  and  glass  palaces  are  of 
small  consequence  in  comparison  with  them. 

Passing  from  thoughts  of  telescopes,  micro- 
scopes, spectacles,  and  lighthouse  lenses,  we 
go  to  see  some  more  window-glass — the  very 
best  kind — namely,  Crown  Glass.  We  cannot 
in  the  least  comprehend  how  and  why  the 
"  metal "  we  saw  treated,  becomes  the  great 
and  beautiful  disc  that  we  beheld  it  grow 
into  ;  we  can  only  relate  what  the  process 
is,  as  we  witnessed  it.  It  is  considered  the 
most  striking  and  wonderful  of  all  the  spec- 
tacles of  this  fire-palace.  The  same  sort  of 
tube  that  we  had  tried  to  blow  through,  now 
took  up  the  same  kind  of  material,  in  the 
same  manner  as  in  the  case  of  sheet  glass  ;  a 
globe  was  formed  in  just  the  same  way,  and 
rolled  on  a  metal  table.  After  many  heatings, 
and  much  blowing,  the  farther  side  of  the 
globe  was  somewhat  flattened,  by  pressing  it 
against  an  upright  surface ;  and  then  a  boy 
brought  a  solid  rod,  with  a  dab  of  the  fiery 
honey  upon  it,  and  fixed  it  in  the  middle  of 
the  flattened  side.  As  soon  as  the  rod  is 
safely  fixed,  the  original  tube  is  detached  by 
a  touch  of  cold  iron,  and  conies  away,  leaving 
a  small  hole.  The  workman  throws  down 
his  tube,  takes  the  rod,  and  twirls  the  globe 
like  a  mop,  thrusting  it  into  the  furnace  very 
often,  to  prevent  its  cooling.  It  swells  and 
spreads,  and  reflects  the  flames  on  its  film- 
like  surface ;  the  hole  enlarges,  and  the  edge 
curls  back,  till  the  globe  looks  like  a  vast 
lamp-shade.  As  the  twirling  continues,  the 
edge  folds  backwards,  more  and  more,  till  it 
makes  a  tubular  ring  all  round.  Suddenly, 
this  ring  bursts,  and  its  substance  melts  into 
the  flattening  material  which  it  surrounds, 
and  the  whole  becomes  a  disc,  or  circular 
plate,  of  from  fifty  to  sixty  inches  in  diameter, 
of  the  same  thickness  throughout,  except  just 
round  the  rod  in  the  centre.  The  plate  is 
carried  to  the  annealing  kiln,  and  there  is 
tilted  with  a  "fork,"  until  it  stands  on  its 
edge — the  foremost  of  a  regiment  of  discs, 
separated  from  each  other  by  bars.  Window- 
panes  are  to  be  cut  out  of  it,  by-  and-  bye ;  and 
the  thick  part,  in  the  centre,  is  to  glaze  out- 
houses and  the  like. 

The  heat  from  these  last-seen  furnaces  is 
tremendous.  The  men  do  what  they  can  to 
shield  themselves  from  it.  They  wear  masks 
— gauze,  fastened  to  the  rim  of  an  old  hat. 
One  holds  a  wooden  screen  before  the  face  of 
another,  and  all  are  as  quick  as  possible,  both 
for  their  own  sakes  and  that  of  the  glass. 
Still,  it  is  a  marvel  how  they  can  bear  it. 
We  are  told  that  it  is  by  their  working  very 
moderately,  as  to  time — four  or  five  days  (of 
seven  hours)  in  a  week.  Thirty-five  hours  in 
a  week  are  considered  a  fair  share  of  work  for 


glass-blowers  ;  but,  if  a  pot  breaks,  they  must 
work  until  another  is  put  in.  Thus,  their  time 
is  spent  between  arduous  toil  and  leisure; 
and  this  circumstance  points  to  the  expediency 
of  furnishing  them  with  amusement  which 
may  make  their  leisure  harmless.  The  public- 
house  used  to  be  a  terrible  temptation  to  men 
so  tired,  heated,  and  thirsty  ;  and  to  many  it 
is  so  still.  Of  late,  reading-rooms  have  been 
opened,  which  appear  to  be  an  inestimable 
resource.  There  the  workman  may  enter  at 
any  hour  during  the  day,  and  find  a  good  fire, 
a  table  covered  with  newspapers  and  other 
periodicals,  and  some  comrades  reading  the 
news.  There  is  a  good  and  increasing  library  ; 
and  the  men  may  take  the  books  home,  and 
are  encouraged  to  do  so,  that  they  may  spend 
the  evenings  with  their  families. 

We  have  still  to  see  how  the  sheet-glass 
becomes  smooth  and  polished.  It  has  to 
undergo  three  processes  more  ;  —  grinding^ 
smoothing,  and  polishing.  Probably  the  first 
thing  every  stranger  does  on  entering  the 
griudiug-roorn  is  to  burst  out  a-laughing, — 
the  machinery  is  so  grotesque  ; — so  like  being 
alive  and  full  of  affectations.  It  is  patent 
machinery :  the  exclusive  possession  of  this 
house.  One  sheet  is  moved  about  upon 
another  with  a  movement  like  that  by  a 
human  arm,  scrubbing  and  grinding  ;  and 
the  repetition  of  this,  by  scores  of  machines 
in  rows,  produces  a  most  ludicrous  effect. 
The  sheets  have  been  properly  squared  before 
by  being  cut  with  a  glazier's  diamond.  The 
grinding  now,  with  sand  between  the  sheets, 
takes  three  hours  for  each  side  ;  and  they 
come  out  of  the  process  opaque,  but  without 
seams  or  serious  blemishes.  They  must  be 
smoothed  by  hand ;  and  this  is  done  by 
women,  who  rub  them  with  fine  emery,  and 
remove  any  remaining  specks.  From  forty 
to  fifty  women  are  employed  in  this  work  at 
long  tables,  where  their  action  is  very  grace- 
ful, as  they  bend  over  their  work,  and  use 
the  steady  and  equable  pressure  required. 
The  polishing  is  done  by  machinery,  in  the 
same  sort  of  red  apartment,  filled  with  red 
machines,  tended  by  red  work-people,  which 
was  described  in  the  account  of  Plate-glass 
making,  at  page  433,  of  our  second  volume. 
The  noise  here  is  horrible.  Noise  and  rouge, 
and  the  tyranny  of  the  rolling  presses  over 
the  tortured  sheets,  bound  down  immovable, 
give  an  infernal  aspect  to  the  place,  very 
unlike  some  things  that  remain  to  be  seen. 

We  pass  through  more  and  more  of  these 
vast  rooms,  each  of  which  would  contain  a 
house.  One  is  full  of  glass  shades,  of  all 
sizes,  from  that  which  would  cover  a  life-size 
statue,  to  such  as  would  preserve  butterflies 
from  dust.  In  a  closet,  opening  out  of  this 
room,  a  man  is  plying  the  wheeled  diamond 
with  a  weight  and  measure,  carefully  cutting 
the  bottom  of  shades  true  and  even.  Here 
are  bell-glasses  for  fern-houses,  and  some 
with  a  trough  for  water  round  the  edge. 
Here,  too,  are  shades  made  to  order,  for 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BIRMINGHAM  GLASS  WORKS. 


37 


particular  objects,  —  as  a  group  of  statuary, 
— where  the  back  of  the  shade  is  wider  than 
the  front.  In  another  room,  boys  are  cutting 
little  squares  of  glass  on  marked  counters, 
with  rulers  and  glaziers'  diamonds.  These 
are  to  cover  miniatures  and  daguerreotypes  ; 
but  where  they  can  all  go  to — many  thou- 
sands in  a  week — we  cannot  conceive.  The 
demand  from  America  is  very  great,  we  are 
told  :  but  it  seems  to  us,  that  if  all  American 
and  English  children  were  to  amuse  them- 
selves with  breaking  the  glasses  of  minia- 
tures, what  we  now  see  in  this  room  would 
repair  the  damage.  If  such  be  the  quantity 
of  glass  in  bits,  it  may  be  conceived  what  the 
amount  must  be  in  sheets.  We  pass  hundreds 
and  thousands  set  on  edge.  Handfuls  of 
straw  are  thrust  between  the  plates  to  keep 
them  apart ;  and  in  rooms  near  there  is  a 
vast  packing  always  going  on. 

The  conclusion  of  our  survey  is  charming. 
We  find  men,  women,  and  boys  painting  and 
enamelling  glass.  A  sheet,  is  covered  smooth 
with  a  white  enamel,  which  has  itself  much 
of  the  character  of  glass.  Slips  of  brass,  with 
patterns  cut  out,  are  laid  oh  the  enamel,  and 
rubbed  over,  so  as  to  leave  the  pattern  clear. 
It  is,  in  fact,  stencilling  ;  only,  instead  of 
laying  on  paint  through  the  holes  in  the 
pattern,  the  enamel  beneath  is  rubbed  off 
there.  A  woman  is  covering  a  sheet  all  over, 
except  a  border,  with  some  thick  black  sub- 
stance. This  sheet  is  to  be  embossed.  The 
border  is  to  be  corroded  by  an  acid,  and  she 
is  protecting  all  the  rest  of  the  surface  by 
this  covering.  An  artist  is  painting  a  broad 
border  with  the  blue  iris — as  beautiful  as  life 
— and  convolvulus  and  poppies.  The  panes 
of  lanterns  are  almost  as  astonishing  for 
quantity  as  the  miniature  glasses  ;  and  ex- 
tremely various  in  patterns.  But  we  should 
never  have  done,  if  we  told  what  pretty  things 
we  saw  ;  or  if  we  entered  into  details  about 
the  schools  ;  or  described  the  life  and  con- 
dition of  the  twelve  hundred  work-people 
connected  with  this  vast  establishment. 

There  wras  a  certain  fountain  in  the  centre 
of  a  certain  Exhibition  which  need  not  be 
described,  because  everybody  knows  it.  We 
have  been  to  see  how  that  fountain  was  made, 
and  have  had  the  honour — a  somewhat 
laborious  one — of  lifting  some  of  its  portions  ; 
a  shell,  a  spike,  an  ornament  or  two,  each  of 
which  required  the  whole  strength  of  an  un- 
practised person  to  raise  from  the  ground. 
The  weight  of  the  fountain,  before  the 
trimming  and  dressing,  was  upwards  of  four 
tons.  Mr.  Osier  engaged  three  railway  car- 
riages (passenger  train)  to  convey  it  to 
London,  he  taking  his  own  seat  in  a  fourth. 
A  wall  wa.s  built  in  the  centre  of  the  transept 
for  the  foundation  of  this  beautiful  structure  ; 
and  the  building  up  was  done  slowly  and 
carefully.  When  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert 
walked  round  the  screen  which  surrounded 
the  work  which  Mr.  Osier  was  superintending 
within,  they  could  not  have  imagined — for 


none  but  the  artificer  could — what  would  be 
the  beauty  of  this  transparent  shaft,  with  its 
streams  of  water  falling  like  a  veil  around  it, 
when  the  slanting  sunlight  from  the  roof 
touched  it,  and  sent  thousands  of  gleams  and 
sparkles  through  it.  It  could  be,  and  it  was, 
removed  in  one  night;  but  many  were  the 
anxious  nights  and  weary  days  which  passed 
over  the  making  of  it.  If  the  Messrs.  Osier 
could  have  devoted  their  works  and  their 
people  wholly  to  the  making  of  this  fountain, 
it  would  have  been  pleasant  enough  ;  but  it 
had  to  be  done  in  addition  to  their  ordinary 
business  ;  and  desperately  hard  work  it  was. 

We  saw  how  some  of  its  parts  were  made, 
in  seeing  how  ornamental  glass  —  vases, 
pitchers,  decanters,  chandeliers,  and  many 
fancy  articles,  come  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
workmen.  Of  the  earlier  processes  of  the  art 
we  need  not  speak,  as  they  resemble  those 
which  were  described  long  ago  ;  but  there  is 
one  circumstance  which  ought  to  be  noted  ; 
the  form  of  the  great  chimney  of  the  glass- 
house. Mr.  Osier  knows  what  he  is  about  in 
matters  of  science  ;  and  he  perceived  that  the 
prejudice  in  favour  of  a  chimney  with  a 
narrow  top  was  a  mistake.  He  determined 
to  build  his  the  same  width,  inside,  all  the 
way  up.  Perhaps,  if  he  had  to  do  it  over 
again,  he  might  even  make  it  wider  at  the 
top,  as  the  heated  air  requires  plenty  of  room 
for  expansion  and  escape.  Some  people 
thought  the  plan  a  very  odd  one,  and  said 
there  could  be  no  proper  draught.  Every- 
thing else  about  this  carefully  planned  glass- 
house was  capital  ;  but  who  ever  heard  of 
such  a  chimney  for  a  glass-house  ?  There  it 
is,  however,  resting  upon  strong  pillars  ;  and 
with  such  a  draught,  that  at  times  the 
business  is  to  moderate  it. 

Passing  the  mixing  rooms,  the  pots,  the 
melting,  the  blowing,  we  give  a  moment's 
attention  to  the  method  of  forming  a  decanter 
or  pitcher.  The  workman  sits  in  a  "  chair  " 
— a  bench  with  two  long  arms  to  it — and 
rolls  his  iron  pipe  or  tube,  with  the  left  hand 
on  these  arms,  to  keep  the  soft  glass  in  shape, 
while  with  the  right  he  applies  a  pair  of  tongs 
to  fashioning  the  neck  of  his  decanter,  or 
claret-jug,  or  whatever  it  may  be.  It  is  a 
pretty  sight ;  and  so  are  the  long  vistas  of 
glass,  in  the  kiln  first,  and  then  in  the  "  lear  " 
— the  milder  oven,  in  which  the  annealing  of 
the  smaller  articles  is  done.  We  leave  the 
glass-house,  and  travel  to  the  manufactory, 
where  we  see  how  the  drops  for  chandeliers, 
and  all  manner  of  arms  and  branches,  are 
made,  and  how  the  cuttings,  and  polishings, 
and  putting  together  are  done.  Here  is  a 
deaf  and  dumb  man  casting  drops  and 
"  spangles,"  as  small  square  drops  are  called. 
Why  not  1  Hearing  and  speech  are  not 
required  for  this  work  ;  and  there  he  sits 
diligent  and  still.  One  wonders  what  he 
thinks  about,  all  the  while.  He  tosses  a  bit 
of  coal  into  his  little  furnace,  every  minute  or 
I  so.  The  coal  is  on  his  right  hand,  and  on  his 


38 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


'Conducted  by 


left  are  the  "  lumps  "  of  flint-glass  he  is  to 
use.  He  pushes  forward  one  at  a  time  into 
the  heat  before  the  fire,  that  it  may  be 
warming  for  its  work.  With  his  left  hand  lie 
hokls  the  rod,  on  the  end  of  which  is  the 
"  lump  "  he  is  using  ;  and  in  his  right  is  the 
mould  in  which  the  drops  are  to  be  formed. 
He  melts  his  lump,  and  lays  a  yellow  trail 
into  his  mould,  "and  shuts  down  the  lid  upon 
it.  Out  comes  the  drop,  three-sided,  rough, 
and  attached  to  the  lump.  He  knocks  it  oftj 
pushes  it  on  one  side,  and  begins  another. 
When  he  comes  near  the  end  of  his  lump,  he 
makes  smaller  drops  and  "  spangles,"  until 
only  enough  remains  to  fasten  on  the  new  lump 
which  has  been  roasting  in  preparation.  The 
place  is  lighted  only  by  the  furnace  fires. 
The  glare  is  intense  to  the  workman  on  his 
stool  ;  and  his  sight  would  suffer  if  the  day- 
light were  mixed  with  it :  so  he  darkens  the 
window. 

We  find  women  at  work  in  the  next  place 
we  enter.  Wheels  are  whirling  and  whizzing, 
and  the  drops  are  first  ground  smooth,  and 
then  polished.  The  most  wonderful  thing  is, 
the  skill  with  which  the  facets  of  a  drop  or 
spangle  are  ground  by  the  eye.  Ridges  meet 
at  the  top  ;  planes  slope  away  to  the  side,  with 
a  regularity  truly  mysterious  to  the  novice. 
Out  come  the  drops,  smooth  in  their  edges, 
polished  in  their  sides,  and  with  the  obtuse 
angles  at  their  ends  all  without  a  fault.  It  is 
a  wonderful  education  of  eye  and  touch. 

In  the  moulding  of  the  pendants,  holes 
were  made,  by  wires  standing  up  in  the 
mould.  Hooks  and  eyes  have  to  be  inserted 
in  these  holes,  and  in  the  plates  to  which  they 
are  to  hang.  Girls  insert  these,  and  put  the 
parts  together. 

There  is  a  long  and  peopled  apartment, 
called  the  metal-room,  where  the  metallic 
parts  of  chandeliers,  &c.,  are  prepared.  But 
more  interesting,  because  more"  unlike  other 
manufactures,  is  the  glass-cutting,  which  pro- 
ceeds in  a  vast  right-angled  room,  where 
whole  rows  of  iron  mills,  as  they  are  called, 
are  at  work.  Above  each  wheel  or  "mill" 
is  a  funnel,  which  drops  sand  and  water  on 
the  edge  of  the  wheel.  It  is,  in  fact,  the  sand 
which  cuts  the  pattern — the  mill  being  the 
means  of  applying  it.  Down  dribbles  and 
drips  the  sand  ;  whizz  goes  the  wheel  ;  the 
glass  held  to  the  edge  vibrates  and  seethes  ; 
and,  after  being  dipped  in  the  tub  of  water 
at  each  man's  elbow,  it  shows  the  desired 
form  and  pattern  ;  the  curve,  or  the  facet ; 
the  star,  or  the  Greek  border,  or  the  flower 
and  leaf  garland.  To  save  some  kinds  of 
articles  which  are  slender,  or  much  curved, 
from  too  strong  a  vibration,  clay  is  plastered 
into  hollows  or  angles.  Some  of  the  work  is, 
necessarily,  "  underhand,"  though  everybody 
prefers  the  "  overhand"  process  :  that  is,  it  is 
more  convenient  and  easy,  and  catches  more 
sand,  to  hold  the  article  to  the  upper  part  of 
the  wheel,  than  to  the  under.  In  the  one 
case,  the  glass  is  thrust  against  the  wheel ;  in 


the  other,  it  is  lifted  against  it,  which  in- 
volves the  holding  the  whole  weight  of  the 
article,  while  much  less  sand  finds  its  way  to 
the  right  place.  The  work  is  both  laborious 
and  anxious.  One  article  may  require  a  succes- 
sion of  mills ;  and  it  may  be  spoiled  in  any  one 
stage  of  the  manufacture.  Here  is  the  anxiety 
of  the  case.  In  metal-working,  all  is  pretty 
secure  when  once  the  model  is  obtained,  and 
the  first  casting  is  found  to  succeed.  In  the 
glass  manufacture,  each  article  must  stand  on 
its  own  merits,  and  the  thousandth  reqiiires 
as  much  pains  as  the  first.  Those  pains  have 
their  reward,  however,  as  some  of  our  readers 
may  be  aware,  if  they  have  overheard  remarks 
on  the  collection  of  graceful  and  brilliant  glass- 
ware, in  the  Messrs.  Osier's  rooms  in  London. 
Another  kind  of  tribute  arrived  lately  from  a 
very  distant  place.  The  Messrs.  Osier  had  sent 
to  Egypt,  by  order  of  the  Viceroy,  two  pairs 
of  crystal  glass  candelabra,  ten  feet  high. 
The  Viceroy  is  so  delighted  with  them,  that 
he  has  sent  them — who  would  guess  where  1 — 
to  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet,  at  Medina ;  where, 
as  his  Highness's  Secretary  observes,  they 
will  be  the  admiration  of  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  pilgrim  worshippers.  It  is  a  singular 
destination  of  Birmingham  products — to  keep 
watch  over  the  pair  of  genii,  who  are  keeping 
watch  over  the  Prophet  in  his  tomb ;  reminding 
him  of  his  good  and  evil  deeds,  and  balancing 
the  account  which  his  resurrection  is  to 
settle.  How  very  far  have  they  travelled 
over  sea  and  land,  to  stand  within  those  iron 
rails,  and  under  the  charge  of  the  forty 
eunuchs  who  keep  guard  there !  It  is  a 
symbolic  incident,  indicating  the  spread  of 
British  arts  among  the  remotest  regions,  and 
the  strangest  races  and  faiths  on  earth. 


CHIPS. 


NOBILITY  IN  SPAIN. 

EXCEPTING  Hungary  and  Poland,  the  most 
numerous  crowd  of  nobles  in  the  world  is  to 
be  found  in  Spain  ;  and  here,  again,  the  crowd 
is  thicker  in  Castile  and  in  the  Basque  pro- 
vinces, especially  in  Alava,  than  elsewhere. 
In  the  last-mentioned  district,  indeed,  almost 
every  peasant  is  Hijo  de  Algo  (the  son  of 
something),  or,  in  short,  Hidalgo. 

In  what  are  called  everywhere  the  good 
old  times,  the  Spanish  nobility  possessed  many 
privileges,  and  among  others  was  one  which 
still  exists  ;  viz.,  they  do  not  stand  up  to  be 
hanged  for  any  crime,  but  have  the  right  of 
taking  a  chair,  and  being  strangled  in  a  com- 
fortable manner.  This  punishment  is  called 
"  El  Garrote  noble."  The  nobles  claim  a 
right  to  be  addressed  as  "Tu"  (thou)  by  the 
sovereign,  signifying  that  they  are  thus  ac- 
knowledged as  his  peers.  They  are  divided 
into  three  ranks.  In  the  first  come  the 
Grandees,  who  claim  equality  by  birth  with 
the  king,  and  derive  their  origin,  at  some  time 
or  other,  from  one  of  the  reigning  families ; 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NOBILITY  IN  SPAIN. 


then  follow  the  Titulados,  formerly  called 
"Eicos  ombres,"  to  which  class  belong  the 
Counts,  Barons,  and  Marquisses,  who  are  not 
grandees  :  and  lastly,  the  numerous  Hidalyos, 
or  infanzones,  many  of  whom  are  in  the 
utmost  misery  of  poverty,  answering,  in  some 
respects,  to  the  one-spurred  nobles,  created 
by  Maria  Theresa  in  Hungary,  or  the  Pro- 
vincial Barons  of  France,  in  the  beginning  of 
the  eighteenth  century. 

The  grandees  of  Spain  are  altogether  an 
anomaly  in  our  own  railroad  century.  Men- 
tally and  physically  degenerated,  crippled  in 
mind  and  body,  they  saunter,  now-a-days,  so 
listlessly  about  the  streets  of  Madrid,  that  it 
is  scarcely  possible  to  believe  them  the 
descendants  of  those  men  who  fought  so  long 
and  bravely  in  old  time  against  the  Moors, 
who  scorned  privation,  and  became  the  theme 
of  song  and  story ;  men  who,  through  good 
and  evil  fortune,  struggled  on  and  knew  110 
rest  till  the  banners  of  the  Cross  were  floating 
upon  the  battlements  and  minarets  of  Granada, 
and  reflected  themselves  in  the  waves  of  the 
Xenil  and  the  Darro. 

The  grandees  of -to-day  appear  to  be  below 
the  weakness  of  ambition.  Unlike  their 
hardy  forefathers,  they  are  so  bred  into  the 
ways  of  wealth,  that  dressing  is  a  labour  to 
them,  and  even  eating  and  drinking  seem,  in 
the  vulgar  forms  at  any  rate,  to  be  a  bore. 
They  pass  the  night  in  revelry,  and  doze  away 
the  day.  They  go  out  at  four,  five,  or  six 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  according  to  the  time 
of  year,  usually  in  close  carriages,  with  the 
windows  carefully  closed,  even  in  summer : 
they  show  themselves  for  a  short  time  in  the 
Prado,  or  the  "  Fuente  Castellaua,"  pleasure- 
grounds,  without  the  town,  and  so  kill  time 
till  dinner.  While  the  Spanish  grandee 
wastes  his  life,  the  "  Intendant "  (agent)  of 
his  immense  estates  usually  mismanages  them 
in  a  prudent  way,  certain  that  he  shall  never 
fall  into  disgrace  while  he  provides  money 
daily  for  the  follies  of  his  lord.  The  result  of 
this  is  naturally  that  the  grandees  are  misera- 
bly indebted,  and  according  to  all  appearance 
will  soon  be  utterly  beggared,  their  properties 
passing  into  the  hands  of  the  prudent  "  In- 
tendauts,"  who  are  usually  their  chief  creditors. 

Among  so  large  a  body  there  are,  of  course, 
exceptions.  The  Duke  de  Puvas,  for  instance, 
stands  honourably  out  from  many  of  his  equals. 
Poet  and  scholar,  wise  and  brave,  he  is  an  ex- 
ample of  manliness,  of  feeling  of  honesty  of 
purpose,  and  active  beneficence,  which  the 
nobles  of  any  land  might  be  proud  to  imitate. 

A  few  years  ago,  when  the  strife  of  parties 
ran  so  high  that  it  would  seem  impossible  for 
any  Spaniard  to  have  been  uninterested  in  the 
struggle,  what  was  the  part  played  by  the 
grandees  1  During  the  whole  of  that  wretched 
period  they  held  aloof.  They  passed  their 
time  in  strange  tranquillity  in  Paris  or  in 
London,  and  sent  their  homage  to  Don  Carlos 
or  to  Queen  Christina,  even  as  the  case  might 
be,  as  fortune  gave  a  master  or  a  mistress  to 


these  dignified  incapables.  Only  two,  the 
Count  of  Via  Manuel,  and  the  Count  of 
Campo  Alanza,  displayed  any  valour,  and  of 
these  the  first  was  taken  prisoner  of  war,  and 
shot  by  the  express  order  of  Don  Carlos  ;  the 
other  fell,  sword  in  hand,  at  the  storming  of 
Luchana.  Scarcely,  however,  was  the  treaty 
of  Bergara  concluded  by  the  treason  of  Maroto, 
when  the  grandees  hurried  back  to  Madrid, 
and  flocked  to  the  feet  of  the  young  Queen, 
mutually  outbidding  each  other  in  protesta- 
tions of  attachment  and  allegiance. 

The  whole  of  the  ancient  nobility  of  Spain 
consists  of  about  fifty  families  ;  some  of  these, 
such  as  the  Dukes  of  Osuna  and  Medina-Cell, 
possess  six  or  eight  dukedoms,  and  as  many 
titles  of  count  and  marquis.  Thus,  for 
example,  the  present  Duke  of  Osuna,  of  the 
house  of  Giron,  is  also  Duke  of  Arcos,  of 
Bejar,  of  Gandia,  of  Infantado,  of  Lerma,  of 
Pastrana,  of  Placentia,  and  of  Benavente. 
His  estates,  which,  like  Berkeley  Castle,  for 
the  most  part  belong  to  the  titles,  are  im- 
mense ;  and  one  which  he  inherited  in  1845, 
with  the  dukedom  of  Infantado,  is  said  to  be 
alone  worth  nearly  a  million  sterling.  The 
present  possessor  of  the  title  of  Alva  is  the 
Duke  of  Berwick,  an  illegitimate  descendant 
of  our  James  the  Second.  The  family  name 
of  the  Duke  of  Medina-Celi  (said  to  be  the 
richest  of  all  the  Spanish  grandees)  is  the 
famous  one  of  Fernandez  de  Cordova,  descend- 
ing, in  a  direct  line,  from  the  great  hero,  who 
stands  among  the  worthies  of  the  nation  next 
in  esteem  to  the  Cid  Campeador. 

All  grandees  are  born  knights  grand  cross 
of  the  order  of  Charles  the  Third,  of  the 
Immaculate  Conception.  They  are  also  either 
knights  of  Alcantara  or  Calatrava,  or  of  St 
Jago  de  Compostella,  and  Montesa  ;  but  these 
four  military  orders  of  knighthood,  once  so 
celebrated  among  the  chivalry  of  Christendom, 
have  lost  all  significance  of  merit,  and  are  now 
merely  badges  of  distinction  for  the  old  no- 
bility. The  only  order  which  still  claims 
respect  among  military  men  in  Spain,  is  that 
of  the  Holy  Ferdinand,  which  is  not  hereditary, 
and,  according  to  statutes,  can  be  bestowed 
only  for  personal  bravery  in  battle. 

The  grandees  are  divided  into  two  classes. 
The  grandees  of  the  first  class  appear  before 
the  monarch  without  uncovering  their  heads ; 
they  take  off  their  hats  only  while  kissing 
hands,  or  when  personally  addressed  by 
Majesty.  The  grandees  of  the  second  class 
must  appear  uncovered,  and  may  only  put  on 
their  hats  after  they  have  kissed  hands  ;  of 
course  they  also  must  stand  uncovered  while 
they  are  speaking  with  the  sovereign. 

There  are  no  other  privileges  that  have  not 
been  run  away  with  by  the  constitution.  It 
abolished  even  the  law  of  entail, — a  great  boon 
to  the  country,  but  a  death  blow  to  the 
nobles.  By-arid-bye,  perhaps,  agriculture 
may  be  benefited,  as  the  possessors  of  small 
estates  will  be  likely  to  look  after  their  land 
more.  There  are,  altogether,  sixty-seven 


40 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


ducal  titles  in  Spain,  and  with  them,  for  the 
most  part,  is  joined  a  grandeeship  of  the  first 
class.  The  oldest  dukedom  is  that  of  JJene- 
vente,  and  it  is  among  the  titles  of  the  Duke 
of  Osuna,  who  is  thus  the  premier  noble  of 
Spain.  This  title  was  created  in  1461.  Then 
follow  the  titles  of  A  Iva  Medina-Celi,  Arcos, 
Grundia,  and  some  others,  all  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  The  youngest  titles  are  those  of  the 
Duke  of  Valencia  (Narvaez),  1847,  Tarrancon, 
a  brother  of  Munoz,  the  soldier  of  fortune,  who 
married  Queen  Christina,  1848 ;  and  Saragossa, 
possessed  by  the  famous  defender  of  that 
town,  General  Palazon,  whose  heroism  was 
only  rewarded  at  last  under  the  ministry  of 
Narvaez. 

With  these  recent  dukedoms,  however,  no 
estates  were  bestowed,  and  their  only  privi- 
lege consists  in  that  of  kissing  hands  on  gala 
days  a  few  minutes  sooner  than  more  ancient 
nobility  of  lower  grades. 

The  number  of  Marquisates  is  five  hun- 
dred and  twenty-four,  only  four  dating  so  far 
back  as  the  fifteenth  century.  The  first  marquis 
in  Spain  was  the  famous  scholar  and  natural 
philosopher,  Villena  (1445),  who,  like  all  clever 
men  in  the  good  old  times,  was  believed  by  his 
contemporaries  to  be  a  dealer  with  the  devil. 
The  present  possessor  of  this  title  is  the  Duke 
of  Frias.  Most  of  the  rnarquisates,  however, 
belong  to  the  seventeenth,  eighteenth,  and 
nineteenth  centuries ;  no  less  than  one  hundred 
and  thirty-four  have  been  made  in  the  century 
to  which  we  ourselves  belong. 

There  are  three  hundred  and  ninety-eight 
Counts,  and  among  them  many  of  the  most 
famous  names  in  Spanish  story,  such  as  the 
Count  de  Valencia  de  Don  Juan  (1387),  the 
Count  de  Trastamaro  (1445),  Treviuo  (1493). 
Of  Viscounts  there  ai-e  forty-eight ;  of  Barons 
forty,  mostly  creations  of  the  eighteenth  and 
nineteenth  centuries.  All  the  dukes  are 
grandees,  and  many  of  the  marqiiisses,  counts, 
and  viscounts,  but  not  any  of  the  barons,  who 
are.  the  lowest  order  of  the  nobility.  Those 
who  are  not  grandees  are  called  simply  Titu- 
lados.  They,  are  less  connected  with  the 
court,  and  usually  live  upon  their  own  estates, 
which  thus  mostly  show  better  signs  of  care 
and  culture  than  the  others.  Under  these  lords 
the  peasantry  are  not  quite  naked,  and  have 
now  and  then  something  more  solid  than 
pomegranates  for  their  dinner. 

At  this  moment,  perhaps,  the  nobles  of 
Spain  are  displaying  no  abatement  of  their 
ostentation  and  extravagance,  but  their  latter 
day  is  near.  Most  of  the  entailed  estates  are 
hopelessly  encumbered,  and  must  shortly  pass 
into  the  hands  of  creditors.  Where  this 
is  not  the  case  they  will  be  divided  by  the 
new  laws  of  succession.  Then  there  is 
another  law  that  makes  the  possibility  of 
their  existence  as  a  large  class,  for  another 
century,  extremely  difficult.  Every  new  heir 
to  a  title  must  pay  a  sum  of  money  to  the 
government  before  he  can  lay  claim  to  his 
privilege ;  for  this  he  obtains  what  is  called 


a  real  carta  personal,  or  certificate  of  identity. 
Should  the  first  heir  not  be  able  thus  to  take 
up  the  title,  any  of  the  collaterals  may  do  so  ; 
but  if  on  account  of  the  magnitude  of  the 
sum  all  should  refuse,  the  title  then  becomes 
extinct. 

Then,  again,  when  the  several  heirs  to  one 
estate  cannot  agree  about  the  terms  of  its 
division,  it  has  to  be  sold,  and  the  title  travels 
with  it  to  the  purchaser.  Should  any  un- 
authorised person  use  a  title,  he  is  liable  to  a 
fine  of  double  the  sum  fixed  to  be  paid  for  it 
in  law  by  an  heir ;  and  having  been  thus  made 
to  pay  double  for  his  whistle,  it  is  taken  from 
him. 

The  title  of  duke  costs  500,000  reals,  or 
about  ,£5000  ;  a  marquis,  who  is  at  the  same 
time  a  grandee,  pays  300,000  ;  if  not  a  grandee, 
200,000  ;  a  count  being  a  grandee,  250,000 ; 
otherwise,  150,000.  A  viscount  pays  100,000, 
and  a  baron  80,000  reals  to  government,  as 
the  fine  on  entering  into  possession.  Only 
one  person  in  a  family  is  permitted  to  wear 
the  title,  as  with  us.  Before  the  abolition  of 
majorities,  it  was  customary  for  the  heir 
apparent  to  be  also  titled  ;  but  this  is  now  no 
longer  the  case.  The  younger  branches  of  the 
family  go  by  the  family  name,  without  any 
addition. 

In  the  year  1847,  when  the  present  Duke 
of  Medina-Celi.  succeeded  to  his  property,  he 
found  himself  no  less  than  thirty-six-fold  a 
grandee,  and  had,  therefore,  to  settle  the  fol- 
lowing little  bill,  made  out  in  this  form  by 
government : — 

H.  G.  the  Duke  of  Medina-Celi, 

Dr.  to  the  Royal  Treasury  of  Spain. 
To    6  Titles  of  Duke  .     .     3,000,000  reals. 
„    14  Marquisntes       .     .     4,200,000     „ 
„    1C  Couutships  .     .     .     4,000,000     „ 


Total  11,200,000  reals. 

Or  about  ,£112,000,  which  must  have  shaken 
the  accumulations  on  the  rents  a  little. 
Besides  this  expenditure  of  money,  there 
must  be  a  great  sacrifice  of  time  and  ink, 
whenever  his  grace  wishes  to  sign  his  six-aud- 
thirty  names.  A  humbler  Spanish  grandee, 
who  was  once  benighted,  knocked  at  a  lonely 
inn.  When  asked  the  usual ':  Quien  es?  "  (who 
is  there  ?)  he  replied,  "  Don  Diego  de  Mendoza 
Silva  llibiera  Guzman  Pimentel  Osorio  Ponce 
de  Leon  Zuniga,  Acufia  Teller  y  Giron, 

Sandoval  y  Koxas,  Velasco  Man  " He  had 

not  nearly  finished  when  the  landlord  ex- 
claimed, shutting  his  window, "  Go  with  God  ! 
There  is  not  room  for  half  of  you." 

In  1836,  the  Cortez  thought  proper  to 
abolish  all  tithes  of  whatever  kind  soever, 
without  indemnity  of  any  sort  to  their  pos- 
sessors. Many  of  the  tithes  being,  as  with  us, 
in  the  hands  of  laymen,  this  loss  fell  heavily 
on  the  nobles  ;  and  the  Marquis  de  St.  Jago 
lost  no  less  than  80,000  reals  a  year.  In  fact 
it  ruined  him,  there  being  only  a  very  insig- 
nificant estate  joined  with  the  title  ;  but  the 


Charles  Dickf  n«.] 


OUK  HOUSE. 


41 


Count  de  Quale  suffered  a  still  heavier  blow, 
in  losing  a  tithe  of  all  the  receipts  of  the 
post-office,  an  immense  income  in  these  dege- 
nerate letter-writing  days. 

The  higher  nobles  are  usually  quite  as  un- 
willing as  they  are  uniit  to  serve  the  state. 
Now  and  then,  indeed,  when  government  de- 
sires to  be  well  represented  by  some  splendid 
embassy,  it  takes  advantage  of  the  grandee 
passion  for  display,  and  despatches  one  of  the 
class  on  a  foreign  mission ;  but  then  he  is 
usually  sent  in  company  with  some  shrewd 
secretary,  who  performs  the  work. 

Lastly,  the  Hidalgos.  To  this  class  belong, 
almost  entirely,  the  small  house  and  land- 
owners, and  the  greater  part  of  the  persons 
employed  by  government.  Fortune,  on  the 
whole,  however,  deals  but  hardly  with  them. 
But  never  mind,  whichever  way  the  winds' of 
fate  may  blow,  the  weathercock  of  his  pros- 
perity, the  genuine  creak  of  a  Hidalgo  never 
changes  ;  whether  he  owned  Peru  or  a  pome- 
granate, he  would  be  Hidalgo  still.  His  very 
walk  betrays  him  ;  you  can  see  him  afar  off 
snuffing  the  air,  and  know  him  by  his  knees 
so  close  together,  and  his  feet  so  wide  apart. 
Almost  a  third  part  of  the  nation  is  said  to 
belong  to  this  class  ;  and  it  is  surprising  how 
it  nevertheless  keeps  up  its  distinctive  cha- 
racter, and  how  carefully  fathers  and  mothers 
will  warn  their  offspring  from  the  horrors  of 
those  so-called  misalliances,  which  might  yet 
regenerate  and  save  them  from  contempt.  It 
is  a  melancholy  farce  to  see  how  these  great 
minnows  insist  on  the  proofs  of  ancestry  be- 
fore contracting  marriage  with  a  stranger,  and 
how  every  act  of  social  intercourse  is  encum- 
bered with  forms  and  ceremonies,  one  more 
ridiculous  than  the  other.  No  Hidalgo  may 
become  a  public  executioner,  a  butcher,  crier, 
or  the  landlord  of  an  inn,  if  he  will  not  lose 
his  rank  and  become  incapable  of  holding  any 
other  office.  In  every  peculiarity  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  Basque  provinces,  said  to  be  all 
Hidalgos,  bear  away  the  palm  ;  and  one,  so 
late  as  the  reign  of  Philip  V,  is  said  to  have 
written  on  his  marriage  contract,  "Don  X. 
noble  come  dRey"  (noble  as  the  King) ;  though 
that,  to  be  sure,  very  often  is  not  saying  much. 

On  the  whole,  Spain  may  be  said  to  be  in 
the  blest  condition,  pictured  in  the  eloquent 
prayer  once  put  up  by  a  noble  Poet  at  present 
roaming  in  the  Wood's  and  Forests.  It  holds 
no  high  place  among  nations,  but  it  has  its 
"  old  Nobility  "  left — and  plenty  of  it.  Spain 
can  want  nothing  more. 

OUR  HOUSE. 

MAY  a  comfortable  person  talk  about  his 
comfort  ?  Let  me  speak.  Our  house  stands 
on  the  site  of  a  rookery.  Our  viaduct  of  a 
street  has  been  elevated  above  the  level  of  one 
of  the  most  fetid,  ill-drained,  and  disreputable 
parts  of  Westminster.  But  a  few  years  ago, 
it  required  a  stout  heart,  a  strong  arm,  and  a 
light  purse,  to  walk  from  Parliament  Street 


to  our  house  after  nightfall.  There  were 
narrow,  dirty,  ill-drained  streets,  gin-palaces, 
night  houses,  smelters'  dens,  where  the 
"  kettle  was  always  kept  boiling,"  to  receive 
and  inelt  down  the  ill-gotten  gold  and  silver 
which  sturdy,  grim-visaged  men,  and  haggard, 
hardy  women,  brought  from  all  parts  of  the 
town.  A  few  years  ago,  the  site  of  our  street 
was  to  Westminster  what  the  "  Mint "  still 
is  to  the  other  bank  of  the  river — the  home 
and  the  breeding-place  of  fever,  dysentery, 
and  crime,  neighbour  to  virtuous  poverty  and 
hopeless  suffering:.  Philanthropic  adventurers 
undertook  expeditions  across  our  district,  but 
on  such  occasions  they  were  escorted  by  the 
police  ;  and  even  with  this  protection  they 
were  advised  to  leave  their  watches  and 
jewellery  in  some  place  of  safety. 

All  this  is  changed  now.  The  Board  of 
Health,  and  the  Improvement  Commission, 
have  been  at  work  in  our  district.  They 
have  cleansed  it  and  ventilated  it.  They 
have  made  drains,  and  cut  it  in  all  directions 
with  broad  long  streets.  What  they  have 
done  for  the  people  who  thronged  in  the  little 
houses — upon  whom  they  are  now  pressed — 
Heaven  knows  !  Our  street  was  the  first 
improvement  finished,  and  it  was  opened  with 
great  ceremony. 

For  every  foul  hut  pulled  down,  there 
ought  to  be  a  fair  one  built,  or  other  lodging- 
space  provided  for  the  miserable  people 
"cleared  away."  If  not,  of  course  we  only 
aggravate  the  misery  which  we  affect  to  put 
more  out  of  sight.  How  the  case  may  be  in 
this  respect  as  regards  our  street,  I  do  not 
know,  but  in  itself  it  is  a  great  improvement. 
It  is  all  very  well,  some  said,  to  put  down  a 
rookery  and  make  a  long  street,  but  who 
would  take  the  building-ground  in  such  a 
locality,  and  who  would  build  the  houses  such 
a  street  required  ?  and  if  the  houses  were 
built,  who  would  take  them  1  That  was  the 
question,  and  they  paused  for  a  reply. 

While  they  still  were  pausing,  our  house 
was  run  up.  It  is  a  large  house,  with  dozens 
of  windows.  It  is  three  stories  high  ;  it  has 
above  thirty  rooms,  and  looks  like  a  castle  ; 
but  none  of  us  can  say  it  is  "  his  castle." 
None  of  us  can  shut  the  house-door,  put  the 
key  in  his  pocket,  take  in  provisions  through 
a  loophole,  and  defy  the  sheriff's  officers.  One 
of  the  chief  peculiarities  of  our  house  is,  that 
a  man  must  not  be  in  debt  if  he  would  live 
in  it.  Our  house,  in  tact,  is  built  on  the  plan 
of  tke  large  Paris  houses,  to  make  up  half-a- 
dozen  homesteads,  and  accommodate  half-a- 
dozen  families.  It  is  like  one  of  the  hotels 
in  the  Faubourg  du  Roule,  specially  improved 
and  adapted  for  the  use  of  English  families. 
It  has  no  French  back-doors  and  back-stairs  ; 
nor  is  our  house  made  to  assemble  all  social 
ranks  and  grades  under  the  same  roof.  Our 
house  is  built  on  the  same  plan  throughout. 
The  upper  floors  are  exactly  on  the  same 
scale  as  the  lower  ones  ;  they  have  the  same 
accommodation,  and  are  let  at  very  much  the 


42 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


same  price.  I  cannot,  of  course,  be  expected 
to  divulge  the  secrets  of  our  account-books  ; 
and  it  will  be  enough  to  say,  that  our  rents 
would  command  for  each  of  us  the  sole  pos- 
session of  a  small  house,  in  one  of  the  streets 
contiguous  to  our  suburban  square.  We  have 
resigned  the  right  of  having  our  "  house  for 
our  castle,"  and  we  have  the  advantage  of 
airy,  roomy  dwellings,  in  the  immediate 
vicinity  of  the  business  and  pleasure  quarters 
of  the  town. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  plan  of  our  house, 
there  is  a  reasonable  co-operative  principle. 
The  houses  of  the  great  and  wealthy  of  this 
world  are  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
great  squares  and  thoroughfares  of  the  town  ; 
they  are  conspicuous,  easily  accessible,  and 
their  inmates  avoid  those  long  and  wearisome 
town  travels,  which  those  must  undertake 
who  seek  decent  and  comfortable  quarters  in 
the  suburbs.  The  houses  of  the  great  have 
spacious  halls  and  apartments,  and  commo- 
dious, safe,  and  roomy  stairs.  None  of  our 
purses,  I  believe,  could  command  all  these 
advantages,  if  each  of  us  desired  to  have  his 
''  castle  "  to  himself ;  but  a  rational  spirit  of 
combination  steps  in,  and  supplies  us  with 
all — with  a  situation  near  the  centre  of  the 
town,  with  large,  comfortable  rooms,  and 
magnificent  stairs.  Our  house  has  all  the 
advantages  of  a  great  house,  without  its  cares ; 
our  porter  (for  we  have  a  porter)  maintains 
its  privacy  ;  and  the  open  door  of  our  house 
is  more  secure  from  intrusion  than  the  heavy- 
barred  and  brass-knockered  doors  of  our 
friends  in  other  parts  of  London. 

I  said  before  that  our  house  consists  of 
three  stories.  Of  these  each  is  divided  into 
two  habitations  of  five  rooms,  that  run  from 
the  public  stairs,  by  a  most  mysterious- look- 
ing, dark  polished  door,  with  a  bronze  handle 
and  bell-knob  at  the  side.  A  visitor  ascends 
the  stairs  (of  which  the  windings  form  a  large 
shaft  for  ventilation),  and  demands  admittance 
to  one  of  our  habitations.  A  gentle  pull  at 
the  bell — a  low  soft  ringing  in  some  myste- 
rious locality  within,  and  the  door  is  imme- 
diately opened  by  a  comfortable  servant, 
whose  cosey  looks  show  that  though  fully 
occupied,  she  is  not  overburdened  with  labour. 
For  the  servants  in  our  house  have  no  door- 
steps and  stairs  to  clean.  All  this  rough 
work  is  taken  from  them  by  the  porter.  Then, 
as  for  the  interior,  a  single  look  will  tell  the 
visitor  how  easy  it  must  be  to  keep  order  in 
a  house  which  seems  to  be  made  for  comfort 
and  cleanliness.  As  you  look  along  the  lofty 
corridor  (which  receives  its  light  from  a  large 
window  of  painted  glass,  communicating  with 
the  central  shaft,  which,  in  its  turn,  lets  in  a 
flood  of  sunlight  through  a  skylight  on  the 
roof),  you  see  the  doors  opening  to  the  right 
and  left  into  the  various  sitting  and  sleeping 
rooms  ;  each  door  with  its  china  handle  and 
finger-plates.  Let  him  open  the  first  door. 
He  will  peep  into  a  kitchen,  fitted  up  in 
splendid  style,  with  massive  shelves  and 


dressers,  marble  slabs,  gas-burners,  and  all 
fittings  which  do  not  usually  belong  to  private 
houses.  For  the  dust  and  refuse,  a  door 
communicates  by  means  of  an  inclined  plane 
with  the  dust-shaft.  The  kitchen  has  its 
water-pipes,  and  the  range  its  gas-stoves. 
Now  let  me  praise  our  rooms.  Exquisite 
paper-hangings  and  costly  fixtures  every- 
where !  Surely  the  landlord  of  "  our  house" 
must  be  a  very  liberal  man.  Liberal,  true  ! 
but  prudent  also  ;  for  our  house,  with  its  six 
families,  pays  double  the  rent  which  it  would 
be  possible  for  him  to  obtain  in  any  other 
manner.  It  is  an  odd  humour,  but  our  land- 
lord has  a  horror  of  "  Chambers."  It  is  his 
ambition  to  build  small  houses  in  a  large 
house  ;  and  he  lets  them  to  none  but  families. 
Bachelors  have  applied  in  vain  :  vainly  have 
spinsters  exerted  their  powers  of  persuasion. 
He  remained  obdurate  ;  only  the  married  and 
the  children  would  have  roofs  to  cover  them, 
if  all  landlords  resembled  ours. 

"  But,"  asks  a  friend,  "  is  the  speculation 
likely  to  answer  1 "  It  has  answered  beyond 
the  speculator's  boldest  hopes.  Here  we  are 
with  our  banisters  unfinished,  with  our  stairs 
and  corridors  partially  still  in  the  possession 
of  workmen  ;  here  we  are,  people  from  various 
parts  of  the  town,  each  clinging  to  his  allot- 
ment, and  preferring  the  necessary  discom- 
forts of  this  domicile  to  the  hearthstones 
and  door-steps  of  the  Englishman's  Castle. 
But  who  are  the  tenants  ?  Who  should  they 
be  but  people  whose  avocations  call  them  to 
the  centre  of  the  town,  whose  means  are  too 
small,  or  who  are  too  prudent  to  live  in  houses 
in  Pall  Mall  or  St.  James's  Square,  who 
detest  lodgings,  and  who  cannot  live  in  the 
Temple  or  Lincoln's  Inn  ?  There  are  thou- 
sands of  such  in  this  large  town  ;  and  there 
will  soon,  I  hope,  be  a  dozen  landlords  who 
will  build  for  their  use  and  comfort  club- 
j  such  as  that  which  I  inhabit. 


HOW  TO  BE  AN  EVERGREEN. 


IF  old  Fitz-Baynard,  of  the  Old  Fellows' 
lodge  of  Odd  Fellows,  would  listen  to  my 
advice — old  man  as  I  am — I  could  give  him 
a  hint  how  to  make  himself  a  little  less  ridi- 
culous to  our  club.  He  looks  like  the  choleric, 
retired  uncle,  in  all  the  farces  at  the  Hay- 
market  Theatre.  Doesn't  he  know  that 
his  camlet  roquelaire,  with  a  poodle  collar, 
has  been  superseded,  five  outer-garments 
deep  ?  Its  only  merit  is,  that  it  hides  that 
absurd,  sparrow-tailed,  blue  dress-coat,  with 
gilt  buttons,  which  he  is  so  fond  of  but- 
toning tightly  up  to  his  chin.  Five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  he  wore  his  coat  stuffed 
and  wadded  all  over,  like  that,  and  close- 
buttoned  up,  with  the  exception  of  the  third 
button  from  the  top  ;  where,  to  this  day,  he 
stulfs  in  his  crimson  pocket-handkerchief, 
which  always  hangs — accidentally,  of  course — 
half  out.  But  what  is  to  hide  that  chimney- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HOW  TO  BE  AN  EVERGREEN. 


43 


pot  hat,  with  a  broad,  turned-up  brim  1  or 
those  boots,  coming  to  a  point,  like  a  pair  of 
flat-irons  ?  His  eye-glass  would  be  all  right 
enough  if  he  Avould  keep  if,  in  his  eye,  and 
look  about  him  :  though  that  heavy  bunch 
of  seals,  with  their  stones  the  colour  of  an- 
chovy sauce,  dangling  by  a  broad  bit  of  black 
ribbon,  is  a  positive  eyesore.  Then  why  is 
he  continually  disparaging  young  people  ? 
Let.  me  tell  him  young  men  are  the  blood  of 
the  nation  ;  they  keep  the  world  in  motion. 
|  Our  club  calls  itself  the  "  Youthful  Britons  " 
not  because  we  are  all  young  fellows,  but 
because  our  taste  and  opinions  are  exactly 
opposed  to  those  of  old  Fitz-Baynard.  Three- 
score years,  with  us,  is  no  objection  to  a 
man,  so  long  as  he  keeps  his  head  up, 
and  does  not  hold  the  belief  that  whatever  is 
is  right,  and  that  whatever  is  not,  oughtn't 
to  be.  Our  opinion  is,  that  things  gene- 
rally might  be  a  great  deal  better  than 
they  are ;  and  that,  whether  in  fashions, 
politics,  or  social  economics,  when  a  hian 
comes  forward  to  do  a  little  good,  even  though 
he  should  propose  to  disturb  the  existing 
order  of  things  a  little,  he  is  entitled  to  fair 
play.  If  any  member  uses  the  word  "  Utopian" 
we  line  him.  Not  that  we  believe  that  there 
are  not  many  things  well  deserving  of  that 
adjective  ;  but,  firstly,  because  we  have  seen  so 
many  Utopian  schemes  pass  into  realities, 
that  we  are  suspicious  of  it ;  and,  secondly, 
because  the  word,  from  the  time  of  Sir  Thomas 
More  downwards,  has  been  so  much  abused 
that  we  think  every  honest  man  ought  to 
scratch  it  out  of  his  dictionary.  Why,  the 
very  steel  pen  with  which  I  write  this,  was 
once  an  Utopian  steel  pen — a  new-fangled 
pen — a  mere  toy — a  thing  that  never  could 
and  never  would  supersede  the  good,  old, 
stout  goose-quill,  that  you  went  cutting  away, 
and  notching,  and  slitting  up  the  middle, 
and  pointing,  and  nibbing  every  quarter  of  an 
hour.  There  was  not  an  old  man  in  the  three 
kingdoms — unless  it  was  a  schoolmaster,  sick 
of  hearing  little  boys  standing  of  a  row  beside 
his  desk  all  day,  with  the  eternal  refrain  of 
"  Pleasir,  will  you  mend  my  pen  1 " — who  did 
not  say  that  they  would  not  answer.  In  vain 
we  pointed  to  the  increase  of  the  number  who 
were  taught  to  write,  the  spread  of  litera- 
ture, and  the  insufficiency  of  all  the  geese  in 
the  kingdom  to  the  growing  demand  for 
feathers.  They  shook  their  heads.  "  You 
will  do  as  you  please,  sir ;  but  give  me  a 
good,  strong-barrelled  goose-quill."  And  so 
say  their  survivors  to  this  day.  They  don't 
believe  in  the  millions  of  grosses  that  are  said 
to  be  made  in  Birmingham  every  day.  "  They 
don't  know.  They  never  see  anything  but 
quills  wherever  they  go.  Where  are  they 
all,  'if  such  a  number  is  made  ? "  If  there 
had  been  none  but  old  men,  we  should  have 
had  no  steel  pens  to  this  day.  But  the  boys 
took  them  up.  They  wrote  the  Creed  with 
them  in  the  size  of  a  split-pea  ;  they  did  the 
Ten  Commandments,  and  illustrated  them 


with  spread  eagles  and  cherubim,  and  set 
them  up  in  the  windows  of  steel-pen  makers, 
until  there  was  no  shutting  the  eyes  to  their 
merits,  and  a  revolution  was  partially  accom- 
plished. We  all  use  steel  pens  to  a  man.  I 
will  add  that  when  that  admirable  invention, 
a  candle  which  requires  no  snuffing,  was  uni- 
versally decided  to  be  fandangle,  we  unani- 
mously adopted  it ;  and  have  never  had  a 
pair  of  snuffers  on  our  tables  since. 

When  Mr.  Winsor  lighted  his  house  with 
gas,  the  Edinburgh  Review  said  it  wouldn't 
do  ;  and  the  Fitz-Baynards  of  1805  applauded, 
and  thought  they  and  the  reviewers  had  put 
it  out  for  ever.  Now,  even  Westminster  Hall 
— the  last  place  where  a  man  would  look  for 
novelty  —  is  lighted  with  it.  When  I  look 
around  me,  and  see  the  endless  variety  of 
new-fangled  things,  which  it  has  been  con- 
fidently said  a  thousand  times  "  would  never 
do,"  which  have  now  become  familiar  servants, 
or  absolute  necessaries,  I  am  inclined  to  pro- 
pose that  the  word  "  Utopian"  be  reinstated  ; 
and  that  its  employment,  in  a  youthful  Bri- 
toniau  sense,  be  henceforth  encouraged.  Have 
we  not  Utopian  Railways,  and  Utopian  Ragged 
Schools  ;  impossible  Telegraphs  ;  ruinous  Free 
Trade,  and  dangerous  County  Courts — where 
plaintiff  and  defendant  are  admitted  to  give 
evidence,  in  direct  opposition  to  one  of  the 
most  venerable  law  maxims,  in  the  immortal 
Latin  language  ;  all  in  full  operation,  and  the 
constitution  as  sound  as  ever  1  Why,  then, 
should  we  shrink  from  admitting  that  the 
abolition  of  the  Court  of  Chancery  is  some- 
what Utopian  ;  and  that  the  demolition  of 
Temple  Bar,  and  removal  of  Smithfield  and 
slaughter-houses,  are  notions  a  little  tainted 
with  fandangleism  1 

Personally,  I  do  not  mind  acknowledging 
that  I  am  fond  of  novelty.  1  like  to  be  up  to 
the  time.  One  or  two  instances  will  suffice 
to  show  what  I  mean.  I  can  remember 
Kemble,  Cooke,  Elliston,  Kean,  and  the  legiti- 
mate drama,  for  example  ;  but  I  never  talk 
about  them,  because  I  like  the  opera.  I 
believe  the  notes  of  Mario,  in  the  "  Prophet," 
to  be  at  least  as  pleasing  to  the  ear  as  the 
rolling  r's  of  the  late  Mr.  Kemble.  Many  a 
pleasant  day  I  have  spent  outside  the  stage- 
coach ;  but  I  do  not  grumble  at  railways.  If 
any  man  says  you  cannot  enjoy  a  sight  of  the 
country  from  a  railway  carriage,  I  differ  with 
him.  If  he  says  you  have  no  time  to  observe 
a  hedge  or  a  post  against  your  nose,  I  admit 
it ;  but  let  him  take  a  view  of  the  country, 
and  I  say  he  will,  in  most  cases,  remain  long 
enough  in  the  same  landscape  to  observe  its 
beauties.  I  consider  the  late  change  in  the 
Ministry  as  decidedly  no  improvement  ;  but 
I  hope  I  am  as  free  from  prejudice  as  any 
man.  I  am  ready  to  try  anything  except 
patent  medicines  and  Protectionist  Ministers. 
Attracted  by  an  announcement  in  the  Times 
(for  example)  that  "Hadjee  Allee,  the  cele- 
brated Indian  cook,  having  arrived  at  the 
Bengal  Hotel,  makes  Indian  Dupeajja,  and 


44 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Keorma,  Jerdu   and  Krooraa   Plow,   Indian  1 1  don't  say  I  could  stand  such  a  life  as  onr 


Coaptu,  Kitclieree,  Manoooly,  and  Cawabs," 
I  sauntered  into  the  Bengal  Hotel  the  other 
day.  I  know  the  merits  of  old  English  fare, 
and  could  live  contentedly  upon  "  plain  roast 
and  boiled  ; "  but  I  determined  to  give  If  adjee 
Allee  a  chance  of  convincing  me  :  so  I  called 
for  "a  couple  of  cawabs,"  by  way  of  com- 
mencement. "  A  couple  of  cawabs,  sir  1 "  said 
the  waiter  ;  "  cawabs  is  a  soup,  sir."  "  Very 
good,"  said  I  ;  "  then  bring  me  a  basin  of 
cawabs."  I  was  not  ashamed  of  my  igno- 
rance. I  came  there  to  learn,  and  I  did  learn  ; 
though  I  burnt  my  mouth  in  the  trial.  These 
are  my  principles ;  and  I  think  I  have  said 
enough  to  show  the  difference  between  myself 
and  Fitz-Baynard. 

When  I  was  a  young  man  I  wrote  poetry. 
All  young  men  did  not  write  poetry  then,  as 
they  did  afterwards,  when  Lord  Byron  came 
more  into  fashion.  I  recollect,  when  Lord 
Byron  died,  it  was  generally  considered  that 
if  he  had  not  died,  as  he  did,  just  on  the  right 
side  of  forty,  his  reputation  would  have  been 
materially  damaged.  I  had  held  similar  opi- 
nions when  a  youth  ;  and  had  determined  to 
"  play  the  .Roman  fool"  upon  my  thirty-ninth 
birthday.  But  my  ideas  had  undergone  some 
modification  before  that  time.  I  was,  indeed, 
within  a  short  march  of  that  poetical  Rubicon, 
at  the  time  of  the  noble  lord's  decease.  But 
I  knew  that  the  sincerest  of  his  admirers 
would  cross  the  fatal  line  if  his  turn  came  ; 
and  I  was  sure  that  Lord  Byron  had  an  inten- 
tion of  doing  so,  if  he  had  not  been  cut  off  in 
his  youth.  I  remember  a  stanza  in  Don 
Juan,  in  which  an  allusion  is  made  to  the 
author's  intention  of  purchasing  a  peruke  ; 
and  a  speculation  upon  the  probable  appear- 
ance of  his  hair  at  forty  ;  from  which  1  infer, 
that  with  a  full  consciousness  of  the  fact  that 
time  was  fast  hurrying  him  towards  that 
critical  period,  he  had  taken  the  resolution 
calmly  to  abide  the  event.  And  why  should 
he  not  ?  Do  such  minds  grow  old  ? 

That  /  have  contrived  to  keep  something 
of  my  juvenility,  I  think  is  pretty  well  proved 
by  the  fact  of  my  being  still  the  president  of 
the  "  Youthful  Britons."  And  how  have  I 
done  this  1  Not  by  standing  stock-still,  and 
bending  my  back  for  the  years  to  play  at 
leap-frog  over  it ;  and  growling  at  every- 
body else  because  they  would  not  stand  still 
in  like  manner.  Neither  was  it  by  con- 
stantly "  thinking  of  my  grave,"  as  I  over- 
heard my  pious,  well-meaning  old  landlady 
say  I  ought  to  be  doing  "at  my  time  of 
life  ;"  but  I  am  not  offended.  Here  am 
I  in  my  sixty-sixth  year,  as  youthful  ;<s 
ever  I  was,  and  as  cheerful,  thank  God  ! 
Three  stairs  at  a  time  is  my  way  of  getting 
up  stairs  ;  and,  as  to  playing  on  the  fiddle,  I 
natter  myself  I  can  tear  my  way  through 
Beethoven's  "mad  "  quartette  with  the  fiery 
vigour  of  a  much  younger  fiddler.  I  walked 
down  to  Rochester  one  day  last  summer,  and 
got  up  the  next  morning  as  fresh  as  a  daisy. 


friend  Stow  leads.  My  wild  oats  are  sown. 
But  I  can  walk  a  match,  or  bowl  a  ball  at 
cricket,  with  most  men.  Ask  any  of  our 
club  if  their  hands  have  ever  tingled  after 
blocking  a  ball  from  me.  And  do  I  owe  all 
this  to  Nature  ?  I  think  not. 

What  I  have  said,  what  I  do  say.  and  what 
I  will  say,  as  long  as  I  have  health,  (and  I 
flatter  myself  I  have  as  much  of  that  article 
as  most  people.)  is,  that,  ninety-nine  times 
out  of  a  hundred  a  man  need  not  grow  old 
unless  he  likes.  This  is  what  you  may  learn 
from  looking  at  Fit/.-Bayuard,  and  then 
at  me  ;  this  is  the  moral  of  what  I  have  been 
saying.  This  is  the  important  truth  which  I 
have  to  proclaim — I  believe  that  I  have  dis- 
covered the  true  Elixir  of  Life.  I  am  not  fond 
of  making  myself  conspicuous,  in  print,  or  else- 
where ;  but  my  motives  are  philanthropic 
motives.  I  am  ready  to  do  a  little  good 
where  I  am.  I  did  not  sit  down  to  write 
this  article  for  the  mere  sake  of  abusing 
Fitz-Baynard,  in  a  periodical  that  he  does 
not  read  ;  but  I  say,  that  if  Fitz-Bay- 
nard senior,  or  any  of  Fitz-Baynard  senior's 
class,  feel  themselves  to  be  miserable  old 
fellows,  they  have  none  but  themselves  to 
blame.  For,  let  me  tell  them,  that  it  is 
not  years,  nor  bald  heads,  that  constitute 
the  right  definition  of  old  age.  While  a  man 
keeps  up  in  the  march,  and  does  not  stand 
still  to  look  back,  he  is  as  good  ;is  any  of 
them.  It  is  giving  in  that  does  it  ;  it  is  being 
lazy,  and  over-comfortable — fancying  that 
you  have  marched  far  enough  ;  that  there  is 
no  better  land  than  that  you  have  come  to  ; 
and  persuading  yourself  that  you  do  not 
envy  those  who  have  gone  on,  and  left  you 
behind  ;  and,  when  a  man  so  persuades  him- 
self, and  tries  so  to  persuade  others,  he  is 
become  an  old  fellow,  and  a  Fitz-Baynard 
senior. 

Now,  I  consider  the  father  of  our  young 
friend  knocked  under  in  the  year  1825.  I 
regard  his  coat,  trousers,  hat,  and  watch- 
guard  as  so  many  outward  symbols  of  that 
inward  stoppage  which  took  place  in  that 
year.  To  any  person  acquainted  with  the 
histoiy  of  costume,  the  fact  is  as  clear  as  the 
date  of  a  cathedral  to  a  student  of  architec- 
ture. There  he  stands,  as  perfect  an  em- 
balment  of  the  past  as  any  Roman  idlei-,  sud- 
denly imbedded  in  lava  in  the  streets  of  Her- 
culaneum.  In  the  year  '25  he  rebelled  against 
the  great  law  of  change  and  movement ;  and 
there  he  stands  to  this  day,  grumbling,  and 
trying  to  persuade  us  to  rebel  too.  But  we 
won't. 


Jfow  Ready,  Price  5s.  6d.,  neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FOURTH    VOLUME 

OF 

HOUSEHOLD     WORDS. 

Containing  Nos.  79  to  103  inclusive,  (from  September  27, 
1851.  to  March  13,  1852.) 


at  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellinffton  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BHADIVHT  &  E»AH«,  Wh'iefnari,  London. 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SHAKESPEABE 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


JOG.] 


SATURDAY,  APRIL  3,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id. 


DKOOPING  BUDS. 


IN  Paris,  Berlin,  Turin,  Frankfort,  Brussels, 
and  Munich  ;  in  Hamburgh,  St.  Petersburg!!, 
Moscow,  Vienna,  Prague,  Pesth,  Copenhagen, 
Stuttgard,  Gratz,  Briimi,  Lemberg,  and 
Constantinople ;  there  are  hospitals  for  sick 
children.  There  was  not  one  in  all  England 
until  the  other  day. 

No  hospital  for  sick  children  !  Does  the 
public  know  what  is  implied  in  this  1  Those 
little  graves  two  or  three  feet  long,  which  are 
so  plentiful  in  our  churchyards  and  our  ceme- 
teries— to  which,  from  home,  in  absence 
from  the  pleasures  of  society,  the  thoughts  of 
many  a  young  mother  sadly  wander — does  the 
public  know  that  we  dig  too  many  of  them  ? 
Of  this  great  city  of  London — which,  until  a 
few  weeks  ago,  contained  no  hospital  wherein 
to  treat  and  study  the  diseases  of  children — 
more  than  a  third  of  the  whole  population 
perishes  in  infancy  and  childhood.  Twenty- 
four  in  a  hundred  die,  during  the  two  first 
years  of  life ;  and,  during  the  next  eight 
years,  eleven  die  out  of  the  remaining  seventy- 
six. 

Our  children  perish  out  of  our  homes  :  not 
because  there  is  in  them  an  inherent  dan- 
gerous sickness  (except  in  the  few  cases  where 
they  are  born  of  parents  who  communicate  to 
children  heritable  maladies),  but  because  there 
is,  in  respect  of  their  tender  lives,  a  want  of 
sanitary  discipline  and  a  want  of  medical 
knowledge.  What  should  we  say  of  a  rose-tree 
in  which  one  bud  out  of  every  three  dropped 
to  the  soil  dead  ?  We  should  not  say  that  this 
was  natural  to  roses  ;  neither  is  it  natural 
to  men  and  women  that  they  should  see  the 
glaze  of  death  upon  so  many  of  the  bright  eyes 
that  come  to  laugh  and  love  among  them — or 
that  they  should  kiss  so  many  little  lips  grown 
cold  and  still.  The  vice  is  external.  We 
fail  to  prevent  disease  ;  and,  in  the  case  of 
children,  to  a  much  more  lamentable  extent 
than  is  well  known,  we  fail  to  cure  it. 

Think  of  it  again.  Of  all  the  coffins  that  are 
made  in  London,  more  than  one  in  every  three 
is  made  for  a  little  child :  a  child  that  has  not 
yet  two  figures  to  its  age.  Although  science 
has  advanced,  although  vaccination  lias  been 
discovered  and  brought  into  general  use, 
although  medical  knowledge  is  tenfold  greater 
than  it  was  fifty  years  ago,  we  still  do  not 


gain  more  than  a  diminution  of  two  per 
cent,  in  the  terrible  mortality  among  our 
children. 

It  does  not  at  all  follow  that  the  intelli- 
gent physician  who  has  learnt  how  to  treat 
successfully  the  illnesses  of  adults,  has  only 
to  modify  his  plans  a  little,  to  diminish  the 
proportions  of  his  doses,  for  the  application 
of  his  knowledge  to  our  little  sous  and 
daughters.  Some  of  their  diseases  are  peculiar 
to  themselves  ;  other  diseases,  common  to  us 
all,  take  a  form  in  children  varying  as  much 
from  their  familiar  form  with  us  as  a  child 
varies  from  a  man.  Different  as  the  ways  are, 
or  ought  to  be,  by  which  we  reach  a  fault  in  a 
child's  mind,  and  reach  a  fault  in  the  mind  of 
an  adult ;  so,  not  less  different,  if  we  would 
act  successfully,  should  be  our  action  upon 
ailments  of  the  flesh.  There  is  another 
thing,  also,  which  puzzles  the  phj'sician  who 
attends  on  children.  He  comes  to  us  when 
we  are  ill,  and  questions  us  of  this  symptom 
and  of  that  ;  and  on  our  answers  he  is 
taught,  in  very  many  cases,  to  base  a  large 
part  of  his  opinion.  The  infant  can  only 
wail ;  the  child  is  silenced  by  disease  ;  or, 
when  it  answers,  wants  experience,  and 
answers  incorrectly.  Again,  for  life  or  death, 
all  the  changes  in  the  sickness  of  a  child  are 
commonly  very  rapid  :  so  rapid,  that  a  child 
which  suffers  under  an  acute  disease  should 
be  seen  at  least  every  five  or  six  hours  by  its 
medical  attendant.  He  knows  this  quickness 
of  action  ;  he  knows  how  swiftly  and  how 
readily  the  balance  may  be  turned  upon  which 
hang  life  and  death.  He  may  have  been  to 
Paris  or  to  Vienna,  and  have  studied  in  an 
hospital  for  children  ;  and,  out  of  his  expe- 
rience, he  may  know  how  to  restore  the  child 
whole  to  the  mothers  bosom.  But  all  English 
students  cannot  go  abroad  for  this  good 
knowledge  ;  nor  is  it  fit  that  they  have  need 
to  do  so.  They  have  need  at  present.  In  a 
rough  way,  English  practitioners  of  medicine 
no  doubt  administer  relief  to  many  children  ; 
but,  that  they  are  compelled  to  see  those 
perishing  continually  whom  a  better  know- 
ledge might  have  saved,  none  are  more  ready 
than  themselves — the  more  skilful  the  more 
ready — to  admit  and  to  deplore. 

The  means  of  studying  the  diseases  of  chil- 
dren in  London  have  been  confined  to  one  dis- 
pensary, and  the  general  hospitals.  In  these, 


VOL.  y. 


106 


46 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  !>7 


the  hours,  the  management,  and  discipline  are 
not  readily  adapted  to  the  wants  of  children. 
It  was  found,  when  a  committee  of  the 
Statistical  Society,  in  1843,  inquired  into  such 
matters,  that  only  one  in  a  hundred  of  the 
inmates  of  hospital  wards  was  a  child  suffering 
from  internal  disease.  Can  we  wonder,  then, 
— when  we  call  to  mind  the  peculiar  character- 
istics of  disease  in  a  child,  and  the  sagacity  and 
close  observation  they  demand — can  we  wonder 
that  the  most  assiduous  students,  growing 
into  medical  advisers,  can  in  so  many  cases,  do 
no  more  than  sympathise  with  the  distress 
of  parents,  look  at  a  sick  child's  tongue, 
feel  its  pulse,  send  powders,  and  shake  their 
heads  with  vain  regret  over  the  little  corpse, 
around  which  women  weep  so  bitterly  ? 

The  want  of  a  Child's  Hospital  in  London 
is  supplied.  The  Hospital  for  Sick  Children, 
lately  established  and  now  open,  is  situated 
in  Great  Ormond  Street,  Queen  Square. 

London,  like  a  line  old  oak,  that  has  lived 
through  some  centuries,  has  its  dead  bits  in 
the  midst  of  foliage.  When  we  had  provided 
ourselves  with  the  address  of  the  Child's 
Hospital,  and  found  it  to  be  No.  49,  Great 
Ormoud  Street,  Queen  Square,  we  were  im- 
pressed with  a  sense  of  its  being  very  far  out 
of  the  way.  Great  Ormond  Sreet  belonged 


ears.  Crossing  a  spacious  hall,  we  were 
ushered  into  a  fine  old  ancestral  parlour, 
which  is  now  the  board-room  of  the  Institu- 
tion ;  and  there,  before  a  massive  antique 
chimney-piece,  we  found  a  young  house- 
surgeon. 

Many  stiff  bows  and  formal  introductions 
had  those  old  walls  seen,  when  Great  Ormond 
Street  was  grand,  and  when  frills  and  farthin- 
gales lent  state  to  the  great  mansion.  Many 
a  minuet  had  been  solemnly  danced  there; 
many  hearts  and  fans  had  fluttered,  many 
buckram  flirtations  had  had  their  little  hour; 
many  births,  marriages,  and  deaths,  had 
passed  away,  in  due  and  undue  course,  out  of 
the  great  hall-door  into  the  family  vaults — 
as  old-fashioned  now,  as  the  family  mansion. 
Many  little  faces,  radiant  in  the  wintry  blaze, 
had  looked  up  in  the  twilight,  wondering  at 
the  great  old  Monument  of  a  chimney-piece, 
and  at  the  winking  shadows  peeping  down 
from  its  recesses.  Many,  far  too  many,  pretty 
house-fairies  had  vanished  from  before  it,  and 
left  blank  spaces  on  the  hearth,  to  be  filled 
up  nevermore. 

O  !  Baby's  dead,  and  will  be  never,  never, 
never,  seen  among  us  any  more  !  We  fell 
into  a  waking  dream,  and  the  Spring  air 
seemed  to  breathe  the  words.  The  young 


to   our  great-grandfathers  ;   it  was  a  bit  of  house-surgeon  melted  out  of  the  quaint,  quiet, 


London  full  of  sap  a  great  number  of  years 
ago.  It  is  cut  off,  now,  from  the  life  of  the 
town — in  London,  but  not  of  it — a  suburb  left 
between  the  New  Road  and  High  Holborn. 
We  turned  out  of  the  rattle  of  Holborn  into 
King  Street,  and  went  up  Southampton  Row 
through  a  short  passage  which  led  us  into  a 
square,  dozing  over  its  own  departed  great- 
ness. Solitude  in  a  crowd  is  acknowledged 
by  the  poets  to  be  extremely  oppressive,  and 
we  folt  so  much  scared  in  Queen  Square  at 
finding  ourselves  all  alone  there,  that  we  had 
not  enough  presence  of  mind  to  observe  more 
than  space  and  houses,  and  (if  our  vague  im- 
pression be  correct)  a  pump.  Moreover,  there 
were  spectral  streets,  down  which  the  eye  was 
dn<,\vn.  Great  Ormond  Street  was  written  on 
a  corner  house  in  one  of  them.  It  was  the 
enchanter's  label  by  which  we  were  bidden 
forward  ;  so  we  went  into  Great  Ormond 
Street — wondering  who  lived  in  its  large 
houses,  some  of  them  mansions — and  looking 
hazily  for  No.  49.  That  wras  a  mansion  too  : 
broad,  stuccoed  front,  quite  fresh  and  white  ; 
bearing  the  inscription  on  its  surface,  "  Hos- 
pital for  Sick  Children."  A  woman  with  a 
child  in  her  arms  was  finding  ready  admission 
at  the  great  hall-door.  The  neat  and  new 
appearance  of  the  hospital  walls  from  the 
outside  restored  our  thoughts  to  our  own 
day  ;  and  we  presently  resolved,  and  carried, 
that  the  committee  had  shown  great  judgment 
in  their  selection  of  a  situation — quiet  (very 
quiet),  airy,  and  central. 

At  the  hall-door  there  was  a  porter,  so  new 

to  his  new  work  that  the  name  of  a  surgeon  j  man,  for  who  could  then  carry  me  like  this, 
to  the  Institution  was  a  strange  sound  in  his !  or  who  could  be  so  careful  of  me  when  you 


room  ;  in  his  place,  a  group  of  little  children 
gathered  about  a  weeping  lady ;  and  the 
lamentation  was  familiar  to  the  ancient  echoes 
of  the  house.  Then,  there  appeared  to  us  a 
host  of  little  figures,  and  cried,  "  We  are 
Baby.  We  were  Baby  here,  each  of  us  in  its 
generation,  and  were  welcomed  with  joy  and 
hope  and  thankfulness  ;  but  no  love  and  no 
hope,  though  they  were  very  strong,  could 
keep  us,  and  we  went  our  early  way ! " — 
"  And  we,"  said  another  throng  of  shades, 
"  were  that  little  ch  ild  who  lived  to  walk  and 
talk,  and  to  be  the  favorite,  and  to  influence 
the  whole  of  this  great  house  and  make  it 
very  pleasant,  until  the  infection  that  could 
not  be  stopped,  was  brought  here  from  those 
poorer  houses  not  far  off,  and  struck  us  one 
day  while  we  were  at  play,  and  quenched  the 
light  of  our  bright  eyes,  and  changed  our 
prattle  into  moaning,  and  killed  us  in  our 
promise  !  " — "  And  I,"  said  another  shadow, 
"  am  that  girl  who,  having  been  a  sick  child 
once,  grew  to  be  a  woman,  and  to  love  and 
to  be  blessed  with  love,  and  then — O  at  that 
hardest  time  ! — began  to  fade,  and  glided  from 
the  arms  of  my  young  husband,  never  to  be 
earth  ! " — "  And  I,"  said  another 
;  am  the  lame  mis-shapen  boy  who 


mine   on 
shadow, 


read  so  much  by  this  fireside,  and  suffered  so 
much  pain  so  patiently,  and  might  have  been 
as  active  and  as  straight  as  you,  if  any  one  had 
understood  my  malady  ;  but  I  said  to  my  fund 
father  carrying  me  in  his  arms  to  the  bed 
from  which  I  never  rose  :  '  I  think,  O  dear 
Papa,  that  it  is  better  I  should  never  be  a 


DEOOPING  BUDS. 


47 


were  gone  !  ' "     Then  all  the  shadows   said 
together  :  "  We  belonged  to  this  house,  but 
others  like  us  have  belonged  to  every  house,  [ 
and  many  such  will  come  here,  now,  to  be  | 
relieved,  and  we  will  put  it  in  the  hearts  of 
mothers    and    fathers    to    remember    them. 
Come  up,  and  see  !  " 

We  followed,  up  the  spacious  stairs  into 
a  large  and  lofty  room,  airy  and  gay.  It 
had  been  the  drawing-room  of  the  old 
house.  A  reviving  touch  had  passed  over 
its  decorations  ;  and  the  richly-ornamented 
ceiling,  to  which  little  eyes  looked  up  from 
little  beds,  was  quite  a  cheerful  sight.  The 
walls  were  painted,  in  panel,  with  rosy 
nymphs  and  children  ;  and  the  light  laugh- 
ter of  children  welcomed  our  entrance. 
There  was  nothing  sad  here.  Light  iron 
cribs,  with  the  beds  made  in  them,  were 
ranged,  instead  of  chairs,  against  the  walls. 
There  were  half-a-dozen  children — all  the 
patients  then  contained  in  the  new  hospital ; 
but,  here  and  there,  a  bed  was  occupied  by  a 
sick  doll.  A  large  gay  ball  was  rolling  on 
the  floor,  and  toys  abounded.  From  this  cheer- 
ful place  we  looked  into  a  second  room — the 
other  drawing-room,  furnished  in  a  like 
manner,  but  as  yet  unoccupied. 

There  were  five  girls  and  a  boy.  Five 
were  in  bed  near  the  windows  ;  two  of  these, 
whose  beds  were  the  most  distant  from  each 
other,  confined  by  painful  maladies,  were 
resting  on  their  arms,  and  busily  exporting 
and  importing  fun.  A  third  shared  the  profits 
merrily,  and  occasionally  speculated  in  a  ven- 
ture on  its  own  account.  The  most  delightful 
music  in  this  world,  the  light  laughter  of 
children  floated  freely  through  the  place. 
The  hospital  had  begun  with  one  child. 
What  did  he  think  about, .  or  laugh  about  1 
Maybe  those  shadows  who  had  had  their 
infant  home  in  the  great  house,  and  had 
known  in  those  same  rooms  the  needs  now 
sought  to  be  supplied  for  him,  told  him  stories 
in  his  sleep. 

One  of  the  little  patients  followed  our 
movements  with  its  eyes,  with  a  sad.  thought- 
ful, peaceful  look ;  one  indulged  in  a  big 
stare  of  childish  curiosity  and  wonder.  They 
had  toys  strewn  upon  their  counterpanes. 
A  sick  child  is  a  contradiction  of  ideas,  like  a 
cold  summer.  But  to  quench  the  summer 
in  a  child's  heart  is,  thank  God  !  not  easy. 
If  we  do  not  make  a  frost  with  wintry 
discipline,  if  \ve  will  use  soft  looks  and 
gentle  words  ;  though  such  an  hospital  be  full 
of  sick  and  ailing  bodies,  the  light,  loving 
spirits  of  the  children  will  fill  its  wards  with 
pleasant  sounds,  contrasting  happily  with  the 
complainings  that  abound  among  our  sick 
adults.  Suffer  these  little  ones  to  come  to  such 
a  Christian  House,  and  forbid  them  not !  They 
will  not  easily  forget  it.  Around  the  gates 
of  the  Child's  Hospital  at  Frankfort,  hangs  a 
crowd  of  children  who  have  been  discharged, 
lying  in  wait  to  pounce  with  a  loving  word 
upon  any  of  those  \vho  tended  them  when 


sick.  They  send  little  petitions  in  to  the  hos- 
pital authorities  to  be  allowed,  as  a  special 
favour,  to  come  into  the  garden  again,  to  play. 
A  child's  heart  is  soon  touched  by  gentle 
people ;  and  a  Child's  Hospital  in  London, 
through  which  there  should  pass  yearly  eight 
hundred  children  of  the  poor,  would  help  to 
diffuse  a  kind  of  health  that  is  not  usually 
got  out  of  apothecaries'  bottles. 

We  have  spoken  only  of  five  children  ;  the 
sixth  was  not  in  bed  and  not  at  rest.  He 
was  a  literary  character,  studiously  com- 
bining into  patterns  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet ;  but  he  had  removed  his  work  so  far  out 
of  the  little  world  to  which  he  belonged,  that 
he  attracted  no  attention  from  his  neighbours. 
There  are  larger  children  in  a  greater  world 
who  do  the  like.  The  solitary  child  was 
lonely — not  from  want  of  love — its  thoughts 
were  at  home  wandering  about  its  mother  ;  it 
had  not  yet  learnt  to  reconcile  itself  to  tem- 
porary separation.  We  seemed  to  leave  the 
shadows  of  our  day-dream  in  attendance  on 
it,  and  to  take  up  our  young  surgeon  again. 

Having  paid  as  we  were  able  brief  respects  to 
each  member  of  the  little  company,  and  having 
seen  the  bath-rooms  on  this  floor,  we  continued 
our  progress  upward.  Of  course  there  were  no 
more  stately  drawing-rooms,  but  all  the  rooms 
were  spacious,  and  by  modern  care  had  been, 
moreover,  plentifully  furnished  with  the  means 
of  ventilation.  There  were  bath-rooms,  of 
course  ;  there  were  wards  cut  off  from  the 
rest  for  fever  cases.  Good  thought  had  been 
evidently  directed  to  a  good  purpose  every- 
where. 

Having  seen  all  these  things,  we  came  down- 
stairs again,  and  passing  through  the  surgery — 
upon  whose  jars  and  bottles  our  eyes  detected 
many  names  of  compounds,  palatable  to  little 
mouths — we  were  shown  through  an  excel- 
lent consulting-room,  into  a  wide  hall,  with 
another  of  the  massive  chimney-pieces.  This 
hall  is  entered  from  a  side  street,  and  is 
intended  for  a  waiting-room  for  out-patients. 
It  had  always  belonged  to  the  brave  house  in 
Great  Ormond  Street,  and  had  been  used  at 
one  time  for  assemblies. 

What  we  have  said  of  the  few  patients 
admitted  at  the  early  period  of  our  visit,  will 
have  shown  the  spirit  in  which  a  Child's 
Hospital  should  be  conducted.  Of  course,  to 
such  an  institution  a  garden  and  play-ground 
for  the  convalescent  is  an  essential  requisite. 
We  inquired,  therefore,  for  the  garden  in 
Great  Ormond  Street.  We  were  shown  out 
through  a  large  door  under  a  lattice,  and 
found  a  terrace  in  the  old  style,  descending 
by  steps  to  a  considerable  space  of  ground. 
The  steps  were  short,  suited  to  little  feet ; 
so  also  in  the  house,  according  to  the  old  style, 
which  curiously  fits  itself  to  the  modern  pur- 
pose. We  found  that  an  air  of  neatness  had 
been  given  to  that  portion  of  the  ground  im- 
mediately near  the  house  ;  but  the  space  gene- 
rally is  very  ample,  and  is  at  present  a  mere 
wilderness.  The  funds  of  the  hospital  have 


48 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDb. 


[Conducted  by 


only  sufficed  to  authorise  the  occupation  of  a 
building,  and  the  preparation  for  a  great 
useful  work.  For  means  to  plant  the  roses  in 
the  garden,  and  to  plant  the  roses  in  the 
cheeks  of  many  children  besides  those  who 
come  under  their  immediate  care,  the  Hospital 
Committee  has  support  to  find. 

So  large  a  piece  of  garden-ground  waiting 
for  flowers,  only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
Holborn,  was  a  curious  thing  to  contemplate. 
When  we  looked  into  the  dead  house,  built 
for  the  reception  of  those  children  whom  skill 
and  care  shall  fail  to  save,  and  heard  of  the 
alarm  which  its  erection  had  excited  in  the 
breasts  of  some  "  particular  "  old  ladies  in  the 
neighbourhood,  we  felt  inclined  to  preach 
some  comfort  to  them.  Be  of  good  heart, 
particular  old  ladies  !  In  every  street,  square, 
crescent,  alley,  lane,  in  this  great  city,  you 
will  find  dead  children  too  easily.  They  lie 
thick  all  around  you.  This  little  tenement 
will  not  hurt  you  ;  there  will  be  the  fewer 
dead-houses  for  it ;  and  the  place  to  which  it 
is  attached,  may  bring  a  saving  health  upon 
Queen  Square,  a  blessing  on  Great  Ormond 
Street  ! 

Is  it  too  much  to  hope  that  in  a  few  years 
there  will  not  be  many  students  at  the 
Adult  Hospitals  in  London  who  will  fail  to 
contribute  animation,  by  their  frequent  pre- 
sence at  the  Child's  Hospital,  to  these  deserted 
pavements  of  a  bygone  fashion  1  Is  it  too 
much  to  believe  that  the  little  beds  in  the 
great  house  will  never  be  suffered  to  remain 
empty,  while  there  are  little  shapes  of  pain 
and  unrest  to  lie  down  in  them  ;  or  that  the 
wilderness  in  the  garden  will  be  taught  to 
bloom  with  recovered  infant  health  1  Who 
that  knows  how  sweet  a  part  of  home  the 
children  are — who  that  knows  how  ill  our 
hearts  can  spare  one  child  to  Death,  far  less 
the  dreadful  and  reproachful  thought  of  one 
in  three — can  doubt  the  end  of  this  so  sorely 
needed  enterprise  !  Its  way  to  the  general 
sympathy  and  aid,  lies  through  one  of  the 
broadest  doors  into  the  general  heart ;  and 
that  heart  is  a  great  and  tender  one,  and  will 
receive  it. 


NOETHEEN    LIGHTS    AND— 
SHADOWS. 

WE  may  look  at  Legendary  Superstitions 
as  relics  of  our  heathen  times  ;  as  fragments 
of  the  world's  old  dress  which  lie  about  in 
little  black  rags,  looking  shabby  enough  under 
the  light  of  Christianity.  We  may  look  at 
them  also  as  wild  and  wilful  creations  of  the 
mind,  and  dive  after  the  psychological  pheno- 
mena which  they  expound.  We  may  trace 
the  same  legend  with  surprise  from  land  to 
laud,  and  find  it  now  and  then  connecting 
regions  so  remote,  as  to  suggest  many  va- 
luable thoughts  to  the  ethnologist.  In  fact, 
wise  men  may  handle  legends  to  good  pur- 
pose in  a  serious  and  learned  way.  Moralists 
may  dwell  upon  the  ignorance  which  they 


reveal,  as  having  entered  so  largely  into  the 
composition  of  the  good  old  times  ;  and  may 
point  out  the  huge  sum  of  injustice  and 
cruelty  which  must  have  attended  the  work- 
ing of  a  superstitious  system,  which  founded 
upon  trivial  accidents  suspicions,  accusations, 
condemnations.  Then,  if  we  have  legends  in 
store,  they  are  such  capital  things  that,  if 
the  owner  be  not  disposed  at  any  time  to 
philosophise  or  to  moralise  over  them,  he  may 
amuse  himself  by  laughing  over  them,  if  it  so 
please  his  fancy.  We  may  dwell  on  quaint, 
wild,  and  extravagant  inventions,  which 
caught  the  common  taste,  and  have  been  re- 
peated with  reverent  and  simple  faith,  by 
credulous  and  ignorant  folk  over  their  hearths. 

That  is  the  use  which  we  mean  now  to 
make  of  certain  volumes  recently  published 
on  Northern  Mythology,  by  Mr.  Benjamin 
Thorpe,  in  which  volumes  are  collected  for 
the  use  of  moralists,  philosophers,  or  lovers 
of  amusement,  a  large  mass  of  the  popular 
traditions  and  superstitions  of  Scandinavia, 
North  Germany,  and  the  Netherlands.  The 
Scandinavian  we  shall  not  touch,  lest  they 
tempt  us  into  mythological  discussion.  With 
the  Netherlandish  we  shall  not  greatly  con- 
cern ourselves,  because  they  are  horribly  low- 
spirited.  Any  one  might  tell  that  they  came 
out  of  the  Low  Countries  by  their  flat,  de- 
pressing character.  They  want  lightness  of 
fancy  and  ingenuity  ;  most  of  them  are  little 
better  than  nightmares.  We  prefer,  there- 
fore, to  go  for  legends  to  our  cousins  of 
North  Germany.  Great  numbers  of  the  su- 
perstitions of  North  Europe,  as  might  be 
supposed,  exactly  correspond  with  notions 
that  prevail  among  the  ignorant  in  England. 
In  North  Europe,  however,  it  is  to  be  remem- 
bered that  "  the  masses  "  are  instructed,  and 
that  these  old  notions  and  sayings  exist  now 
among  them  chiefly  in  the  form  of  customs, 
humours  and  pleasant  tales ;  while,  in  England, 
our  untaught  millions  receive  such  things  in 
sober,  heathenish  good  faith. 

The  attention  of  naturalists  is  respectfully 
directed  to  the  following  fact,  which  satis- 
factorily accounts  for  the  whiteness  of  the 
cliffs  at  Dover.  There  is  a  ship,  say  the  North 
Frisian  mariners,  called  Mannigfual.  The 
Mannigfual  is  a  ship  much  larger  than  the 
Great  Britain.  Its  deck  is  so  long  that  the 
captain  gallops  over  it  on  horseback  to  give  out 
his  orders.  The  sailor  boys  who  climb  the 
rigging  have  so  far  to  go  up  that  they  come 
down  old  men  with  grey  hair  and  beards  ; 
and,  because  they  could  not  live  through  the 
years  till  they  were  greybeards  without 
eating,  the  blocks  in  the  cordage  are  made 
hollow,  and  contain  spacious  refreshment- 
rooms. — If  all  the  ship  be  built  in  this  pro- 
portion, and  the  captain  does  his  duty  by  her, 
we  are  bound  to  feel  compassion  for  his  horse. 
— This  splendid  vessel  once  forsook  the  pool 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  attempted  to  steer 
through  the  British  Channel.  Between  Dover 
and  Calais  the  straits  were  found  to  be  so 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NOBTHEEN  LIGHTS  AND— SHADOWS. 


49 


narrow  that  the  ship  stuck  fast.  The  captain, 
however,  was  a  clever  man,  and  there  occurred 
to  him  the  happy  thought  of  smearing  white 
soap  over  the  whole  larboard  side.  This  having 
been  done,  the  ship  slipped  through,  but  in  its 
passage  ground  so  much  soap  into  the  English 
coast,  that  Dover  cliffs  have  been  white  ever 
since. 

Shirt  buttons  are  unjustly  cast  against  their 
wives  by  English  husbands.  Our  cousins,  the 
Germans,  show  a  much  more  accurate  sense 
of  the  character  of  woman  as  a  wife.  The 


tidiness  and  duty  to  her  husband,  in  respect 
of  managing  his  linen,  as  surviving  when  all 
else  is  gone.  When,  says  the  legend,  seven 
boys  or  seven  girls  are  born  in  succession,  one 
of  them,  without  knowing  it,  is  a  nightmare. 
Now,  there  was  a  man  who  had  a  nightmare 
for  his  wife,  and  he  became  sensible,  in  course 
of  time,  that  she  was  in  the  frequent  habit  of 
disappearing  from  his  bed ;  when  in  fact  she 
was  gone  to  sit  on  other  people's  chests  in  their 
sleep.  One  night,  the  husband  kept  himself 
awake  in  order  to  watch  his  spouse.  He  saw 
her  rise  from  bed,  go  to  the  door,  and,  as  her 
husband  had  taken  the  precaution  of  locking  it, 
she  slipped  out  through  the  hole  for  the  strap 
by  which  the  latch  was  lifted.  After  some 
time  she  came  back  by  the  same  road.  The 
husband  thereupon  plugged  up  the  hole,  and 
after  having  done  so,  always  found  his  wife  to 
remain  by  his  side.  At  length,  after  a  very 
long  time,  he  thought  that  she  must  now  have 
been  quite  broken  of  her  uncomfortable  habit, 
so  he  took  the  peg  out  of  the  door  in  order 
that  he  might  be  able  to  use  the  latch  again. 
Tn  the  very  next  night  his  wife  was  gone,  and 
what  was  worse,  she  never  came  back  again  ; 
although  every  Sunday  morning  the  man 
found  that  his  clean  linen  was  laid  out  for 
him. 

That  is  homage  to  wives ;  now  here  is  a 
hint  to  unmarried  damsels.  In  Schleswig,  at 
a  splendid  wedding  in  the  noble  mansion  of 
Hoierswort  in  Eiderstedt  (it  is  essential  to  be 
particular  in  fixing  the  spot,  lest  any  one 
should  doubt  the  story),  there  was  a  young 
girl  among  the  company  who  was  a  most 
enthusiastic  dancer.  "  You  are  dancing  too 
much,  my  dear,"  said  her  mamma,  "  and  you 
are  not  being  particular  enough  in  choice  of 
partners."  The  naughty  damsel  answered 
mamma  in  a  pet,  and  said,  "  If  the  devil  him- 
self were  to  call  me  out,  I  would  not  refuse 
him."  A  polite  stranger  at  this  moment 
entered  the  room,  and  asked  the  honour  of 
her  hand  for  a  dance.  The  courtly  stranger 
whirled  her  about  so  long,  that  at.  length 
blood  streamed  from  her  niouth  and  she  fell 
dead.  Mamma  knew  very  well  who  was  her 
partner.  The  blood-stains  are  still  visible  in 
the  saloon  ;  of  course  they  cannot  be  scraped 
out,  and  every  night,  as  the  clock  strikes 
twelve,  the  music  plays,  the  girl  comes  in,  and 
all  the  house  is  in  an  uproar.  If  any  person 
dares  to  pass  a  night  in  the  saloon,  the  ghost 


of  the  girl  asks  him  to  dance  with  her. 
Nobody  ever  dares,  and  yet  if  any  Christian 
would,  she  would  be  released  from  her 
penalty.  This  is  a  fine  opportunity,  there- 
fore, for  any  good  man,  clever  at  a  polka,  who 
desires  to  do  a  charitable  and  gallant  thing. 
Let  him  go  out  to  Eiderstedt  and  free  the 
dancing  lady.  She  once  so  frightened  a  wild 
young  fellow,  that  he  never  afterwards  went 
out  to  any  merrymaking,  because  the  sound 
of  a  fiddle  made  him  fancy  that  the  spectre 
and  her  midnight  company  had  broken  loose. 


following    legend    represents    her    sense    of  Young  ladies  will  learn  from  this  example  to 


be  particular  in  saying  that  they  are  engaged 
six  deep,  when  they  are  asked  to  dance  by 
any  gentleman  who  shows  the  least  trace  of 
the  cloven  foot. 

There  is  another  moral  legend  founded  on 
the  will-of-the-wisp,  which  does  credit  to  the 
northern  races,  when  contrasted  with  the 
classic  applause  bestowed  on  trickeries  of  a 
like  nature  with  hides  and  other  things  by 
southern  fables.  At  the  time  of  partition  and 
fencing  of  the  land,  there  arose  a  great 
boundary  question  between  two  villages  in 
South  Ditmarschen.  At  length  a  man  ap- 
peared who  undertook  to  settle  it  by  oath. 
He  filled  his  shoes  with  sand  from  his  own 
village,  and  then  walking  some  way  into  the 
lands  of  his  neighbours,  stood  still  on  a  marshy 
tract,  and  swore  that  there  he  stood  on  ground 
belonging  to  his  village.  He  thought  that  by 
this  trick  he  had  avoided  perjury  :  but  after 
death  he  was  doomed  to  wander  on  the 
boundary  line  as  a  fire-sprite.  A  flame,  of 
the  height  of  a  man,  was  often  to  be  seen 
dancing  about  there  until  the  moor  dried 
up,  and  people  said,  "  That  is  the  land- 
divider  !  " 

The  North  Frisians  are  very  unmerciful  to 
people  who  don't  marry.  One  of  their  legends 
says,  that  after  death  old  maids  are  doomed 
to  cut  stars  out  of  the  sun  when  it  has  sunk 
below  the  horizon,  and  the  ghosts  of  the  old 
bachelors  must  blow  them  up  in  the  east, 
running,  like  lamplighters,  all  night  up  and 
down  a  ladder. 

Now-a-days  we  say  "  It  is  of  no  use  wish- 
ing ; "  once  upon  a  time,  wishing  was  powerful. 
There  was  a  man  who  stole  cabbages  on 
Christmas-eve  out  of  his  neighbour's  garden. 
A  number  of  people  saw  him  walking  off 
with  them,  and  wished  him  up  in  the  moon. 
There  any  one  with  eyes  may  see  him  still, 
holding  his  load  of  cabbages,  which  he  is  not 
allowed  to  drop,  to  all  eternity.  Perhaps  the 
Frisians  had  got  this  man  into  a  mesmeric 
state,  and  powerfully,  consentaneously  willing 
him  up  to  the  rnoqn,  they  got  him  there.  It 
is  quite  evident  that  there  he  is. 

We  often  talk  of  letting  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag.  Here  we  have  probably  the  origin  of 
the  expression  in  a  popular  tradition.  If  a 
man  wants  what  the  Germans  call  a  Hecke- 
thaler — that  is  to  say,  a  piece  of  gold,  which 
he  may  spend  as  often  as  he  likes,  and  never 
lose  out  of  his  pocket — he  must  select  the 


60 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


longest  night  in  the  year  for  the  performance 
of  his  incantation.  His  incantation  is  this  : 
he  is  to  put  a  black  tom-cat  in  a  bag,  and 
bind  the  mouth  of  the  ba,g  round  with  a  cord, 
fastened  with  ninety-nine  knots.  Taking  the 
bag  on  his  back,  he  must  walk  three  times 
round  the  church  ;  and  every  time  he  comes 
to  the  door,  he  must  call  to  the  sacristan 
through  the  key-hole.  The  sacristan  is  the 
Mr.  D.  who  danced  with  the  lady  just  now. 
At  the  third  time  of  asking,  the  sacristan 
steps  out,  when  the  man  asks  him  if  he  wants 
to  buy  a  hare.  In  that  character  he  sells 
the  cat,  and  gets  for  it  the  magic  dollar,  but 
he  must  take  to  his  heels  immediately.  If 
Mr.  D.  can  untie  the  knots,  let  the  cat  out 
of  the  bag,  and  overtake  the  man  who  sold 
it  as  a  hare,  his  dollar  is  exchanged  for  dolour, 
equally  everlasting. 

Mr.  D.,  of  course,  plays  part  in  many 
legends,  and  there  is  much  pleasure  derived 
from  tales  which  convert  him  from  D.  sharp 
into  D.  flat.  There  was  a  peasant  in  Eider- 
stedt  (we  are  in  Eiderstedt  again)  whose 
house  was  burnt  down.  A  little  man,  in  a 
grey  coat,  with  a 'horse's  foot,  came  to  him  in 
his  affliction,  and  told  him  not  to  be  cast 
down,  as  he  wouldn't  charge  more  than  a 
single  soul  for  building  him  a  new  house 
with  a  hundred  windows  in  it.  The  peasant 
accepted  his  tender,  binding  him  to  the  con- 
dition that  the  building  was  to  be  complete 
next  morning  before  cock-crow.  The  grey- 
coated  contractor  was  at  once  up  to  his  chin 
in  bricks  and  mortar.  Long  before  cock-crow 
all  was  built,  and  the  last  window  was  being 
put  in,  when  the  peasant,  while  his  friend's 
back  was  turned,  screwed  up  his  mouth  and 
began  crowing,  as  much  like  a  cock  as  pos- 
sible. Mr.  D.  turned  round  and  laughed  at 
him ;  he  was  a  great  deal  too  sharp  to  be 
deceived  so  clumsily.  But  there  is  a  habit, 
inveterate  among  cocks,  of  answering  each 
other's  trumpets  ;  and  a  cock,  in  an  adjacent 
barn,  happening  to  be  awake,  slowly  became 
aware  of  some  very  bad  crowing  in  his  neigh- 
bourhood, and  thought  it  right  to  let  his 
neighbour  see  that  he  could  manage  things 
a  great  deal  better.  So  the  cock  answered 
lustily  from  within  the  bam  just  as  the  archi- 
tect was  putting  the  last  pane  into  the  last 
Avindow.  He  threw  it  down  in  a  great  pet 
and  disappeared  :  and  ever  since  then,  the 
window  has  wanted  that  pane.  It  never  has 
been,  never  can  be,  and  never  will  be  put  in. 
At  the  same  time  the  wind  blows  through  the 
hole  so  angrily,  that  all  the  chamber  is  kept 
cleanly  swept,  and  any  goods  or  furniture 
that  any  one  may  try  to  put  into  the  room, 
is  immediately  blown  out  through  the  door. 

The  gentleman  who  was  outwitted  as  an 
architect  on  this  occasion,  also  acts  as  school- 
master, and  now  and  then  has  some  unman- 
ageable scholars.  All  pastors  in  Friesland 
were  thought,  by  the  ignorant,  to  know 
something  of  the  black  art  ;  in  the  good  old 
times  a  very  little  knowledge  gave  to  a  man  a 


character  for  magic.  Some  pastors  knew  a 
great  deal  of  this  art,  which  they  had  learnt 
in  the  Black  School,  which  the  Black  Doctor 
himself  teaches  at  a  trifle  less  than  a  soul  for 
each  pupil.  The  retaining  of  the  soul  by  the 
pupil  is  left  in  his  power,  if  he  adhere  through 
life  to  the  fulfilment  of  some  ridiculous  or 
troublesome  condition.  He  must  only  shave 
on  a  Saturday,  or  he  must,  all  his  life,  wear 
only  one  woollen  under-waistcoat,  or  never 
wear  more  than  one  garter.  Pastor  Fabricius 
was  one  whose  soul  hung  on  a  garter  ;  a  garter 
was  his  tie  to  the  old  teacher  ;  it  was  the 
peppercorn-rent  he  paid  for  the  command  of 
a  wide  magical  domain.  Traps  are  always 
being  laid  for  these  people.  Pastor  Fabricius, 
who  knew  where  he  was  to  go  when  he  wore 
two  garters,  could  in  no  way  be  put  off  his 
guard.  If  he  saw  in  the  morning  two  garters 
lying  naturally  by  his  bed,  he  always  left  one. 
The  old  schoolmaster  would  often  take  the 
shape  of  a  flea,  to  bite  and  torment  the  maid- 
servant while  she  was  knitting  the  pastor's 
stockings ;  so  that  he  made  her  lose  the  calcu  - 
lation  of  her  stitches,  and  provide  for  her 
master  stockings,  which  were  loose  and  wide, 
and  hung  about  his  heels.  That  was  the 
reason  why  the  learned  pastor  was  so  often 
seen  walking  about  the  village  with  his 
stockings  down  at  heel.  He  was  not  to  be 
tempted. 

Once  upon  a  time,  a  lad  and  lass  were 
working  in  a  hay-field,  near  the  Stellerberg. 
They  were  betrothed,  and  would  have  been 
married,  if  they  had  not  both  been  wretchedly 
poor.  While  they  worked,  there  was  a  toad 
slipping  quietly  by.  The  young  man  saw  it, 
and  was  about  to  kill  the  poor  reptile  with 
his  hay-fork  ;  but  the  girl  held  his  hand,  and 
bade  him  not  be  cruel.  He  was  quite  willing 
to  obey  her  ;  but,  because  he  liked  to  hear 
her  plead  so  tenderly,  he  held  the  fork  some 
time  above  the  toad,  as  if  about  to  strike, 
until  it  had  crawled  out  of  reach.  When  they 
went  home  that  evening,  their  master  told 
them  that  they  were  invited  to  a  christening 
next  day,  by  a  voice  that  didn't  leave  any 
address.  Means  were,  however,  found  next 
day  to  bring  them  both  to  a  grand  hall  of 
;old  and  precious  stones,  inside  the  Steller- 
ierg,  where  the  dwarfs  were  :  there  Avas  a 
dwarf  lady,  and  there  was  a  baby,  and  there 
was  a  costly  feast.  The  young  man  AVRS  de- 
sired to  hold  the  baby  at  the  font  ;  while  he 
did  so,  he  observed  that  a  millstone  hung 
over  his  head,  suspended  from  the  ceiling  by 
a  silken  thread.  He  tried  to  move,  but  could 
not  stir  a  step.  The  ceremony  appeared  very 
long ;  when  it  was  over,  he  received  thanks 
from  the  master  of  the  house.  With  respect 
to  the  millstone,  the  gentleman  told  him  that 
he  could  now  perfectly  imagine  what  his  wife 
must  have  suffered  on  the  previous  day,  when 
he  was  about  to  stab  her  with  his  fork — for 
she  was  the  toad.  The  little  people  then 
entertained  the  pair,  and  gave  to  the  girl, 
when  they  left,  an  apron-full  of  shavings.  On 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BBITISH  COTTON. 


51 


their  way,  the  weight  became  so  heavy  that 
she  threw  the  half  of  it  away  ;  the  rest,  when 
they  got  home,  were  turned  out  as  a  heap  of 
ducats.  So  the  lad  and  the  lass  built  a  farm- 
house, and  were  married,  and  if  they  don't 
live  happily,  you  and  I  never  will. 

Now,  by  way  of  change,  let  us  pile  up  a 
little  heap  of  superstitious  practices  and 
opinions,  of  which  the  record  is  come  to  us 
from  the  good  old  times.  If  any  young  gen- 
tleman wishes  to  know  what  sort  of  a  wife  he 
shall  have — on  the  night  of  May  the  first,  he 
must  ride  on  a  broomstick  to  the  stable,  and 
knock  thrice  ;  then  go  to  the  pigsty e,  and 
"near  what  pin-  grunts — whether  an  old  or  a 
young  one.  His  wife  will  be  old  or  young 
accordingly. 

"  The  devil  has  thrashed  peas  upon  him," 
is  said  of  one  whose  face  is  pock-marked. — If 
new-baked  bread  has  a  crack,  one  of  the 
family  will  die  soon.  How  great  must  have 
been  the  discomfort  caused  by  a  superstition 
like  this  last,  among  villagers  who  drew  a 
weekly  batch  from  their  own  ovens  ! 

The  next  is  an  invention  absolutely  wicked 
(a  Netherlandish  superstition).  If  a  child 
falls  into  the  fire,  you  must  not  take  it  out 
till  you  have  seen  how  the  loaf  lies,  and 
turned  it,  if  it  should  lie  topsy-turvy. — A 
German  superstition  for  St.  Andrew's-eve 
must  make  a  prettier  sport  than  our  own  dull 
pack  of  fortune-telling  cards,  or  our  Doll- 
Sibyls.  To  learn  which  of  the  persons  present 
love  one  another,  or  will  one  day  be  united — 
a  vessel,  with  pure  water,  is  placed  on  the 
table,  and  there  are  placed,  to  float  upon  the 
water,  little  cups  of  silver-foil,  inscribed  with 
the  names  of  those  whose  fortune  is  to  be 
determined.  If  a  youth's  cup  advances  to  a 
maiden's,  or  a  maiden's  to  a  youth's — it  is 
worth  while  to  note  which  makes  the  chief 
advances — and  if  they  eventually  cling  to- 
gether, they  will  be  sweethearts.  But,  little 
cups  must  also  be  set  floating,  marked  as 
priests  ;  and  it  is  only  when  the  youth  and 
maid,  coming  together,  get  a  priest  between 
them,  that  they  can  look  forward,  with  any 
certainty,  to  marriage. 

To  "  the  Mariners  of  England"  we  commend 
a  bit  or  two  of  information.  When  there  is  a 
calm — tradition  says  at  Hamburgh — scratch 
with  an  old  nail  on  the  foremast,  then  wind 
will  rise.  Again,  when  the  wind  has  long 
been  contrary,  and  you  meet  with  another 
ship,  throw  an  old  broom  before  it ;  the  wind 
will  then  change  ;  you  will  get  a  fair,  the  other 
ship  a  contrary  wind. 

There  is  a  severe  legend  against  tailors,  who 
must  have  suffered  long  under  the  reproach 
of  cabbaging.  Bearing  hard  upon  the  pro- 
verbial dishonesty  (tailors  have  not  been 
equitably  dealt  with  in  the  sayings  of  our 
ancestors),  they  said,  in  some  parts  of  North 
Germany,  "  If  it  rains  while  the  sun  shines, 
a  tailor  has  gone  to  Heaven  !  "  Popular 
superstitions  bring  us  into  very  close  contact 
with  many  of  the  choice  secrets  which  were 


accepted  even  by  the  learned  in  the  good  old 
times.  Two  or  three  hundred  years  ago  a 
large  number  of  the  legends  and  sayings, 
which  now  live  as  curiosities  among  the 
people  to  be  laughed  at,  were  solemnly 
believed,  and  gravely  put  in  books,  by  men 
who  were  comparatively  clever.  Then  it  might 
gravely  be  written  :  "  To  obtain  what  you 
wish  from  another,  lay  a  swallow's  tongue 
under  your  own,  and  then  kiss  the  person 
whom  you  wish  to  influence."  Can  we  imagine, 
now,  that  a  party  of  agricultural  labourers, 
feeding  their  families  on  six  shillings  a-week, 
would  ever  put  on  clean  smocks,  slip  swallows' 
tongues  into  their  mouth,  and  go  up  in  a  body 
sworn  to  kiss  the  farmer  into  letting  them 
have  better  wages  ! 

Here  is  a  superstition,  which,  in  the  present 
state  of  flour-mills,  we  do  not  hesitate  to  back 
as  true.  If  a  girl  finds  a  whole  corn  in  her 
bread  and  butter,  she  can  see  her  future 
husband.  She  must  stick  the  corn  in  a  crack 
of  the  door,  and  then  keep  watch.  The  third 
person  that  passes  is  the  future  one.  In  love 
matters  it  is  always  some  unfortunate  third 
party  who  is  made  to  suffer  trouble. 


BEITISH  COTTON. 


THE  words  British  Cotton  will  perhaps 
sound  as  significantly  as  Gooseberry  Cham- 
pagne, conveying  to  the  mind  the  embodi- 
ment of  one  of  the  "  shams"  of  the  present 
age.  Some  may  "  pooh,  pooh  !  "  the  flax- 
cottonising  process  as  very  much  akin  to  a 
discovery  for  converting  silver  into  lead, 
linen  goods  being  dearer  than  those  made 
from  cotton  ;  whilst  not  a  few  express  their 
astonishment  at  the  recent  "  Flax  Movement," 
and  wonder  why  we  should  be  so  desirous  of 
finding  any  substitute  for  what  has  hitherto 
answered,  and  still  continues  to  answer  our 
purpose  remarkably  well. 

The  annual  importation  of  raw  cotton  into 
Great  Britain  has  risen  enormously  since  the 
commencement  of  the  present  century.  In 
1 800,  it  amounted  to  fifty-six  millions  of  pounds ; 
in  1815,  to  one  hundred  millions  ;  in  1835,  to 
four  hundred  millions  ;  and  at  the  present 
time  it  is  upwards  of  seven  hundred  millions 
of  pounds,  equal  to  one  thousand  tons  a-day. 
Nearly  the  whole  of  this  arrives  at  the  port 
of  Liverpool.  Seventeen-twentieths  of  this 
aggregate  is  imported  from  the  United  States 
of  America,  the  remainder  from  the  Brazils, 
the  East  Indies,  and  Egypt.  About  one-se- 
venth leaves  the  country  for  other  places  in 
the  raw  state  ;  so  that  fully  six  hundred  mil- 
lions of  pounds  are  wrought  into  goods  in  our 
factories,  the  greater  portion  of  which  are  in 
Lancashire,  affording  employment  to  a  million- 
and-a-half  of  inhabitants.  The  quantity  manu- 
factured is  thus  disposed  of: — one-tenth  is 
wasted  in  the  process,  in  dirt  and  refuse  ;  one- 
fourth  is  worked  up  for  home  consumption ; 
and  the  balance  is  shipped  to  other  countries  as 


52 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


manufactured  goods.  The  present  yearly  value 
of  the  Cotton  manufacture  of  this  country  is 
estimated  at  forty-five  millions  sterling,  of 
which  thirty  millions  are  believed  to  be  paid 
away  in  wages ;  one-third  being  the  original 
cost  of  the  raw  material.  In  some  inferior 
descriptions  of  goods  the  value  of  the  material 
is  far  beyond  that  of  the  labour  and  skill 
expended  on  them.  In  others,  the  labour 
bestowed  in  their  production  is  infinitely 
more  costly  than  the  original  value  of  the 
material  operated  upon.  Samples  of  cotton 
yarn  have  been  recently  produced  so  exqui- 
sitely fine  in  texture,  that  a  single  thread  is 
found  to  be  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  unless 
placed  upon  some  dark  substance.  A  hank 
of  cotton  measures  eight  hundred  and  forty 
yards ;  yet  it  would  require  more  than 
two  thousand  hanks  of  this  gossamer  to 
weigh  one  pound.  Twenty-five  pounds  weight 
of  such  a  fibre  would  encircle  the  globe  at 
the  equator,  whilst  in  value  it  would  far 
exceed  it  own  weight  in  gold.  In  the  im- 
portation of  the  raw  cotton  into  this  country, 
and  in  the  exportation  of  the  manufactured 
goods,  about  eight  hundred  thousand  tons  of 
shipping  are  yearly  employed. 

Perhaps  a  better  idea  of  the  magnitude  of 
this  branch  of  our  national  industry  can 
scarcely  be  embodied  than  in  these  two  facts : — 
Firstly,  a  rise  in  the  price  of  the  raw  material 
of  twopence  the  pound,  costs  the  manufac- 
turers lour  millions  sterling  ;  Secondly,  in  the 
simple  process  of  starching  the  fibres  whilst 
being  spun,  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
barrels  of  flour  are  annually  used,  worth  about 
half  a  million  sterling. 

Such  is  the  Cotton  trade  of  England  ;  un- 
equalled by  any  industry  of  any  other  country 
in  the  world.  It  is  not  difficult,  therefore,  to 
understand  how  important  becomes  any  ques- 
tion affecting  the  future  supply  of  this  great 
staple  commodity.  We  are  at  present  de- 
pendent upon  another  nation  for  the  staff  of 
our  national  prosperity,  and  that  nation 
depends  upon  the  labour  of  a  race  of  slaves. 
Let  any  great  social  or  physical  convulsion 
visit  that  country,  and  England  would  feel 
the  shock  from  Land's  End  to  John  O'Groat's. 
The  lives  of  nearly  two  millions  of  our  country- 
men are  dependent  upon  the  cotton  crops  of 
America  ;  their  destiny  may  be  said,  without 
any  sort  of  hyperbole,  to  hang  upon  a  thread. 
Should  any  dire  calamity  befal  the  land  of 
cotton,  a  thousand  of  our  merchant  ships 
would  rot  idly  in  dock  ;  ten  thousand  mills 
must  stay  their  busy  looms ;  two  thousand 
thousand  mouths  would  starve  for  lack  of 
work  to  feed  them. 

It  is  not,  however,  sufficient  that  we  glance 
at  the  Cotton  manufacture  ;  we  must  say  a 
few  passing  words  touching  that  of  Linen, 
before  pointing  out  the  operation  of  the  pre- 
sent "  Flax  Movement."  For  the  supply  of 
flax,  we  are  equally  dependent  upon  foreign 
countries  ;  not  more  than  one-fourth  of  the 
flax  required,  that  is,  a  hundred  thousand  tons, 


being  grown  in  Great  Britain.  We  pay  to 
other  countries  for  flax,  for  linseed,  and  for  oil- 
cake, not  much  under  seven  millions  sterling 
annually  ;  whilst  we  ship  linen  goods  to  the 
yearly  value  of  three  millions  sterling.  Flax 
is  employed  in  the  manufacture  of  the  most 
delicate  French  and  Irish  cambrics,  and  of  the 
coarsest  sail-cloth  and  tarpaulins  ;  of  the  most 
beautiful  laces  from  Lisle  and  Valenciennes, 
and  of  the  heavier  sacking  and  towelling.  The 
folds  of  snowy  lawn  that  deck  a  bishop's  arms, 
and  the  stout  storm-sail  that  rides  out  the 
fiercest  gale,  are  both  the  produce  of  the  same 
plant. 

The  propriety  of  rendering  ourselves  inde- 
pendent of  other  nations  for  the  supply  of 
cotton,  is  no  new  idea.  It  has  been  enter- 
tained for  many  years  past.  The  manufac- 
turers of  Manchester  have  been  urging  the 
cultivation  of  cotton  in  our  Indian  possessions, 
where  vast  tracts  of  land  are  known  to  exist 
well  suited  to  the  cultivation.  Our  own 
chilly  climate  is  utterly  unfitted  for  the 
growth  of  this  plant  ;  with  flax,  however,  the 
case  is  different,  and,  as  already  stated,  about 
one-fourth  of  our  requirements  of  this  article 
is  raised  on  British  ground.  There  appears 
to  be  no  reason  whatever,  why  the  remaining 
three-fourths  should  not  also  be  grown  upon 
our  own  soil.  Besides  which,  recent  experi- 
ments have  demonstrated  that  flax  may  be 
substituted  for  one  half  of  the  cotton  at 
present  in  use,  which  would  give  an  additional 
demand  for  the  article  of  five  hundred  tons 
daily,  requiring  for  their  growth  twelve  thou- 
sand acres  every  week.  The  experiments 
alluded  to  were  made  by  the  Chevalier 
Clausson,  who  has  thus  originated  what  is 
known  as  the  "  Flax  Movement."  By  these 
he  discovered  a  simple  and  at  the  same  time 
beautiful  and  effective  process,  by  which  flax 
may  be  "  cottonised  "  or  converted  into  what 
is  termed  "  British  Cotton." 

Some  of  the  more  important  processes  in 
the  manufacturing  arts  have  been  the  re- 
sult of  mere  accident.  It  was  even  so  with 
Flax  Cotton.  The  accidental  discovery  of 
the  new  application  of  the  flax-plant  has 
been  thus  described,  in  the  last  edition  of  the 
Chevalier  Clausson's  little  work  on  the 
subject  of  the  "  Movement  :" — 

Wandering  along  the  luxuriant  banks  of 
one  of  the  Brazilian  rivers,  his  attention  was 
attracted  to  a  white,  down-like  substance, 
adhering  to  the  branches  of  trees,  over- 
hanging and  touching  the  stream.  On  ob- 
taining a  quantity  of  it,  he  was  so  pleased 
with  its  character,  that — thinking  he  had 
discovered  some  vegetable  product  hitherto 
unknown — he  determined  to  trace  it,  if 
possible,  to  its  source,  and  to  ascertain  the 
plant  which  produced  it.  Pursuing  his  task 
with  great  ardour,  he  eventually  found  that 
the  substance  had  been  washed  from  a  bed  of 
flax -straw,  the  produce  of  some  of  his  own 
land  ;  and  which,  long  before,  he  had  caused 
to  be  thrown,  as  useless,  near  the  banks  of 


Charles  Dickons.! 


BKITISH  COTTON. 


53 


the  river.  As  the  swollen  waters  had  occa- 
sional access  to  this  heap,  fermentation,  aud 
the  decomposition  of  a  portion  of  the  plant, 
had  taken  place ;  and,  in  time,  the  influence 
of  natural  chemistry  had  so  separated  the  fila- 
ments of  the  flax- fibre,  as  to  give  the  mass  a 
cotton-like  appearance.  Some  of  it  having 
been  washed  by  the  river,  had  been  arrested 
by  the  overhanging  branches. 

The  process  thus  casually  observed  iu  a  very 
imperfect  state,  Clausson  afterwards  imitated 
by  the  aid  of  chemistry ;  and  he  can  now 
supply  the  factories  of  Lancashire  with  a 
home-grown  substance,  capable  of  being  worked 
up  with  certain  portions  of  cotton,  silk,  or 
wool,  with  the  machinery  already  in  use  for 
those  manufactures.  And  herein  lies  the 
great  value  of  the  discovery.  From  the 
peculiar  structure  of  the  flax-fibre,  and  the 
consequent  nature  of  the  machinery  to  work 
it  up,  it  now  costs  tenpence  per  pound  in 
the  manufacture  ;  whereas  cotton  is  made  up 
for  threepence  per  pound.  It  is  obvious, 
therefore,  that  by  preparing  flax,  so  as  to 
be  capable  of  being  worked  upon  the  ordinary 
machinery  at  the  same  cost  as  cotton,  the 
process  must  be  one  of  great  value.  Next  in 
importance  to  this,  is  the  greater  yield  of  mar- 
ketable fibre  from  a  given  quantity  of  straw, 
than  by  the  old  mode  of  steeping  and  pre- 
paring. 

We  will  now  examine  the  new  process ; 
which  we  witnessed  a  short  time  since, 
at  the  Chevalier's  model  establishment  at 
Stepney.  An  old  poorhouse  has  been  con- 
verted into  a  factory ;  oakum-picking  has 
been  supplanted  by  the  magic  transformation 
of  chemistry  ;  iron  soup- boilers  are  now  busy 
with  mysterious  mixtures,  producing  results 
which,  when  the  old  fabric  was  built,  would 
have  consigned  every  man  and  woman  con- 
cerned to  the  stake  at  Smithfield,  for  sorcerers 
and  witches. 

The  flax  plant  is  composed  of  three  dis- 
tinct parts,  the  wood,  the  fibre,  and  the  gum- 
resin,  which  causes  the  fibres  to  adhere  to- 
gether. To  remove  the  wood  is  the  first 
object ;  and  this,  under  the  old  system,  was 
performed  by  a  machine  little  better  than  a 
flail.  Here  commences  the  first  improvement. 
At  the  Stepney  factory  we  saw  a  small  appa- 
ratus at  work,  which  costing  a  mere  trifle, 
removed  the  wood  from  the  fibre  with  asto- 
nishing rapidity  and  cleanliness.  It  is  pro- 
posed that  growers  should  employ  this  machine 
on  their  farms  ;  by  which  means  they  reduce 
the  bulk  by  one-half,  and  at  the  same  time 
retain  the  portion  most  useful  for  manure. 
In  this  state  it  will  be  brought  to  market  for 
sale  to  the  manufacturers,  who  will  then  have 
to  free  it,  in  the  first  instance,  from  the  gum- 
resin.  Under  the  old  system,  this  was  effected 
by  steeping  the  flax  in  cold  water,  a  process 
which  occupied  from  four  to  six  weeks,  and 
frequently  caused  much  discoloration  of  the 
fibres.  The  Chevalier's  mode  consists  in 
boiling  the  material  in  a  weak  alkaline  solu- 


tion for  about  four  hours,  after  which  it  is 
washed  first  in  a  slightly  acidified  liquor,  and 
then  iu  plain  water.  It  is  then  dried  and  in 
a  fit  state  for  the  various  processes  of  scutch- 
ing, heckling,  &c.,  necessary  to  render  it  fit 
for  the  linen  manufacture.  In  order  to  "  cot- 
tonise"  the  flax,  according  to  the  Clausson's 
patent,  the  fibres  are  taken  from  the  washing 
vats  direct  to  a  series  of  other  vats,  ranged 
side  by  side  ;  and  it  is  in  these  that  the  magic 
of  chemistry  is  so  brought  to  bear  as  to  trans- 
mute a  heavy  mass  of  dark,  harsh  straw,  in 
the  course  of  some  minutes,  to  a  light,  silky, 
snow-white  wool. 

In  the  first  of  these  vats  is  a  weak  solution* 
of  carbonate  of  soda  :  here  the  previously  boiled 
and  washed  fibres  are  steeped  for  about  fifteen 
minutes,  during  which  time  they  become  com- 
pletely saturated  with  the  soda  liquid.  To 
explain  the  chemical  action  which  follows,  it 
is  necessary  to  point  out  the  structure  of  the 
flax  fibre.  These  fibres,  minute  though  they 
be,  are  cellular,  composed  of  a  number  of 
smaller  cylinders,  united  closely  at  their  side. 
It  is  the  separation  of  these  finer  fibres,  and 
the  consequent  addition  to  the  length  and 
surface  of  the  whole  mass,  that  has  now  to  be 
accomplished ;  a  process  that  may  well  be 
likened  to  hair-splitting.  These  cellular  fibres 
being  thoroughly  saturated  with  the  soda  in 
most  minute  quantities,  are  removed  from  the 
first  vat,  and  placed  in  vat  number  two,  con- 
taining water  slightly  acidulated  with  one 
part  in  five  hundred  of  sulphuric  acid.  The 
change  which  now  takes  place  is  instan- 
taneous. A  rapid  frothing  and  ebullition  of 
the  liquor  may  be  observed,  and  the  heavy 
mass  of  flax  which,  in  the  first  liquor,  sank 
far  below  the  surface,  is  now  seen  floating 
lightly  on  the  face  of  the  water  :  it  is  no  longer 
flax — it  is  British  Cotton.  And  how  has  this 
happened  1  The  acid  in  this  liquor,  finding 
its  way  into  the  little  cylinders  already  satu- 
rated with  the  soda,  immediately  effects  a 
chemical  change ;  the  sulphuric  acid  com- 
bines with  the  alkali,  and  forms  sulphate  of 
soda,  giving  out  the  carbonic  acid  gas  from 
the  carbonate  of  soda,  which,  seeking  its  libera- 
tion, expands  and  bursts  open  the  cellular 
tubes.  The  cottonised  flax  is  next  placed  in 
a  weak  solution  of  soda,  in  order  to  free 
it  from  any  remaining  acid ;  and  thence 
transferred  to  the  bleaching  vat,  which  con- 
tains a  mixture  of  solution  of  chloride  of  lime 
and  sulphate  of  magnesia.  Here  it  remains 
during  two  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  time 
it  wears  a  perfectly  snow-white  appearance. 
The  process  is  then  completed  by  washing, 
first  in  a  weak  acid  liquor,  and  afterwards  in 
pure  water.  It  then  only  remains  to  dry  the 
flax-cotton,  in  order  to  fit  it  for  the  after 
processes,  preparatory  to  spinning.  The  same 
method  as  has  been  here  described  can  be 
made  available  for  converting  the  refuse  tow 
from  the  flax  establishments  into  a  fine  white 
article,  admirably  adapted  for  paper-making, 
and  at  a  less  price  than  he  pays  for  linen 


54 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


rags.  The  value  of  this  latter  preparation 
may  be  estimated,  when  it  is  known  that  one 
manufacturer  of  linen  in  the  north  of  Ireland 
throws  aside  "  refuse  tow "  to  the  yearly 
value  of  five  thousand  pounds  sterling  ;  all  of 
whi'jh,  at  present,  is  utterly  useless. 

From  what  has  been  stated,  it  is  evident 
that  the  objection  held  against  this  process,  of 
its  converting  a  dear  article  into  a  cheap  one, 
does  not  hold.  Not  only  is  the  value  of  the 
British  cotton  greatly  enhanced  by  being  ren- 
dered capable  of  spinning  at  the  low  cost  of 
ordinary  cotton  goods,  but  the  yield  of  mar- 
ketable fibre  is  much  increased,  and  at  a 
much  less  cost  of  time  and  labour  than  was 
needed  under  the  old  method.  The  new 
fibre  is  so  completely  assimilated  in  character 
to  cotton,  that  it  readily  receives  the  rich 
dyes  imparted  to  the  latter,  and  is,  in  short, 
capable  of  being  printed  or  dyed  in  a  precisely 
similar  manner. 

At  the  Stepney  model  factory  we  examined 


more  than  two  parts  of  mineral  matters. 
Under  the  old  process  of  steeping,  the  nu- 
tritive portions  contained  in  the  wood  and 
gum,  as  well  as  the  whole  of  the  seed,  were 
lost  in  the  fermentation  during  steeping  ;  so 
that  nothing  whatever  was  restored  to  the 
land.  By  the  new  method,  these  properties  are 
capable  of  being  returned  whence  they  were 
taken.  The  seed  may  be  either  employed  in 
feeding  cattle,  or  crushed  for  oil  ;  the  oil- 
cake being  in  that  case  returned  for  the 
cattle-yard. 

Estimates,  based  upon  several  years  of 
actual  experience,'  go  to  show  that,  by  this 
cultivation,  the  farmer  may  realise  a  yearly 
profit  of  from  fifteen  pounds  to  eighteen 
pounds  the  acre,  and  that,  too, upon  land  which 
has  been  just  previously  heavily  cropped  in 
cereals.  Many  thousands  of  acres  which 
hitherto  have  yielded  but  indifferent  and 
uncertain  crops,  or  which  have  scarcely  been 
worth  cultivation,  may  be  brought  under  flax 


specimens  of  flannel,  felt,  and  woollen  cloth,   without  any  fear  of  the  result.     Hitherto,  the 
manufactured  of  equal  parts  of  British  cotton  i  absence  of  linen  manufactures,  and  the  con- 


and  wool  ;  also,  a  felt  that  was  composed 
entirely  of  the  former  material.  All  of  those 
goods  had  a  remarkably  stout  feel,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  strong  in  their  body. 

Combined  with  silk,  British  cotton  may  be 
worked  up  with  great  ease  on  the  existing 
silk  machinery,  and  when  so  wrought,  is 
capable  of  receiving  the  same  colours  in  dying, 
and  materially  adding  to  the  strength  of  the 
fabric  manufactured. 

We  saw  two  other  substances,  which,  it 
appears,  are  quite  as  susceptible  of  being 
"  cottonised"  as  flax:  one  was  a  coarse  spe- 
cies of  China  silk,  at  present  of  little  value  ; 
the  other  was  "  Jute,"  or  Indian  hemp.  Both 
of  these  fibres  were  materially  improved  in 
appearance  and  feel,  and  are,  no  doubt,  in 
their  new  form,  adapted  to  purposes  for 
which  they  were  not  at  all  available,  pre- 


viously. 

Looking  at 


this  "  Flax  Movement  "  in  an 


agricultural  point  of  view,  we  shall  find  as 
many  advantages  likely  to  arise  from  it  in 
that  direction  as  in  any  other.  Hitherto  it 
has  been  a  most  prevalent  opinion  that  flax 
crops  were  exceedingly  exhaustive  in  their 
effect  upon  the  soil.  Experiments  fairly  car- 
ried out  have  shown  this  to  be  a  fallacy. 
Chemical  analysis  of  the  plant,  and  a  series 
of  tlax  crops  taken  from  the  same  land,  have 
proved  beyond  a  doubt,  that  not  only  does 
this  cultivation  not  weaken  the  soil,  bui 
tends  to  keep  it  in  a  state  of  great  produc- 
tiveness. 

An  examination  of  the  structure  of  the 
plant  demonstrates  that  those  portions  of 
it  which  absorb  the  alkalies  and  the  nu- 
tritive properties  of  the  soil,  are  those 
which  are  not  required  for  the  purpose  of 
manufacture  ;  namely,  the  woody  part,  the 
resinous  matter,  and  the  seed.  The  fibres 
derive  their  elements  almost  entirely  from  the 
atmosphere,  one  hundred  parts  containing  not 


sequent  want  of  markets,  in  so  many  parts  of 
England  and  Scotland,  have  proved  a  serious 
obstacle  to  any  attempts  at  extending  flax 
culture.  But  now  that  every  grower  may,  by 
the  purchase  of  an  inexpensive  and  simply 
constructed  machine,  convert  the  flax-straw 
into  a  fit  condition  for  .economical  and  con- 
venient transport  to  a  market,  and  now  that 
conveyance  is  so  much  lessened  in  cost,  and 
that  the  patent  process  will  before  long  be  in 
active  operation  in  every  agricultural  county 
of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  a  widely  extended  cultivation  of  this 
article  may  take  place,  affording  active  em- 
ployment to  a  vast  number  of  persons  of  all 
ages. 

Already  the  patent  has  been  taken  in  hand 
in  Scotland  :  arrangements  are  in  progress  for 
a  similar  undertaking  in  Ireland  ;  and,  should 
the  like  activity  be  manifested  in  England, 
there  can  be  little  doubt  that  two  most  im- 
portant results  will  have  been  attained — the 
providing  a  great  portion  of  our  poorer  popu- 
lation with  good  employment,  and  rendering 
our  manufacturers  less  dependent  upon  the 
United  States  for  the  supply  of  flax  and 
cotton. 


THE  GEOWTH  OF  GOOD. 

FAB  where  the  smooth  Pacific  swells, 

Beneath  an  arch  of  blue, 
Where  sky  ami  wave  together  meet, 

A  coral  reeflet  gi;ew. 

No  mortal  eye  espied  it  there, 
Nor  sea-bird  poised  on  high ; 

Lonely  it  sprang,  and  lonely  grew, 
The  nursling  of  the  sky. 

With  soft-caressing  touch,  the  wind 
la  summer  round  it  pluy'd  ; 

And  murmuring  through  its  tiny  caves, 
Unceasing  music  made. 


VISITING  AT  CBANFOBD. 


The  ministering  wind,  so  sweet 
With  mountain-perfume,  brought 

A  changeful  robe  of  emerald  moss, 
By  fairy  fingers  wrought. 

Thus  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year,    • 

The  little  islet  grew; 
Its  food,  the  flower-dust  wafted  by  ; 

Its  drink,  the  crystal  dew. 

By  night  the  lonely  stars  look'd  forth, 
Each  from  his  watch-tower  high, 

And  smiled  a  loving  blessing  down, 
Gently  and  silently. 

And  forest  birds  from  distant  isles, 

A  moment  settled  there  ; 
And  from  their  plumage  shook  the  seeds, 

Then  sprang  into  the  air. 

The  islet  grew,  and  tender  plants 
Rose  up  amidst  the  dearth — 

Hlooin'd,  died,  and  dropt  upon  the  soil, 
Like  gifts  from  Heaven  to  Earth. 

Thus  ages  pass'd  ;  a  hundred  trees 
Graced  that  once  barren  strand; 
A  hundred  ships  its  produce  bore 

To  many  a  distant  laud. 

And  thus  in  every  human  heart 

A  germ  of  good  is  sown, 
Whose  strivings  upward  to  the  light 

Are  seen  by  God  alone. 


VISITING  AT  CBANFOBD. 


ONE  morning,  as  Miss  Matey  and  I  sat  at 
our  work — it  was  before  twelve  o'clock,  and 
Miss  Matey  had  not  yet  changed  the  cap  with 
yellow  ribbons,  that  had  been  Miss  Jeukyns' 
best,  and  which  Miss  Matey  was  now  wearing 
out  in  private,  putting  on  the  one  'made  in 
imitation  of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  at  all  times 
when  she  expected  to  be  seen — Martha 
came  up,  and  asked  if  Miss  Betty  Barker 
might  speak  to  her  mistress.  Miss  Matey 
assented,  and  quickly  disappeared  to  change 
the  yellow  ribbons,  while  Miss  Barker  came 
up  stairs ;  but,  as  she  had  forgotten  her 
.spectacles,  and  was  rather  flurried  by  the 
unusual  time  of  the  visit,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  her  return  with  one  cap 
on  the  top  of  the  other.  She  was  quite 
unconscious  of  it  herself,  and  looked  at  us 
with  bland  satisfaction.  Nor  do  I  think  Miss 
Barker  perceived  it  ;  for,  putting  aside  the 
little  circumstance  that  she  was  not  so  young 
as  she  had  been,  she  was  very  much  absorbed 
in  her  errand  ;  which  she  delivered  herself  of, 
with  an  oppressive  modesty  that  found  vent 
in  endless  apologies. 

Miss  Betty  Barker  was  the  daughter  of  the 
old  clerk  at  Cranford,  who  had  officiated  in 
Mr.  Jenkyns'  time.  She  and  her  sister  had 
had  pretty  good  situations  as  ladies'  maids, 
and  had  saved  up  money  enough  to  set  up  a 
milliners'  shop,  which  had  been  patronised  by 
the  ladies  in  the  neighbourhood.  Lady  Arley, 
tor  instance,  would  occasionally  give  Miss 


Barkers  the  pattern  of  an  old  cap  of  hers, 
which  they  immediately  copied  and  circulated 
among  the  elite  of  Cranford.  v  I  say  the  elite, 
for  Miss  Barkers  had  caught  the  trick  of  the 
place,  and  piqued  themselves  upon  their 
"  aristocratic  connection."  They  would  not 
sell  their  caps  and  ribbons  to  anyone  without 
a  pedigree.  Many  a  farmer's  wife  or  daughter 
turned  away  huffed  from  Miss  Barkers'  select 
millinery,  and  went  rather  to  the  universal 
shop,  where  the  profits  of  brown  soap  and 
moist  sugar  enabled  the  proprietor  to  go 
straight  to  (Paris,  he  said,  until  he  found  his 
customers  too  patriotic  and  John  Bullish 
to  wear  what  the  Mounseers  wore)  London ; 
where,  as  he  often  told  his  customers,  Queen 
Adelaide  had  appeared  only  the  very  week 
before  in  a  cap  exactly  like  the  one  he 
showed  them,  trimmed  with  yellow  and  blue 
ribbons,  and  had  been  complimented  by  King 
William  on  the  becoming  nature  of  her  head- 
dress. 

Miss  Barkers,  who  confined  themselves  to 
truth,  and  did  not  approve  of  miscellaneous 
customers,  throve  notwithstanding.  They 
were  self-denying,  good  people.  Many  a 
time  have  I  seen  the  eldest  of  them  (she  that 
had  been  maid  to  Mrs.  Jamieson)  carrying  out 
some  delicate  mess  to  a  poor  person.  They  only 
aped  their  betters  in  having  "  nothing  to  do  " 
with  the  class  immediately  below  theirs.  And 
when  Miss  Barker  died,  their  profits  and 
income  were  found  to  be  such  that  Miss  Betty 
was  justified  in  shutting  up  shop,  and  retiring 
from  business.  She  also  (as  I  think  I  have 
before  said)  set  up  her  cow  ;  a  mark  of  re- 
spectability in  Cranford,  almost  as  decided  as 
setting  up  a  gig  is  among  some  people.  She 
dressed  finer  than  any  lady  in  Cranford  ;  and 
we  did  not  wonder  at  it ;  for  it  was  understood 
that  she  was  wearing  out  all  the  bonnets  and 
caps,  and  outrageous  ribbons,  which  had  once 
formed  her  stock  in  trade.  It  was  five  or  six 
years  since  they  had  given  up  shop  :  so  in 
any  other  place  than  Cranford  her  dress 
might  have  been  considered  passee. 

And  now,  Miss  Betty  Barker  had  called  to 
invite  Miss  Matey  to  tea  at  her  house  on  the 
following  Tuesday.  She  gave  me  also  an 
impromptu  invitation,  as  I  happened  to  be  a 
visitor  ;  though  I  could  see  she  had  a  little 
fear  lest,  since  my  father  had  gone  to  live  in 
Drumble,  he  might  have  engaged  in  that 
"horrid  cotton  trade,"  and  so  dragged  his 
family  down  out  of  "aristocratic  society." 
She  prefaced  this  invitation  with  so  many 
apologies,  that  she  quite  excited  rny  curiosity. 
"  Her  presumption  "  was  to  be  excused.  What 
had  she  been  doing  ?  She  seemed  so  over- 
powered by  it,  I  could  only  think  that  she 
had  been  writing  to  Queen  Adelaide,  to  ask 
for  a  receipt  for  washing  lace  ;  bub  the  act 
which  she  so  characterised  was  only  an  in- 
vitation she  had  carried  to  her  sister's  former 
mistress,  Mrs.  Jamieson.  "  Her  former  oc- 
cupation considered,  could  Miss  Matey  excuse 
the  liberty  ?  "  Ah  !  thought  I,  she  has  found 


56 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


out  that  double  cap,  and  is  going  to  rectify 
Miss  Matey 's  head-dress.  No  !  it  was  simply 
to  extend  her  invitation  to  Miss  Matey  and 
to  me.  Miss  Matey  bowed  acceptance  ;  and  I 
wondered  that,  in  the  graceful  action,  she  did 
not  feel  the  unusual  weight  and  extraordinary 
height  of  her  head-dress.  But  I  do  not  think 
she  did  ;  for  she  recovered  her  balance,  and 
went  on  talking  to  Miss  Betty  in  a  kind,  con- 
descending manner,  very  different  from  the 
lidgety  way  she  would  have  had,  if  she  had 
suspected  how  singular  her  appearance  was. 

"  Mrs.  Jamieson  is  coming,  I  think  you 
said  ?  "  asked  Miss  Matey. 

"  Yes.  Mrs.  Jamiesoii  most  kindly  and 
t'ondescendingly  said  she  would  be  ha,ppy  to 
come.  One  little  stipulation  she  made,  that 
she  should  bring  Carlo.  I  told  her  that  if  I 
had  a  weakness,  it  was  for  dogs." 

"  And  Miss  Pole  ? "  questioned  Miss  Matey, 
who  was  thinking  of  her  pool  at  Preference, 
in  which  Carlo  would  not  be  available  as  a 
partner. 

"  I  am  going  to  ask  Miss  Pole.  Of  course, 
I  could  not  think  of  asking  her  until  I  had 
asked  you,  Madam — the  rector's  daughter, 
Madam.  Believe  me,  I  do  not  forget  the 
situation  my  father  held  under  yours." 

"  And  Mrs.  Forrester,  of  course  ? " 

"  And  Mrs.  Forrester.  I  thought,  in  fact, 
of  going  to  her  before  I  went  to  Miss  Pole. 
Although  her  circumstances  are  changed, 
Madam,  we  can  never  forget  her  alliance  to 
the  Bigges,  of  Bigelow  Hall." 

Miss  Matey  cared  much  more  for  the  little 
circumstance  of  her  being  a  very  good  card- 
player. 

"  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam — I  suppose" — 

"  No,  Madam.  I  must  draw  a  line  some- 
where. Mrs.  Jamieson  would  not,  I  think, 
like  to  meet  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam.  I  have  the 
greatest  respect  for  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam — but  J 
cannot  think  her  fit  society  for  such  ladies  as 
Mrs.  Jamiesou  and  Miss  Matilda  Jenkyns." 

Miss  Betty  Barker  bowed  low  to  Miss 
Matey,  and  pursed  up  her  mouth.  She  looked 
at  me  with  sidelong  dignity,  as  much  as  to 
say,  although  a  retired  milliner,  she  was  no 
democrat,  and  understood  the  difference  of 
ranks. 

"  May  I  beg  you  to  come  as  near  half- 
past  six,  to  my  little  dwelling,  as  possible, 
Miss  Matilda  ?  Mrs.  Jamieson  dines  at  five, 
but  has  kindly  promised  not  to  delay  her 
visit  beyond  that  time — half-past  six."  And 
with  a  swimming  curtsey  Miss  Betty  Barker 
took  her  leave. 

My  prophetic  soul  foretold  a  visit  that 
afternoon  from  Miss  Pole,  who  usually  came 
to  call  on  Miss  Matilda  after  any  event — or 
indeed  in  sight  of  any  event — to  talk  it  over 
with  her. 

"  Miss  Betty  told  me  it  was  to  be  a  choice 
and  select  few,"  said  Miss  Pole,  as  she  and 
Miss  Matey  compared  notes. 

"  Yes,  so  she  said.  Not  even  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam." 


Now  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  was  the  widowed 
sister  of  the  Crauford  surgeon,  whom  I  have 
named  before.  Their  parents  were  respectable 
farmers,  content  with  their  station.  The 
name  of  these  good  people  was  Hoggins. 
Mr.  Hoggins  was  the  Cranford  doctor  now ; 
we  disliked  the  name,  and  considered  it  coarse  ; 
but,  as  Miss  ^eukyus  said,  if  he  changed  it  to. 
Piggins  it  would  not  be  much  better.  We 
had  hoped  to  discover  a  relationship  between 
him  and  that  Marchioness  of  Exeter  whose 
name  was  Molly  Hoggins ;  but  the  man, 
careless  of  his  own  interests,  utterly  ignored 
and  denied  any  such  relationship  ;  although, 
as  dear  Miss  Jenkyns  had  said,  he  had  a 
sister  called  Mary,  and  the  same  Christian 
names  were  very  apt  to  run  in  families.  Soon 
after  Miss  Mary  Hoggins  married  Mr.  Fitz- 
Adam,  she  disappeared  from  the  neighbourhood 
for  many  years.  She  did  not  move  in  a  sphere 
in  Cranford  society  sufficiently  high  to  make 
any  of  us  care  to  know  what  Mr.  Fitz-Adam 
was.  He  died  and  was  gathered  to  his  fathers, 
without  our  ever  having  thought  about  him 
at  all.  And  then  Mrs.  Fitz-Adam  reappeared 
in  Cranford,  ''  as  bold  as  a  lion,"  Miss  Pole 
said,  a  well-to-do  widow,  dressed  in  rustling 
black  silk,  so  soon  after  her  husband's  death, 
that  poor  Miss  Jenkyns  was  justified  in  the 
remark  she  made,  that  "  bombazine  would 
have  shown  a  deeper  sense  of  her  loss." 

I  remember  the  convocation  of  ladies,  who 
assembled  to  decide  whether  or  not  Mrs. 
Fitz-Adam  should  be  called  upon  by  the  old 
blue-blooded  inhabitants  of  Cranford.  She 
had  taken  a  large  rambling  house,  which  had 
been  usually  considered  to  confer  a  patent  of 
gentility  upon  its  tenant  ;  because,  once  upon 
a  time,  seventy  or  eighty  years  before,  the 
spinster  daughter  of  an  earl  had  resided  in  it. 
I  am  not  sure  if  the  inhabiting  this  house  was 
not  also  believed  to  convey  some  unusual  power 
of  intellect ;  for  the  earl's  daughter,  Lady 
Jane,  had  had  a  sister,  Lady  Anne,  who  had 
married  a  general  officer,  in  the  time  of  the 
American  war  ;  and  this  general  officer  had 
written  one  or  two  comedies,  which  were  still 
acted  on  the  London  boards  ;  and  which,  when 
we  saw  them  advertised,  made  us  all  draw 
up,  and  feel  that  Drury  Lane  was  paying  a 
very  pretty  compliment  to  Cranford.  Still,  it 
was  not  at  all  a  settled  thing  that  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam  was  to  be  visited,  when  dear  Miss 
Jenkyns  died ;  and,  with  her,  something  of  the 
clear  knowledge  of  the  strict  code  of  gentility 
went  out  too.  As  Miss  Pole  observed,  "  As 
most  of  the  ladies  of  good  family  in  Cranford 
were  elderly  spinsters,  or  widows  without 
children,  if  we  did  not  relax  a  little,  and 
become  less  exclusive,  by-ancl-bye  we  should 
have  no  society  at  all." 

Mrs.  Forrester  continued  on  the  same  side. 

"  She  had  always  understood  that  Fitz 
meant  something  aristocratic ;  there  was 
Fitz-Roy — she  thought  that  some  of  the 
Kings'  children  had  been  called  Fitz-Roy  : 
and  there  was  Fitz-Clarence  now — thev  were 


Charles  Dickcus.] 


VISITING  AT  CRANFORD. 


57 


the  children  of  dear  good  King  William  the 
Fourth.  Fitz- Adam ! — it  was  a  pretty  name  ; 
and  she  thought  it  very  probably  meant 
'  Child  of  Adam.'  No  one,  who  had  not 
some  good  blood  in  their  veins,  would  dare  to 
be  called  Fitz  ;  there  was  a  deal  in  a  name — 
she  had  had  a  cousin  who  spelt  his  name  with 
two  little  ffs — ffoulkes,  and  he  always  looked 
down  upon  capital  letters,  and  said  they 
belonged  to  lately  invented  families.  She 
had  been  afraid  he  would  die  a  bachelor,  he 
was  so  very  choice.  When  he  met  with  a 
Mrs.  ffaringdon,  at  a  watering-place,  he  took 
to  her  immediately ;  and  a  very  pretty  genteel 
woman  she  was — a  widow  with  a  very  good 
fortune — and  '  my  cousin,'  Mr.  fibulkes,  mar- 
ried her  ;  and  it  was  all  owing  to  her  two 
little  ffs." 

Mrs.  Fitz- Adam  did  not  stand  a  chance  of 
meeting  with  a  Mr.  Fitz-any  thing  in.  Cranford, 
so  that  could  not  have  been  her  motive  for 
settling  there.  Miss  Matey  thought  it  might 
have  been  the  hope  of  being  admitted  in  the 
society  of  the  place,  which  would  certainly 
be  a  very  agreeable  rise  for  ci-devant  Miss 
Hoggins  ;  and  if  this  had  been  her  hope,  it 
would  be  cruel  to  disappoint  her.  So  every- 
body called  upon  Mrs.  Fitz- Adam — everybody 
but  Mrs.  Jamiesou,  who  used  to  show  how 
honourable  she  was  by  never  seeing  Mrs.  Fitz- 
Adam,  when  they  met.  at  the  Crauford  parties. 
There  would  be  only  eight  or  ten  ladies  in  the 
room,  and  Mrs.  Fitz- Adam  was  the  largest  of 
all,  and  she  invariably  used  to  stand  up  when 
Mrs.  Jamiesun  came  in,  and  curtsey  very  low 
to  her  whenever  she  turned  in  her  direction 
— so  low,  in  fact,  that  I  think  Mrs.  Jamiesou 
must  have  looked  at  the  wall  above  her,  for 
she  never  moved  a  muscle  of  her  face,  no 
more  than  if  she  had  not  seen  her.  Still 
Mrs.  Fitz- Adam  persevered. 

The  spring  evenings  were  getting  bright 
and  long,  when  three  or  four  ladies  in  calashes 
met  at  Miss  Barker's  door.  Do  you  know 
what  a  calash  is  1  It  is  a  covering  worn  over 
caps,  not  unlike  the  heads  fastened  on  old- 
fashioned  gigs  ;  but  sometimes  it  is  not  quite 
so  large.  This  kind  of  head-gear  always  made 
an  awful  impression  on  the  children  in  Cran- 
ford ;  and  now  two  or  three  left  off  their  play 
in  the  quiet  sunny  little  street,  and  gathered, 
In  wondering  silence  round  Miss  Pole,  Miss 
Matey,  and  myself.  We  were  silent,  too,  so 
that  we  could  hear  loud,  suppressed  whispers, 
inside  Miss  Barker's  house  :  "  Wait,  Peggy  ! 
wait  till  I  've  run  upstairs,  and  washed  my 
hands.  When  I  cough,  open  the  door  ;  I  '11 
not  be  a  minute." 

And,  true  enough,  it  was  not  a  minute 
before  we  heard  a  noise,  between  a  sneeze 
and  a  crow  ;  on  which  the  door  flew  open. 
Behind  it  stood  a  round-eyed  maiden,  all 
aghast  at  the  honourable  company  of  calashes, 
who  marched  in  without  a  word.  She  re- 
covered presence  of  mind  enough  to  usher  us 
into  a  small  room,  which  had  been  the  shop, 
but  was  now  converted  into  a  temporary 


dressing-roorn.  There  we  unpinned  and 
shook  ourselves,  and  arranged  our  features 
before  the  glass  into  a  sweet  and  gracious 
company-face ;  and  then,  bowing  backwards 
with  "  After  you,  ma'am,"  we  allowed  Mrs. 
Forrester  to  take  precedence  up  the  narrow 
staircase  that  led  to  Miss  Barker's  drawing- 
room.  There  she  sat,  as  stately  and  com- 
posed as  though  we  had  never  heard  that  odd- 
sounding  cough,  from  which  her  throat  must 
have  been  even  then  sore  and  rough.  Kind, 
gentle,  shabbily  dressed  Mrs.  Forrester  was 
immediately  conducted  to  the  second  place 
of  honour — a  seat  arranged  something  like 
Prince  Albert's  near  the  Queen's — good,  but 
not  so  good.  The  place  of  pre-eminence  was, 
of  course,  reserved  for  the  Honourable  Mrs. 
Jamieson,  who  presently  came  panting  up  the 
stairs — Carlo  rushing  round  her  on  her  pro- 
gress, as  if  he  meant  to  trip  her  up. 

And  now,  Miss  Betty  Barker  was  a  proud 
and  happy  woman  !  She  stirred  the  fire,  and 
shut  the  door,  and  sat  as  near  to  it  as  she 
could,  quite  on  the  edge  of  her  chair.  When 
Peggy  came  in,  tottering  under  the  weight  of 
the  tea-tray,  I  noticed  that  Miss  Barker  was 
sadly  afraid  lest  Peggy  should  not  keep  her 
distance  sufficiently.  She  and  her  mistress 
were  on  very  familiar  terms  in  their  every- 
day intercourse,  and  Peggy  wanted  now  to 
make  several  little  confidences  to  her,  which 
Miss  Barker  was  on  thorns  to  hear ;  but 
which  she  thought  it  her  duty,  as  a  lady,  to 
repress.  So  she  turned  away  from  all  Peggy's 
asides  and  signs  ;  but  she  made  one  or  two 
very  mal-apropos  answers  to  what  was  said  ; 
and  at  last,  seized  with  a  bright  idea,  she 
exclaimed,  "  Poor  sweet  Carlo  !  I  'm  forget- 
ting him.  Come  down  stairs  with  me,  poor 
ittie  doggie,  and  it  shall  have  its  tea,  it  shall ! " 
In  a  few  minutes  she  returned,  bland  and 
benignant  as  before  ;  but  I  thought  she  had 
forgotten  to  give  the  "  poor  ittie  doggie " 
anything  to  eat ;  judging  by  the  avidity  with 
which  he  swallowed  down  chance  pieces  of 
cake.  The  tea-tray  was  abundantly  loaded. 
I  was  pleased  to  see  it,  I  was  so  hungry  ;  but 
I  was  afraid  the  ladies  present  might  think 
it  vulgarly  heaped  up.  I  know  they  would 
have  done  at  their  own  houses ;  but  some- 
how the  heaps  disappeared  here.  I  saw 
Mrs.  Jamieson  eating  seed-cake,  slowly  and 
considerately,  as  she  did  everything  ;  and  I 
was  rather  surprised,  for  I  knew  she  had  told 
us,  on  the  occasion  of  her  last  party,  that  she 
never  had  it  in  her  house,  it  reminded  her  so 
much  of  scented  soap.  She  always  gave  us 
Savoy  biscuits.  However,  Mrs.  Jamieson 
was  kindly  indulgent  to  Miss  Barker's  want 
of  knowledge  of  the  customs  of  high  life  ;  and, 
to  spare  her  feelings,  ate  three  large  pieces  of 
seed-cake,  with  a  placid,  ruminating  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  not  unlike  a  cow's. 

After  tea  there  was  some  little  demur  and 
difficulty.  We  were  six  iu  number ;  four 
could  play  at  Preference,  and  for  the  other 
two  there  was  Cribbage.  But  all,  except 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoudiicirJby 


myself — I  was  always  rather  afraid  of  the 
Cranford  ladies  at  cards,  for  it  was  the  most 
earnest  and  serious  business  they  ever  en- 
gaged in — were  anxious  to  be  of  the  "  pool." 
.liven  Miss  Barker,  while  declaring  she  did  not 
know  Spadille  from  Manille,  was  evidently 
hankering  to  take  a  hand.  The  dilemma  was 
soon  put  an  end  to  by  a  singular  kind  of 
noise.  If  a  Baron's  daughter-in-law  could 
ever  be  supposed  to  snore,  I  should  have  said 
Mis.  Jamieson  did  so  then  ;  for,  overcome  by 
the  heat  of  the  room,  and  inclined  to  doze  by 
nature,  the  temptation  of  that  very  comfort- 
able arm-chair  had  been  too  much  for  her, 
and  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  nodding.  Once  or 
twice  she  opened  her  eyes  with'an  effort,  and 
calmly  but  unconsciously  smiled  upon  us ; 
but,  by-and-bye,  even  her  benevolence  was 
not  equal  to  this  exertion,  and  she  was  sound 
asleep. 

'•  It  is  very  gratifying  to  me,",  whispered 
Miss  Barker  at  the  card-table  to  her  three 
opponents,  whom,  notwithstanding  her  igno- 
rance of  the  game,  she  was  "  basting  "  most 
unmercifully — "'  very  gratifying,  indeed,  to  see 
huw  completely  Mrs.  Jamieson  feels  at  home 
in  my  poor  little  dwelling  ;  she  could  not 
have  paid  me  a  greater  compliment." — Miss 
Barker  provided  me  with  some  literature,  in 
the  shape  of  three  or  four  handsomely  bound 
fashion-books  ten  or  twelve  years  old,  ob- 
serving, as  she  put  a  little  table  and  a  candle 
for  my  especial  benefit,  that  she  knew  young 
people  liked  to  look  at  pictures.  Carlo  lay, 
and  snorted,  and  started  at  his  mistress's  feet. 
He,  too,  was  quite  at  home.  The  card-table 
was  an  animated  scene  to  watch  ;  four  ladies' 
heads,  with  niddle-noddling  caps,  all  nearly 
meeting  over  the  middle  of  the  table,  in  their 
eagerness  to  whisper  quick  enough  and  loud 
enough  :  and  every  now  and  then  came  Miss 
Barker's  "  Hush,  ladies  !  if  you  please,  hush  ! 
Mrs.  Jamiesou  is  asleep." 

It  was  very  difficult  to  steer  clear  between 
Mrs.  Forrester's  deafness  and  Mrs.  Jamieson's 
sleepiness.  But  Miss  Barker  managed  her 
arduous  task  well.  She  repented  the  whisper 
to  Mrs.  Forrester,  distorting  her  face  con- 
siderably, in  order  to  show,  by  the  motions  of 
her  lips,  what  was  said  ;  and  then  she  smil  cl 
kindly  all  round  at  us,  and  murmured  to 
herself,  "  Very  gratifying,  indeed  ;  I  wish  my 
poor  sister  had  been  alive  to  see  this  day." 

Presently  the  door  was  thrown  wide  open  ; 
Carlo  started  to  his  feet,  with  a  loud  snapping 
bark,  and  Mrs.  Jamiesou  awoke  :  or,  perh<;ps, 
she  had  not  been  asleep — as  she  said  almost 
directly,  the  room  had  been  so  light  she  had 
been  glad  to  keep  her  eyes  shut,  but  had  been 
listening  with  great  interest  to  all  our  amusing 
and  agreeable  conversation.  Peggy  came  in 
once  more,  red  with  importance.  Another 
tray  !  "  Oh,  gentility  !  "  thought  I,  ';  can  you 
endure  this  last  shock  ? "  For  Miss  Barker 
ordered  (nay,  I  doubt  not  prepared, 
although  she  did  say,  "  Why  !  Peggy,  what 
have  you  brought  us  ?  "  and  looked  pleasantly 


surprised  at  the  unexpected  pleasure)  all  sort 
of  good  things  for  supper — scalloped  oysters, 
potted  lobsters,  jelly,  a  dish  called  "  little 
Cupids,"  (which  was  in  great  favour  with  the 
Cranford  ladies  ;  although  too  expensive  to 
be  given,  except  on  solemn  and  state  occa- 
sions), maccaroons  sopped  in  brandy,  I  should 
have  called  it,  if  I  had  not  known  its  more 
refined  and  classical  name  ;  in  short,  we  were 
evidently  to  be  feasted  with  all  that  was 
sweetest  and  best :  arid  we  thought  it  better 
to  submit  graciously,  even  at  the  cost  of  our 
gentility — which  never  ate  suppers  in  general 
— but  which,  like  most  non -supper-eaters,  was 
particularly  hungry  on  all  special  occasions. 

Miss  Barker,  in  her  former  sphere,  had,  I 
dare  say,  been  made  acquainted  with  the 
beverage  they  call  cherry-brandy.  We  none 
of  us  had  ever  seen  such  a  thing,  and  rather 
shrunk  back  when  she  proffered  it  us — "just 
a  little,  leetle  glass,  ladies  ;  after  the  oysters 
and  lobsters,  you  know.  Shell-fish  are  some- 
times thought  not  very  wholesome."  We 
all  shook  our  heads,  like  female  mandarins  ; 
but,  at  last,  Mrs.  Jamieson  suffered  herself  to 
be  persuaded,  and  we  followed  her  lead.  It 
was  not  exactly  unpalatable,  though  so  hot 
and  so  strong  that  we  thought  ourselves  bound 
to  give  evidence  that  we  were  not  accustomed 
to  such  things,  by  coughing  terribly — almost 
as  strangely  as  Miss  Barker  had  done,  before 
we  were  admitted  by  Peggy. 

"  It 's  very  strong,"  said  Miss  Pole,  as  she 
put  down  her  empty  glass ;  I  do  believe 
there  's  spirit  in  it." 

"  Only  a  little  drop — just  necessary  to  make 
it  keep  !  "  said  Miss  Barker.  "  You  know  we 
put  brandy-paper  over  preserves  to  make 
them  keep.  I  often  feel  tipsy  myself  from 
eating  damson  tart." 

I  question  whether  damson  tart  would  luivo 
opened  Mrs.  Jamieson's  heart  as  the  cherry- 
brandy  did  ;  but  she  told  us  of  a  coming 
event,  respecting  which  she  had  been  quite 
silent  till  that  moment. 

"My  sister-in-law, Lady  Glenmire,  is  coming 
to  stay  with  me." 

There  was  a  chorus  of  "  Indeed  !  "  and 
then  a  pause.  Each  one  rapidly  reviewed 
her  wardrobe,  as  to  its  fitness  to  appear  in 
the  presence  of  a  Baron's  widow  ;  for,  of 
course,  a.  series  of  small  festivals  were  always 
held  in  Cranford  on  the  arrival  of  a  visitor  at 
any  of  our  friends'  houses.  We  felt  \vi-y 
pleasantly  excited  on  the  present  occasion. 

Not  long  after  this,  the  maids  and  the 
lanterns  were  announced.  Mrs.  Jamieson 
had  the  sedan  chair,  which  had  squeezed  itself 
into  Miss  Barker's  narrow  lobby  with  some 
difficulty ;  and,  mcst  literally,  stopped  the 
way.  It  required  some  skilful  manoeuvring 
on  the  part  of  the  old  chairmen  (shoemakers 
by  day  ;  but,  when  summoned  to  carry  the 
scvlan,  dressed  up  in  a  strange  old  livery — long 
great-coats,  with  small  capes,  coeval  with  the 
sedan,  and  similar  to  the  dress  of  the  class 
in  Hogarth's  pictures)  to  edge,  and  back,  and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


VISITING  AT  CRANFORD. 


try  at  it  again,  and  finally  to  succeed  in 
carrying  their  burden  out  of  Miss  Barker's 
front-door.  Then  we  heard  their  quick  pit- 
a-pat along  the  quiet  little  street,  as  we  put 
on  our  calashes,  and  pinned  up  our  gowns  ; 
Miss  Barker  hovering  about  us  with  offers  of 
help  ;  which,  if  she  had  not  remembered  her 
former  occupation,  and  wished  us  to  forget  it, 
would  have  been  much  more  pressing. 

Early  the    next    morning — directly    after 
twelve — Miss  Pole  made  her  appearance  at  j 
Miss  Matey's.     Some  very  trifling   piece   ofj 
business  was  alleged  as  a  reason  for  the  call  ; 
but  there  was  evidently  something  behind. 
At  last  out  it  came. 

"  By  the  way,  you  '11  think  I  'in  strangely 
ignorant  ;  but,  do  you  really  know,  I  am 
puzzled  how  we  ought  to  address  Lady  Glen- 
mire.  Do  you  say,  '  Your  Ladyship,'  where 
you  would  say  '  you  '  to  a  common  person  1 
I  have  been  puzzling  all  morning  ;  and  are 
we  to  say  '  My  Lady,'  instead  of  '  Ma'arn '  1 
Now,  you  knew  Lady  Arley — will  you  kindly 
tell  me  the  most  correct  way  of  speaking  to 
the  Peerage  ?" 

Poor  Miss  Matey  !  she  took  off  her  spec- 
tacles, and  she  put  them  on  again — but  how 
Lady  Arley  was  addressed,  she  could  not 
remember. 

"  It  is  so  long  ago  !  "  she  said.  "  Dear  ! 
dear !  how  stupid  I  am !  I  don't  think  I 
ever  saw  her  more  than  twice.  I  know  we 
used  to  call  Sir  Peter,  'Sir  Peter,' — but  he 
came  much  oftener  to  see  us  than  Lady  Arley 
did.  Deborah  would  have  known  in  a  minute. 
My  lady — your  ladyship.  it  sounds  very 
strange,  and,  as  if  it  was  not  natural.  I 
never  thought  of  it  before  ;  but,  now  you 
have  named  it,  I  arn  all  in  a  puzzle." 

It  was  very  certain  Miss  Pole  would  obtain 
.no  wise  decision  from  Miss  Matey,  who  got 
more   bewildered   every  moment,   and   more 
perplexed  as  to  etiquettes  of  address. 

"  Well,  I  really  think,"  said  Miss  Pole,  "  I 
had  better  just  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Forrester 
about  our  little  difficulty.  One  sometimes 
grows  nervous  ;  and  yet  one  would  not  have 
Lady  Glemnire  think  we  were  quite  ignorant 
of  the  etiquettes  of  high  life  in  Cranford." 

"  And  will  you  just  step  in  here,  dear  Miss 
Pole,  as  you  come  back,  please  ;  and  tell  me 
what  you  decide  upon.  Whatever  you  and 
Mrs.  Forrester  fix  upon,  will  be  quite  right, 
I  'm  sure.  '  Lady  Arley,'  '  Sir  Peter,'  "  said 
Miss  Matey  to  herself,  trying  to  recall  the  old 
forms  of  words. 

"  Who  is  Lady  Glenmire  ? "  asked  I. 

"  Oh  !  she  '.s  the  widow  of  Mr.  Jamieson — 
that's  Mrs.  Jamieson's  late  husband,  you  know 
— widow  of  his  eldest  brother.  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son  was  a  Miss  Walker,  daughter  of  Gover- 
nor Wrdker.  Your  ladyship.  My  dear,  if 
they  fix  on  that  way  of  speaking,  you  must 
just  let  r;.<e  practise  a  little  on  you  jirst,  for  I 
shall  feel  so  foolish  and  hot,  saying  it  the  first 
time  to  Lady  Glenmire." 

It  was  really  a  relief  to  Miss  Matey  when 


Mrs.  Jamieson  came  on  a  very  unpolite 
errand.  1  notice  that  apathetic  people  have 
more  quiet  impertinence  than  any  others  ; 
and  Mrs.  Jamieson  came  now  to  insinuate 
pretty  plainly,  that  she  did  not  particularly 
wish  that  the  Cranford  ladies  should  call  upon 
her  sister-in-law.  I  can  hardly  say  bow  she 
made  this  clear  ;  for  I  grew  very  indignant 
and  warm,  while  with  slow  deliberation  she 
was  explaining  her  wishes  to  Miss  Matey, 
who,  a  true  lady  herself,  could  hardly  under- 
stand the  feeling  which  made  Mrs.  Jamieson 
wish  to  appear  to  her  noble  sister-in-law  as 
if  she  only  visited  "county"  families  ;  Miss 
Matey  remained  puzzled  and  perplexed  long 
after  I  had  found  out  the  object  of  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  visit. 

When  she  did  understand  the  drift  of  the 
honourable  lady's  call,  it  was  pretty  to  see 
with  what  quiet  dignity  she  received  the 
intimation  thus  uricourteously  given.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  hurt — she  was  of  too 
gentle  a  spirit  for  that ;  nor  was  she  exactly 
conscious  of  disapproving  of  Mrs.  Jamieson's 
conduct  ;  but  there  was  something  of  this 
feeling  in  her  mind,  I  am  sure,  which  made 
her  pass  from  the  subject  to  others,  in  a  less 
flurried  and  more  composed  manner  than 
usual.  Mrs.  Jamieson  was,  indeed,  the  more 
flurried  of  the  two,  and  I  could  see  she  wao 
glad  to  take  her  leave. 

A  little  while  afterwards,  Miss  Pole  re- 
turned, red  and  indignant.  "  Well !  to  be 
sure!  You've  had  Mrs.  Jamieson  here,  I 
find  from  Martha  ;  and  we  are  not  to  call  on 
Lady  Glenmire.  Yes  !  I  met  Mrs.  Jamieson, 
half-way  between  here  and  Mrs.  Forrester's, 
and  she  told  me  ;  she  took  me  so  by  surprise, 
I  had  nothing  to  say.  I  wish  I  had  thought 
of  something  very  sharp  and  sarcastic  ;  I 
dare  say  I  shall  to-night.  And  Lady  Glen- 
mire  is  but  the  widow  of  a  Scotch  baron, 
after  all !  I  went  on  to  look  at  Mrs.  For- 
rester's Peerage,  to  see  who  this  lady  was, 
that  is  to  be  kept  under  a  glass-case  :  widow 
of  a  Scotch  peer — 'never  sat  in  the  House  of 
Lords — and  as  poor  as  Job,  I  dare  say  ;  and 
she — fifth  daughter  of  some  Mr.  Campbell  or 
other.  You  are  the  daughter  of  a  rector,  at 
any  rate,  and  related  to  the  Arleys ;  and 
Sir  Peter  might 'have  been  Viscount  Arley, 
every  one  says." 

Miss  Matey  tried  to  soothe  Miss  Pole,  but 
in  vain.  That  lady,  usually  so  kind  and 
good-humoured,  was  now  in  a  full  flow  of 
anger. 

"  And  I  went  and  ordered  a  cap  this 
morning,  to  be  quite  ready,"  said  she,  at  last, 
letting  out  the  secret  which  gave  sting  to 
Mrs.  Jamieson's  intimation.  "  Mrs.  Jamieson 
shall  see  if  it's  so  easy  to  get  me  to  make 
fourth  at  a  pool,  when  she  has  none  of  her 
fine  Scotch  relations  with  her  !  " 

In  coming  out  of  church,  the  first  Sunday 
on  which  Lady  Glenmire  appeared  in  Cran- 
ford, we  sedulously  talked  together,  and 
turned  our  backs  on  Mrs.  Jamieson  and  her 


60 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


guest.  If  we  might  not  call  on  her,  we  would 
not  even  look  at  her,  though  we  were  dying 
with  curiosity  to  know  what  she  was  like. 
We  had  the  comfort  of  questioning  Martha 
in  the  afternoon.  Martha  did  not  belong  to 
a  sphere  of  society  whose  observation  could 
be  an  implied  compliment  to  Lady  Gleuniire, 
and  Martha  had  made  good  use  of  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  ma'am  !  is  it  the  little  lady  with 
Mrs.  Jamieson,  you  mean  ?  I  thought  you 
would  like  more  to  know  how  young  Mrs. 
Smith  was  dressed,  her  being  a  bride." 
(Mrs.  Smith  was  the  butcher's  wife.) 

Miss  Pole  said,  "  Good  gracious  ine  !  ;is  if 
we  cared  about  a  Mrs.  Smith ; "  but  was 
silent,  as  Martha  resumed  her  speech. 

"  The  little  lady  in  Mrs.  Jamieson's  pew 
had  on,  ma'am,  rather  an  old  black  silk,  and 
a  shepherd's  plaid  cloak,  ma'am  ;  and  very- 
bright  black  eyes,  she  had,  ma'am,  and  a 
pleasant,  sharp  face  ;  not  over  young,  ma'am, 
but  yet,  I  should  guess,  younger  than  Mrs. 
Jamieson  herself.  She  looked  up  and  down 
the  church,  like  a  bird,  and  nipped  up  her 
petticoats,  when  she  came  out,  as  quick  and 
sharp  as  ever  I  see.  I'll  tell  you  what,  ma'am, 
she's  more  like  Mrs.  Deacon,  at  the  '  Coach 
and  Horses,'  nor  any  one." 

"Hush,  Martha!"  said  Miss  Matey; 
"  that's  not  respectful.'' 

"  Isn't  it,  ma'am  ?  I  beg  pardon,  I'm  sure ; 
but  Jem  Hearri  said  so  as  well.  He  said, 
she  was  just  such  a  sharp,  stirring  sort  of  a 
body" — 

"  Lady,"  said  Miss  Pole. 

"  Lady — as  Mrs.  Deacon." 

Another  Sunday  passed  away,  and  we  still 
averted  our  eyes  from  Mrs.  Jamieson  and 
her  guest,  and  made  remarks  to  ourselves 
that  we  thought  were  very  severe  —  almost 
too  much  so.  Miss  Matey  was  evidently  un- 
easy at  our  sarcastic  mamier  of  speaking. 

Perhaps  by  this  time  Lady  Glenmire  had 
found  out  that  Mrs.  Jamieson's  was  not  the 
gayest,  liveliest  house  in  the  world  ;  perhaps 
Mrs.  Jamieson  had  found  out  that  most  of 
the  county  families  were  in  London,  and  that 

those  who  remained  in  shire  were  not 

so  alive  as  they  might  have  been  to  the 
circumstance  of  Lady  Glenmire  being  in  their 
neighbourhood.  Great  events  spring  out  of 
small  causes  ;  so  I  will  not  pretend  to  say 
what  induced  Mrs.  Jamieson  to  alter  her 
determination  of  excluding  the  Cranford 
ladies,  and  send  notes  of  invitation  all  round 
for  a  small  party,  on  the  following  Tuesday. 
Mr.  Mulliuer  himself  brought  them  round. 
He  would  always  ignore  the  fact  of  there 
being  a  back-door  to  any  house,  and  gave  a 
louder  rat-tat  than  his  mistress,  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son.  He  had  three  little  notes,  which  he 
carried  in  a  large  basket,  in  order  to  impress 
his  mistress  with  an  idea  of  their  great 
weight,  though  they  might  easily  have  gone 
into  his  waistcoat  pocket. 

Miss  Matey  and  I  quietly  decided  we  would 
have  a  previous  engagement  at  home  : — it  was 


the  evening  on  which  Miss  Matey  usually 
made  candle-lighters  of  all  the  notes  ami 
letters  of  the  week  ;  for  on  Mondays  her 
accounts  were  always  made  straight — not  a 
penny  owing  from  the  week  before  ;  so,  by  a 
natural  arrangement,  making  candle-lighters 
fell  upon  a  Tuesday  evening,  and  gave  us  a 
legitimate  excuse  for  declining  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son's  invitation.  But  before  our  answer  was 
written,  in  came  Miss  Pole,  with  an  open  note 
in  her  hand. 

"  So  !  "  she  said.  "  Ah  !  I  see  you  have 
got  your  note,  too.  Better  late  than  never. 
I  could  have  told  my  Lady  Glenmire  she 
would  be  glad  enough  of  our  society  before  a 
fortnight  was  over." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Matey,  "  we're  asked  for 
Tuesday  evening.  And  perhaps  you  would 
just  kindly  bring  your  work  across  and  drink 
tea  with  us  that  night.  It  is  my  usual  regular 
time  for  looking  over  all  the  last  week's  bills, 
and  notes,  and  letters,  and  making  candle- 
lighters  of  them;  but  that  does  not  seem 
quite  reason  enough  for  saying  I  have  a  pre- 
vious engagement  at  home,  though  I  meant 
to  make  it  do.  Now,  if  you  would  come,  my 
conscience  would  be  quite  at  ease,  and  luckily 
the  note  is  not  written  yet." 

I  saw  Miss  Pole's  countenance  change  while 
Miss  Matey  was  speaking. 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  go  then  1 "  asked  she. 

"  Oh  no !  "  said  Miss  Matey,  quietly.  "  You 
don't  either,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Pole.  "  Yes, 
I  think  I  do,"  said  she,  rattier  briskly  ;  and, 
on  seeing  Miss  Matey  look  surprised,  she 
added,  "  You  see,  one  would  not  like  Mrs. 
Jamieson  to  think  that  anything  she  could 
do,  or  say,  was  of  consequence  enough  to  give 
offence  ;  it  would  be  a  kind  of  letting  down 
of  ourselves,  that  I,  for  one,  should  not  like. 
It  would  be  too  flattering  to  Mrs.  Jamieson, 
if  we  allowed  her  to  suppose  that  what  she 
had  said  affected  us  a  week,  nay  ten  days 
afterwards." 

"  Well !  I  suppose  it  is  wrong  to  be  hurt 
and  annoyed  so  long  about  anything ;  and, 
perhaps,  after  all,  she  did  not  mean  to  vex  us. 
But  I  must  say,  I  could  not  have  brought 
myself  to  say  the  things  Mrs.  Jamieson  did 
about  our  not  calling.  I  really  don't  think 
I  shall  go." 

"  Oh,  come  !  Miss  Matey,  you  must  go  ; 
you  know  our  friend  Mrs.  Jamieson  is  much 
more  phlegmatic  than  most  people,  and  does 
not  enter  into  the  little  delicacies  of  feeling 
which  you  possess  in  so  remarkable  a  degree." 

"  I  thought  you  possessed  them,  too,  that 
day  Mrs.  Jamieson  called  to  tell  us  not  to  go," 
said  Miss  Matey,  innocently. 

But  Miss  Pole,  in  addition  to  her  delicacies 
of  feeling,  possessed  a  very  smart  cap,  which 
she  was  anxious  to  show  to  an  admiring 
world  ;  and  so  she  seemed  to  forget  all  her 
angry  words  uttered  not  a  fortnight  before, 
and  to  be  ready  to  act  on  what  she  called  the 
great  Christian  principle  of  "Forgive  and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


VISITING  AT  CRANFOKD. 


61 


forget ;"  and  she  lectured  dear  Miss  Matey 
so  long  on  this  head,  that  she  absolutely  ended 
by  assuring  her  it  was  her  duty,  as  a  deceased 
rector's  daughter,  to  buy  a  new  cap,  and  go 
to  the  party  at  Mrs.  Jamieson's.  So  "  we  were 
most  happy  to  accept,"  instead  of  "  regretting 
that  we  were  obliged  to  decline." 

The  expenditure  in  dress  in  Cranford  was 
principally  in  that  one  article  referred  to.  If 
the  heads  were  buried  in  smart  new  caps,  the 
ladies  were  like  ostriches,  and  cared  not  what 
became  of  their  bodies.  Old  gowns,  white 
and  venerable  collars,  any  number  of  brooches, 
up  and  down  and  everywhere  (some  with  dogs' 
eyes  painted  in  them;  some  that  were  like 
small  picture-frames  with  mausoleums  and 
weeping- willows  neatly  executed  in  hair 
inside  ;  some,  again,  with  miniatures  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  sweetly  smiling  out  of  a  nest 
of  stiff  muslin) — old  brooches  for  a  permanent 
ornament,  and  new  caps  to  suit  the  fashion  of 
the  day ;  the  ladies  of  Cranford  always  dressed 
with  chaste  elegance  and  propriety,  as  Miss 
Barker  once  prettily  expressed  it.  And  with 
three  new  caps,  and  a  greater  array  of 
brooches  than  had  ever  been  seen  together  at 
one  time,  since  Cranford  was  a  town,  did 
Mrs.  Forrester,  and  Miss  Matey,  and  Miss 
Pole  appear  on  that  memorable  Tuesday 
evening.  I  counted  seven  brooches  myself  on 
Miss  Pole's  dress.  Two  were  fixed  negli- 
gently in  her  cap  (one  was  a  butterfly  made 
of  Scotch  pebbles,  which  a  vivid  imagination 
might  believe  to  be  the  real  insect)  ;  one 
fastened  her  net  neck-kerchief;  one  her 
collar :  one  ornamented  the  front  of  her 
gown,  midway  between  her  throat  and  waist ; 
and  another  adorned  the  point  of  her  sto- 
macher. Where  the  seventh  was  I  have  for- 
gotten, but  it  was  somewhere  about  her,  I  am 
sure. 

But  I  am  getting  on  too  fast,  in  describing 
the  dresses  of  the  company.  I  should  first 
relate  the  gathering,  on  the  way  to  Mrs. 
Jamieson's.  That  lady  lived  in  a  large  house 
just  outside  the  town.  A  road,  which  had 
known  what  it  was  to  be  a  street,  ran  right 
before -the  house,  which  opened  out  upon  it, 
without  any  intervening  garden  or  court. 
Whatever  the  sun  was  about,  he  never  shone 
on  the  front  of  that  house.  To  be  sure,  the 
living-rooms  were  at  the  back,  looking  on  to 
a  pleasant  garden  ;  the  front  windows  only  be- 
longed to  kitchens  and  housekeeper's  rooms, 
and  pantries  ;  and  in  one  of  them  Mr.  Mul- 
liner  was  reported  to  sit.  Indeed,  looking 
askance,  we  often  saw  the  back  of  a  head, 
covered  with  hair-powder,  which  also  ex- 
tended itself  over  his  coat-collar  down  to  his 
very  waist ;  and  this  imposing  back  was 
always  engaged  in  reading  the  "  St.  James's 
Chronicle,"  opened  wide,  which,  in  some 
degree,  accounted  for  the  length  of  time  the 
said  newspaper  was  in  reaching  us — equal 
subscribers  with  Mrs.  Jamieson,  though,  in 
right  of  her  honourableness,  she  always  had 
the  reading  of  it  first.  This  very  Tuesday,  the 


delay  in  forwarding  the  last  number  had  been 
particularly  aggravating  ;  just  when  both  Miss 
Pole  and  Miss  Matey,  the  former  more  espe- 
cially, had  been  wanting  to  see  it,  in  order  to 
coach  up  the  court-news,  ready  for  the  even- 
ing's interview  with  aristocracy.  Miss  Pole 
told  us  she  had  absolutely  taken  time  by  the 
fore-lock,  and  been  dressed  by  five  o'clock,  in 
order  to  be  ready,  if  the  "  St.  James's  Chro- 
nicle" should  come  in  at  the  last  moment, — 
the  very  "  St.  James's  Chronicle  "  which  the 
powdered-head  was  tranquilly  and  composedly 
reading  as  we  passed  the  accustomed  window 
this  evening. 

"  The  impudence  of  the  man ! "  said 
Miss  Pole,  in  a  low  indignant  whisper.  "I 
should  like  to  ask  him,  whether  his  mis- 
tress pays  her  quarter -share  for  his  exclusive 
use." 

We  looked  at  her  in  admiration  of  the 
courage  of  her  thought ;  for  Mr.  Mulliner 
was  an  object  of  great  awe  to  all  of  us.  He 
seemed  never  to  have  forgotten  his  conde- 
scension in  coming  to  live  at  Cranford.  Miss 
Jenkyns,  at  times,  had  stood  forth  as,  the 
undaunted  champion  of  her  sex,  and  spoken 
to  him  on  terms  of  equality ;  but  even  Miss 
Jenkyns  could  get  no  higher.  In  his  plea- 
santest  and  most  gracious  moods,  he  looked 
like  a  sulky  cockatoo.  He  did  not  speak 
except  in  gruff  monosyllables.  He  would 
wait  in  the  hall  when  we  begged  him  not  to 
wait,  and  then  look  deeply  offended  because 
we  had  kept  him  there,  while,  with  trembling, 
hasty  hands,  we  prepared  ourselves  for  appear- 
ing in  company.  Miss  Pole  ventured  on  a 
small  joke  as  we  went  up-stairs,  intended, 
though  addressed  to  us,  to  afford  Mr.  Mul- 
liner some  slight  amusement.  We  all  smiled, 
in  order  to  seem  as  if  we  felt  at  our  ease, 
and  timidly  looked  for  Mr.  Mulliner's 
sympathy.  Not  a  muscle  of  that  wooden 
face  had  relaxed  ;  and  we  were  grave  in  an 
instant. 

Mrs.  Jamieson's  drawing-room  was  cheer- 
ful ;  the  evening  sun  came  streaming  into  it, 
and  the  large  square  window  was  clustered 
round  with  flowers.  The  furniture  was  white 
and  gold  ;  not  the  later  style,  Louis  Quatorze 
1  think  they  call  it,  all  shells  and  twirls  ;  no. 
Mrs.  Jamieson's  chairs  and  tables  had  not  a 
curve  or  bend  about  them.  The  chair  and 
table  legs  diminished  astheynearedthe  ground, 
and  were  straight  and  square  in  all  their 
corners.  The  chairs  were  all  a-row  against 
the  walls,  with  the  exception  of  four  or  five 
which  stood  in  a  circle  round  the  fire.  They 
were  railed  with  white  bars  across  the  back, 
and  knobbed  with  gold  ;  neither  the  railings 
nor  the  knobs  invited  to  ease.  There  was 
a  japanned  table  devoted  to  literature,  on 
which  lay  a  Bible,  a  Peerage,  and  a  Prayer- 
Book.  There  was  another  square  Pembroke 
table  dedicated  to  the  Fine  Arts,  on  which 
there  was  a  kaleidoscope,  conversation-cards, 
puzzle-cards  (tied  together  to  an  interminable 
length  with  faded  pink  satin  ribbon),  and  a 


62 


HOUSEHOLD  WO11DS. 


[Conducted  by 


box  painted  in  fond  imitation  of  the  drawings 
which  decorate  tea-chests.  Carlo  lay  on  the 
worsted-work  rug,  and  ungraciously  barked 
at  us  as  we  entered.  Mrs.  Jamieson  stood 
up,  giving  us  each  a  torpid  smile  of  welcome, 
and  looking  helplessly  beyond  us  at  Mr. 
Mulliner,  as  if  she  hoped  he  would  place  us 
in  chairs,  for  if  he  did  not,  she  never  could. 
I  suppose  he  thought  we  could  find  our  way 
to  the  circle  round  the  fire,  which  reminded 
me  of  Stonehenge,  I  don't  know  why.  Lady 
Glenmire  came  to  the  rescue  of  our  hostess ; 
and  somehow  or  other  we  found  ourselves  for 
the  first  time  placed  agreeably,  and  not  form- 
ally, in  Mrs.  Jamieson 's  house.  Lady  Glen- 
mire,  now  we  had  time  to  look  at  her,  proved 
to  be  a  bright  little  woman  of  middle  age, 
who  had  been  very  pretty  in  the  days  of  her 
youth,  and  who  was  even  yet  very  pleasant- 
looking.  I  saw  Miss  Pole  appraising  her 
dress  in  the  first  five  minutes ;  and  I  take  her 
word,  when  she  said  the  next  day, 

"My  dear!    ten  pounds  would   have  pur- 


once  had  passed  a  night  there,  which  was 
very  pleasant. 

Mrs.  Jamieson,  meanwhile,  was  absorbed  in 
wonder  why  Mr.  Mulliner  did  not  bring  the 
tea  ;  and,  at  length,  the  wonder  oozed  out  of 
her  mouth. 

"  I  had  better  ring  the  bell,  my  dear,  had 
not  I  ?  "  said  Lady  Glenmire,  briskly. 

"  No — I  think  not — Mulliner  does  not 
like  to  be  hurried."  We  should  have  liked 
our  tea,  for  we  dined  at  an  earlier  hour  than 
.  Jamieson.  I  suspect  Mr.  Mulliuer  had 
to  finish  the  St.  James's  Chronicle  before  he 
chose  to  trouble  himself  about  tea.  His 
mistress  fidgetted  and  fidgetted,  and  kept 
saying,  "  I  can't  think  why  Mulliner  does  not 
bring  tea.  I  can't  think  what  he  can  be 
about."  And  Lady  Glenmire  at  last  grew 
quite  impatient,  but  it  was  a  pretty  kind  of 
impatience  after  all ;  and  she  rung  the  bell 
rather  sharply,  on  receiving  a  half  permission 
from  her  sister-in-law  to  do  so..  Mr.  Mulliuer 
appeared  in  dignified  surprise.  "  Oh  !  "  said 


It  was  pleasant  to  suspect  that  a  peeress 
could  be  poor,  and  partly  reconciled  us  to  the 
fact  that  her  husband  had  never  sat  in  the 
House  of  Lords  ;  which,  when  we  first  heard 
of  it.  seemed  a  kind  of  swindling  us  out  of 
our  respect  on  false  pretences  ;  a  sort  of  "A 
Lord  and  No  Lord  "  business. 

We  were  all  very  silent  at  first.  We  were 
thinking  what  we  could  talk  about,  that 
should  be  high  enough  to  interest  My  Lady. 
There  had  been  a  rise  in  the  price  of  sugar, 
which,  as  preserving-time  was  near,  was  a 
piece  of  intelligence  to  all  our  housekeeping 
hearts,  and  would  have  been  the  natural  topic 
if  Lady  Glenmire  had  not  been  by.  But  we 
were  not  sure  if  the  Peei-age  ate  preserves — 
much  less  knew  how  they  were  made.  At 
last,  Miss  Pole,  who  had  always  a  great  deal 
of  courage  and  savoir  faire,  spoke  to  Lady 
Glenmire,  who  on  her  part  had  seemed  just 
MS  much  puzzled  to  know  how  to  break  the 
silence  as  we  were. 

"Has  your  ladyship  been  to  Court,  lately  ?" 
asked  she ;  and  then  gave  a  little  glance 
round  at  us,  half  timid,  and  half  triumphant. 
us  much  as  to  say,  "See  how  judiciously  I 
have  chosen  a  subject  befitting  the  rank  of 
the  stranger  !'' 

"  I  never  was  there  in  my  life,"  said  Lady 
Glenmire,  with  a  broad  Scotch  accent,  but  in 
.-:,  very  sweet  voice.  And  then,  as  if  she  had 
been  too  abrupt,  she  added,  "  We  very  seldom 
went  to  London  ;  only  twice,  in  fact,  during 
all  my  married  life  ;  and  before  I  was  married, 
my  father  had  far  too  large  a  family  " — (fifth 
daughter  of  Mr.  Campbell,  was  in  all  our 
minds,  I  am  sure) — "  to  take  us  often  from 
our  home,  even  to  Edinburgh.  Ye  '11  have 
been  in  Edinburgh,  may  be  ? "  said  she. 
suddenly  brightening  up  with  the  hope  of 
a  common  interest.  We  had  none  of  us 
been  there  ;  but  Miss  Pole  had  an  uncle  who 


chased  every  stitch  she  had  on — lace  and  I  Mrs.  Jamieson,  "Lady  Glenmire  rang  the 

bell  ;  I  believe  it  was  for  tea." 

In  a  few  minutes  tea  was  brought.  Very 
delicate  was  the  china,  very  old  the  plate, 
very  thin  the  bread-and-butter,  and  very  small 
the  lumps  of  sugar.  Sugar  was  evidently 
Mrs.  Jamieson's  favourite  economy.  I  ques- 
tion if  the  little  filigree  sugar-tongs,  made 
something  like  scissors,  could  have  opened 
themselves  wide  enough  to  take  np  an  honest, 
vulgar,  good-sized  piece  ;  and  when,  I  tried  to 
take  two  little  minikin  pieces  at  once,  so 
as  not  to  be  detected  in  too  many  returns  to 
the  sugar-basin,  they  absolutely  dropped  one, 
with  a  little  sharp  clatter,  quite  in  a  malicious 
and  unnatural  manner.  But  before  this 
happened,  we  had  had  a  slight  disappoint- 
ment. In  the  little  silver  jug  was  cream,  in 
the  larger  one  was  milk.  As  soon  as  Mr. 
Mulliner  came  in,  Carlo  began  to  beg,  which 
was  a  thing  our  manners  forbade  us  to  do, 
though  I  am  sure  we  were  just  as  hungry  ; 
and  Mrs.  Jamieson  said  she  was  certain  we 
would  excuse  her  if  she  gave  her  poor  dumb 
Carlo  his  tea  first.  She  accordingly  mixed  a 
saucer-full  for  him,  and  put  it  down  for  him 
to  lap  ;  and  then  she  told  us  how  intelligent 
and  sensible  the  clear  little  fellow  was  ;  he 
knew  cream  quite  well,  and  constantly  refused 
tea  with  only  milk  in  it  :  so  the  milk  was  left 
for  us,  but  we  silently  thought  we  were  quite 
as  intelligent  and  sensible  as  Carlo,  and  felt 
as  if  insult  were  added  to  injury,  when  we 
were  called  upon  to  admire  the  gratitude 
evinced  by  his  wagging  his  tail  for  the  cream, 
which  should  have  been  ours. 

After  tea  we  thawed  down  into  coimnoii- 
life  subjects.  We  were  thankful  to  Lady 
Glenmire  for  having  proposed  some  more 
biY'.-id-aud-butter,  and  this  mutual  want  made 
us  better  acquainted  with  her  than  we  should 
ever  have  bwn  with  talking  about  the  Court, 
though  Miss  Pole  did  say,  she  had  hoped  to 
know  how  the  dear  Queen  was  from  some  one 


Ch&rles  Dickens.] 


VISITING  AT  CBANFOKD. 


63 


who  had  seen  her.  The  friendship  begun  over 
bread-and-butter,  extended  on  to  cards.  Lady 
Glenmire  played  Preference  to  admiration, 
and  was  a  complete  authority  as  to  Ombre 
and  Quadrille.  Even  Miss  Pole  quite  forgot 
to  say  "  rny  lady,"  and  "  your  ladyship,"  and 
said  "  Basto  !  nia'am  ; "  "  you  have  Spadille, 
1  believe,"  just  as  quietly  as  if  we  had  never 
held  the  great  Cranford  parliament  on  the 
subject  of  the  proper  mode  of  addressing  a 
peeress. 

As  a  proof  of  how  thoroughly  we  had  for- 
gotten that  we  were  in  the  presence  of  one 
who  might  have  sat  down  to  tea  with  a 
coronet,  instead  of  a  cap,  on  her  head,  Mrs. 
Forrester  related  a  curious  little  fact  to  Lady 
Glenmire — an  anecdote  known  to  the  circle 
of  her  intimate  friends,  but  of  which  even 
!  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  not  aware.  It  related  to 
some  fine  old  lace,  the  sole  relic  of  better  days, 
which  Lady  Glenmire  was  admiring  on  Mrs. 
Forrester's  collar. 

"  Yes,"  said  that  lady,  "  such  lace  cannot  be 
got  now  for  either  love  or  money  ;  made  by 
the  nuns  abroad  they  tell  me.  They  say  that 
they  can't  make  it  now  even  there.  But, 
perhaps,  they  can,  now  they've  passed  the 
Catholic  Emancipation  Bill.  I  should  not 
wonder.  But,  in  the  meantime,  I  treasure  up 
my  lace  very  much.  I  daren't  even  trust  the 
washing  of  it  to  my  maid  "  (the  little  charity 
school-girl  I  have  named  before,  but  who' 
sounded  well  as  "  my  maid.")  '*  I  always 
wash  it  myself.  And  once  it  had  a  narrow 
escape.  Of  course,  your  ladyship  knows  that 
such  lace  must  never  be  starched  or  ironed  ; 
some  people  wash  it  in  sugar  and  water  ;  and 
some  in  coffee,  to  make  it  the  right  yellow 
colour ;  but  I  myself  have  a  very  good 
receipt  for  washing  it  in  milk,  which  stiffens 
it  enough,  and  gives  it  a  very  good  creamy 
colour.  Well,  ma'am,  I  had  tacked  it  to- 
gether (and  the  beauty  of  this  fine  lace  is, 
that  when  it  is  wet,  it  goes  into  a  very  little 
space)-,  and  put  it  to  soak  in  milk,  when, 
unfortunately,  I  left  the  room  ;  on  my  re- 
turn, I  found  pussy  on  the  table,  looking 
very  like  a  thief,  but  gulping  very  uncom- 
fortably, as  if  she  was  half-choked  with 
something  she  wanted  to  swallow,  and  could 
not.  And,  would  you  believe  it  ?  At  first,  I 
pitied  her,  and  said,  '  Poor  pussy !  poor 
pussy  ! '  till,  all  at  once,  I  looked  and  saw 
the  cup  of  milk  empty — cleaned  out  !  '  You 
naughty  cat ! '  said  I ;  and  I  believe  I  was 
provoked  enough  to  give  her  a  slap,  which 
did  no  good,  but  only  helped  the  lace  down — 
just  as  one  slaps  a  choking  child  on  the  back. 
I  could  have  cried,  I  was  so  vexed  ;  but  I 
determined  I  would  not  give  the  lace  up 
without  a  struggle  for  it.  I  hoped  the  lace 
might  disagree  with  her,  at  any  rate  ;  but  it 
would  have  been  too  much  for  Job,  if  he  had 
seen,  as  I  did,  that  cat  come  in,  quite  placid 
and  purring,  not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after, 
and  almost  expecting  to  be  stroked.  '  No, 
pussy  !  '  said  I  ;  '  if  you  have  any  conscience, 


you  ought  not  to  expect  that ! '  And  then 
a  thought  struck  me  ;  and  I  rang  the  bell  for 
my  maid,  and  sent  her  to  Mr.  Hoggins,  with 
my  compliments,  and  would  he  be  kind 
enough  to  lend  me  one  of  his  top-boots  for 
an  hour  ?  I  did  not  think  there  was  anything 
odd  in  the  message ;  but  Jenny  said  the 
young  men  in  the  surgery  laughed  as  if  they 
would  be  ill  at  my  wanting  a  top-boot.  When 
it  came,  Jenny  and  I  put  pussy  in,  with  her 
fore-feet  straight  down,  so  that  they  were 
fastened,  and  could  not  scratch,  and  we  gave 
her  a  tea-spoonful  of  currant-jelly,  in  which 
(your  ladyship  must  excuse  me)  I  had  mixed 
some  tartar  emetic.  I  shall  never  forget  how 
anxious  I  was  that  next  half- hour.  I  took 
pussy  to  my  own  room,  and  spread  a  clean 
towel  on  the  floor.  I  could  have  kissed  her 
when  she  returned  the  lace  to  sight,  very 
much  as  it  had  gone  down.  Jenny  had  boiling 
water  ready,  and  we  soaked  it,  and  soaked  it, 
ar>d  spread  it  on  a  lavender-bush  in  the  sun, 
before  I  could  touch  it  again,  even  to  put  it 
in  milk.  But  now,  your  ladyship  would 
never  guess  that  it  had  been  in  pussy's 
inside." 

We  found  out  in  the  course  of  the  evening 
that  Lady  Glenmire  was  going  to  pay  Mrs. 
Jamieson  a  long  visit,  as  she  had  given  up 
her  apartments  in  Edinburgh,  and  had  no  ties 
to  take  her  back  there  in  a  hurry.  On  the 
whole,  we  were  rather  glad  to  hear  this,  for 
she  had  made  a  pleasant  impression  upon  us  ; 
and  it  was  also  very  comfortable  to  find,  from 
things  which  dropped  out  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  that,  in  addition  to  many  other 
genteel  qualities,  she  was  far  removed  from 
the  vulgarity  of  wealth. 

"  Don't  you  find  it  very  unpleasant,  walk- 
ing 1 "  asked  Mrs.  Jamieson,  as  our  respective 
servants  were  announced.  It  was  a  pretty 
regular  question  from  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who 
had  her  own  carriage  in  the  coach-house,  and 
always  went  out  in  a  sedan  chair  to  the  very 
shortest  distances.  The  answers  were  nearly 
as  much  a  matter  of  course, 

"  Oh  dear,  no  !  it  is  so  pleasant  and  still  at 
night  !  "  "  Such  a  refreshment  after  the 
excitement  of  a  party  !  "  "  The  stars  are 
so  beautiful !  "  This  last  was  from  Miss 
Matey. 

"  Are  you  fond  of  astronomy  ?  "  Lady 
Glenmire  asked. 

"  Not  very  " — replied  Miss  Matey,  rather 
confused  at  the  moment  to  remember  which 
was  astronomy,  and  which  was  astrology — but 
the  answer  was  true  under  either  circum- 
stance, for  she  read,  and  was  slightly  alarmed 
at,  Francis  Moore's  astrological  predictions  ; 
and,  as  to  astronomy,  in  a  private  and  con- 
fidential conversation,  she  had  told  me, 
she  never  could  believe  that  the  earth 
was  moving  constantly,  and  that  she  would 
not  believe  it  if  she  could,  it  made  her  feel 
so  tired  and  dizzy  whenever  she  thought 
a^'jut  it. 

In  our  pattens,  we  picked  our  way  hornf 


64 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


with  extra  care  that  night ;  so  refined  and 
delicate  were  our  perceptions  after  drinking 
tea  with  "  my  lady." 


SLEDGING. 


THE  great  winter  feature  of  Munich  is 
sledging.  One  morning,  just  as  I  entered 
the  English  Garden,  and  when  I  was  ad- 
miring the  heavy  masses  of  snow  which  lay 
in  fantastic  forms  upon  the  dark  branches 
of  a  group  of  pine-trees,  and  was  delighting 
in  the  piirity  and  silence  and  beauty  of  the 
whole  scene,  a  sharp,  clear  sound  of  bells  rang 
through  the  frosty  air ;  and  skimming  along 
the  white,  smooth  road,  which  wound  among 
the  trees,  on  came  a  bright  green  and  golden 
sledge  drawn  by  a  brisk  black  horse,  brilliant 
with  scarlet  trappings,  and  musical  with  little 
bells  !  It  was  a  peasant's  sledge  ;  and  wrapt 
up  in  his  cloak,  and  with  fur  cap  and  gloves, 
and  many  a  warm  wrapping  besides,  sate  a 
burly  peasant  within  it.  The  whole  thing 
was  so  pretty,  and  fantastic,  and  gay,  that  a 
sudden  thrill  ran  through  me,  and  I  was  a 
perfect  child  in  my  joy  over  the  pea-green 
sledge. 

There  were  sledges  everywhere,  I  found,  in 
the  course  of  the  day.  Sledges  were  seen 
standing  before  doors,  without  horses,  as 
though  people  were  bringing  them  forth  from 
their  summer  retreats,  and  were  now  inspect- 
ing their  state  and  condition.  There  were 
sledges  being  drawn  along  to  blacksmiths  and 
coach-builders,  to  be  put  into  repair.  In  a 
day  or  two,  gentlemen's  carriages  began  to  go 
upon  sledges  instead  of  wheels ;  ditto  drosehes, 
ditto  fiacres,  ditto  peasants'  carts,  ditto  laun- 
dresses' carts,  ditto  brewers'  carts.  Little  lads, 
of  course,  went  upon  sledges,  instead  of  upon 
their  legs  ;  water -tubs  and  buckets,  and  milk- 
jars,  or,  rather,  the  queer  wooden  pails  hooped 
with  brass,  in  which  they  here  carry  their 
milk — all  travel  on  sledges.  One  now  begins 
to  consider  things  and  vehicles  which  move 
upon  legs  or  wheels  as  very  much  out  of 
fashion. 

Together  with  the  drosches  and  nacres  now 
put  upon  sledges,  you  see  upon  the  stands 
sledges  proper — two  and  one-horse  sledges, 
green,  blue,  and  yellow,  grand,  elegant,  and 
shabby  ;  and  sledges  of  this  description  you 
see  driving  about  in  all  directions,  with  their 
heavily-cloaked  and  furred  drivers  generally 
standing  up  behind,  to  drive  ct,  la  Hansom  cab, 
and  cracking  their  long-lashed  whips  till  the 
streets  resound  again.  You  see  a  couple  of 
students  in  one  sledge,  a  whole  family,  father, 
mother,  and  a  crowd  of  children,  in  a  family 
sledge  ;  you  see  a  lady  and  gentleman  alone  ; 
you  see,  perhaps,  as  I  did  last  night,  two  fat 
citizenesses,  one  driving,  with  a  couple  of 
round-faced  rosy  children  peeping  out  at  their 
knees,  and  apparently  close  under  the  horses' 
heels  ;  you  see  a  couple  of  Munich  "  gents  " 
• — for  there  are  such  animals  here — with 
big-buttoned  coats,  jaunty  hats,  and  cigars 


in  their  mouths,  driving  a  lean,  shambling 
horse  at  a  furious  rate,  whilst  they  themselves 
seem  ready  to  be  spilt  from  their  slight  sledge 
every  moment.  You  see  numbers  of  well-to- 
do,  big-boned  peasants,  rapidly  skimming 
along  ip -their  sledges,  which  all  bear  a  striking 
resemblance  to  each  other,  being  green,  often 
of  wicker-work  painted,  and  most  quaintly 
adorned  with  gilt  tracery  work,  which  looks 
as  if  cut  in  iron,  gilded. 

I  have  varied  my  walk  to  the  studio  these 
several  last  mornings,  by  going  down  through 
the  hof-garden,  and  along  a  queer  old  street, 
which  leads  into  the  St.  Anna  Vorstadt,  in 
order  to  see  as  much  of  life  as  possible.  I 
have  seen,  besides  all  these  varieties  of  the 
sledge  genus,  various  little  bits  of  winter  life, 
which  amused  me.  I  have  seen  soldiers 
emptying  from  long,  heavy  carts,  loads  of 
snow,  into  the  various  branches  of  the  Iser, 
which  flow  through  the  town ;  and  have  met 
processions  of  laundresses,  which  have  a 
vastly  odd  appearance.  In  the  early  morn- 
ing they  were  entering  the  city  with  clothes- 
baskets  and  bundles,  piled  up  ever  so  high 
on  wooden  sledges,  which  they  both  drew 
and  pushed  along  ;  the  sledges,  not  few  in 
number,  and  the  procession,  rendered  yet 
more  fantastic  from  gay-coloured  dresses 
and  white  petticoats,  which  were  borne  aloft, 
like  pennons,  upon  long  poles  !  These  laun- 
dress-matrons and  maids  looked  very  attrac- 
tive, I  can  assure  you,  all  bright  and  fresh  as 
they  were  in  the  clear  winter's  morning  ; 
their  comely  faces  glowing  with  exercise  and 
the  sharp  air.  Just  picture  to  yourselves  this 
train  winding  along  through  the  queer  old 
street,  white  and  crisp  with  its  snow,  and  tell 
me  whether,  together  with  a  pea-green  sledge 
rushing  along  here  and  there,  and  every  now 
and  then  a  group  of  peasants  cutting  wood 
before  the  houses,  the  scene  was  not  quaint 
and  pleasantly  foreign  ? 

These  groups  of  wood-cutters  form  quite 
a  characteristic  feature  in  the  winter  picture 
of  a  Munich  street.  The  man — for  the  groups 
usually  consists  of  one  man  and  two  women — 
the  man  in  a  chocolate-coloured  or  pale  pink 
cotton  jacket,  black  velvet  breeches,  and  black 
top-boots,  chopping  away  at  a  heavy  block, 
which  he  has  set  on  the  causeway ;  the  women 
in  pink  or  blue  cotton  boddices,  with  huge 
wadded  ffiffot  sleeves,  and  scarlet  or  green,  or 
both  colours  mixed,  woollen  petticoats,  and 
with  black  or  white  handkerchiefs  tied  over 
their  heads ;  one  sawing  piles  of  wood  in  a 
skeleton-like  sawing  machine ;  the  other  carry- 
ing away,  in  a  wooden  basket,  on  her  back, 
the  cut  and  sawn  pieces  of  wood,  through 
the  heavy  arched  door,  or  rather  gateway,  of 
the  house. 

But  to  return  to  the  sledging,  and  to  our 
sledging  in  particular.  On  Tuesday  after- 
noon the  sun  shone  out  gloriously,  and  cast 
long  gleams  on  the  studio  floor,  through' the 
high  windows.  My  eyes  glanced  up,  and 
encountered,  smiling  through  leafless  branches, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SLEDGING. 


flecked  with  snow,  such  a  lapis  lazuli  heaven, 
that  I  forthwith  put  away  my  work,  and 
some  twenty  minutes  afterwards  rushed  into 
our  little  sitting-room,  startling  my  companion, 
Mary,  with  my  exclamation  of — "  On  with 
your  cloak  !  Quick  !  quick  !  We  will  go  in 
a  sledge  to  Nymphenbourg !  Hurrah  for 
Hamilton  and  Hildegrande !  We  will  honour 
their  memories  by  the  self-same  drive  !" 

Mary,  my  companion,  was  as  much  pleased 
with  the  scheme  as  myself;  for,  though  we 
are  invited  to  join  a  grand  sledging  party 
"  some  day,"  yet  we  would  not  wait  for  that ; 
we  would  have  a  little  pleasure,  by  anticipa- 
tion, on  our  own  account.  Fraiilein  Sanschen, 
therefore,  was  despatched  to  bring  us  the 
handsomest  sledge  she  could  find  on  the 
stand,  with  two  capital  horses.  We  made  a 
hasty  dinner,  while  the  good  old  soul  bustled 
off;  wrapped  ourselves  in  all  our  warm  things, 
and  were  ready  by  the  time  that  the  musical 
and  significant  jingling  of  bells  was  heard 
beneath  our  windows. 

Oar  sledge  was  a  magnificent  one,  which  I 
had  already  greatly  admired  on  the  Odean 
Platz  ;  a  large  white  sledge,  lined  with  scarlet, 
and  with  an  immense  apron  of  leopard-skin. 
Two  tall  golden  ornaments  rose  up  in  the 
front,  crowned  each  with  a  golden  bunch  of 
grapes.  But  the  supreme  grandeur  of  the 
whole  were  plumes  of  white  and  blue  feathers, 
which  nodded  upon  the  horses'  heads,  while 
the  bells  were  of  silver  ;  a  gradation  of  bells, 
and  consequently  of  sound,  hung  within  a 
bright  steel  bow,  which  arched  over  each 
horse's  neck,  and  producing,  as  may  be  ima- 
gined, a  most  gay  and  pleasant  sound.  The 
driver  was  a  large,  handsome,  rosy-faced  man, 
literally  buried  in  his  dark-blue  cloak,  edged 
with  brown  fur  at  the  cuffs,  and  deep  cape. 
Our  horses  were  coal-black  and  very  wild, 
with  trappings  of  a  brilliant  scarlet.  We 
ourselves  you  may  picture  in  our  smart  new 
bonnets,  our  furs  and  black-hooded  cloaks, 
nestled  down  like  birds  among  the  scarlet 
cushions,  which  make  part  of  the  sledge 
furniture. 

Away  we  start ;  the  long  whip  is  cracked 
again  and  again  in  artistic  flourishes  over  our 
heads  ;  its  echoes  sound  through  the  silent 
Amalien  Strasse,  and  altogether,  with  the 
sweet  ringing  of  the  horses'  bells,  we  make 
a  tremendous  riot.  Mary  is  quite  alarmed, 
because  everybody  stops  and  looks  after  us. 

The  sun  shines  upon  the  long  lines  of  deli- 
cately-tinted houses,  pale  pinks,  stones,  greens, 
and  salmon  colours  ;  the  roofs  are  dazzling 
with  snow ;  the  sledges  we  pass — for  we  go 
at  a  tremendous  rate — and  the  groups  of 
people  in  the  streets  look  brilliant  patches  of 
colour,  contrasted  against  the  whiteness  of  the 
road,  and  shone  upon  by  the  bright  sun. 

We  drive  out  towards  the  vast  plain  ;  the 
sun  is  beginning  to  sink  slowly  into  an  abyss 
of  molten  gold,  which  reveals  itself  behind  a 
gigantic  range  of  mountain-like  cloud  of  lilac 
and  amber  ;  the  tall  obelisk  burns  in  the  rays 


of  the  setting  sun,  till  it  appears  like  a  mighty 
tongue  of  fire  leaping  up  into  the  azure 
heavens ;  the  sunbeams  lie  upon  the  broad 
doors  of  the  beautiful  pure  Glyptothek,  gleam- 
ing like  flame  ;  the  statues,  the  columns,  and 
pediment,  both  of  the  Glyptothek  and  the 
Corinthian  Temple  facing  it,  are  tinted  with 
the  wai-m  light,  and  rise  from  the  expanse  of 
snow  beyond  in  sharp  outline,  and  of  the 
most  exquisite  creamy  hue ;  and  before  us 
lies  the  plain,  dreamy,  dazzlingly  white,  with 
long  shadows  falling  across  it  of  delicate  azure, 
with  trees  and  villages  in  the  middle  distance 
of  etherial  greys  and  blues,  so  tender,  so  unreal 
in  their  colouring,  yet  at  the  same  time  so 
distinct  in  their  contour,  that  one  is  trans- 
ported with  delight  and  wonder. 

We  pass  beneath  one  of  those  huge  beams 
suspended  across  the  roads,  painted  witk 
winding  stripes  of  the  Bavarian  colours,  which 
stand  here  in  place  of  turnpike-gates  ;  enter  a 
road  lined  with  trees  on  either  hand  ;  ascend 
a  slight  hill,  breweries,  and  wayside  beer  and 
coffee-houses,  and  small  villas  skirting  the 
road  ;  and  having  again  reached  the  level 
ground,  are  in  Nymphenbourg  Allee,  as  it  is 
called.  But,  only  see  !  A  mist,  dense,  blue, 
cold,  approaches  us.  We  cannot  see  a  hun- 
dred, not  fifty,  not  twenty  yards,  before  us  ; 
yet  behind  us  lies  Munich  in  the  sunshine. 
Mist  rises  rapidly,  stealthily,  from  the  snowy 
plain  to  the  right  hand,  and  to  the  left,  mist 
blocks  up  the  avenue  !  How  very  strange  ! 

We  must  return  immediately  ;  no  Nymph- 
enbourg for  us  to-day !  Pedestrians,  and 
horses,  and  drivers,  and  riders  of  various 
degrees  approach  us,  and  pass  us,  or  are 
passed  by  us,  all  on  their  way  to  Munich,  out 
of  the  mist.  The  beards,  the  hair  of  the  men, 
the  fur  of  their  dress,  the  manes,  and  tails,  and 
long  hair  of  the  horses,  all  covered  with  a 
white  rime ;  they  seemed  suddenly  all  to  have 
gone  grey. 

We  drive  back  to  the  city  at  full  speed ; 
there  all  is  still  so  pleasant,  that  we  continue 
our  drive.  We  drive  past  the  Basilica,  and 
across  the  Dult  Platz,  and  through  the  most 
frequented  streets,  till  we  enter  the  Ludwig 
Strasse,  which,  at  this  season,  is  in  the  after- 
noon the  great  parade  of  Munich.  People 
were  as  usual  promenading  up  and  down  the 
long  beautiful  street,  whilst  other  sledges 
were  rapidly  driving  to  and  fro.  As  we  glide 
along  past  the  palace  of  the  Duke  Max,  where 
the  colossal  statues  of  Aristotle,  Hippocrates, 
Homer,  and  Thucydides,  throned  aloft,  look 
more  than  usually  solemn  and  venerable,  from 
the  snow  hoods  and  draperies  fallen  upon 
them ;  past  the  Ludwig  Church,  the  white, 
slender  towers  of  which  cut  boldly  against  the 
pure,  rosy,  evening  sky ;  past  the  Damen  Stift, 
the  University,  the  Jesuits'  College,  the  now 
silent  fountains,  and,  emerging  from  beneath 
the  triumphal  arch,  find  ourselves  in  the 
long  poplar  avenue  leading  to  Schwalbing, — 
we  declare  that  the  Ludwig  Strasse  has  quite 
exceeded  itself  in  beautiful  effects  to-day. 


(JG 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


We  had  just  time  to  drive  as  far  as  Sehwal- 
biiig  for  Mary  to  have  a  dim  and  dreary 
glimpse  of  the  church,  where  is  the  pic- 
turesque Overbeck  Gallery,  and  of  the  house 
where  dwells  the  little  old  woman  with  the 
lots  of  children,  and  of  the  yet  more  distant 
church  with  the  pea-green  spire.  But  all 
was  now  cold,  snow,  ice,  and  icicles  ;  so  away 
we  sped  home  again  to  our  comfortable  tea- 
table  ;  our  driver  cracking  his  whip  yet 
louder  and  louder,  and  in  one  of  his  evolu- 
tions nearly  snapping  off  poor  Mary's  nose, 
which  seemed  more  than  usually  imkind,  as 
I  discovered  on  our  drive  that  this  happened 
to  be  her  birthday  !  Well,  after  all,  no  harm 
was  done  ;  and  so  delicious  is  the  memory  of 
it  all,  that  without  waiting  for  any  grander 
party,  we  shall,  before  long,  indulge  ourselves 
again  in  a  sledge,  and  drive  down  to  the  lake 
in  the  English  Garden,  and  see  the  skating. 
We  hope  also  to  see  somewhere  or  other  the 
royal  sledges,  of  which  we  hear  so  much. 


A  TOWEE  OF  STEENGTH. 

"  EVERY  man's  house  is  his  castle,"  has 
long  been  a  favourite  saying  in  England,  and 
in  Wales,  too,  where  I  live,  when  at  home  ; 
and  it  suggests,  and  indeed  is  meant  to  imply, 
not  only  the  abstract  inviolability  of  a  man's 
own  private  property,  but  the  external  demon- 
stration of  a  good  substantial  wall,  and  a  stout 
door  with  a  lock  and  bolt  to  it,  by  way  of  a 
good  practical  sign  and  token  of  the  fact.  If 
a  man  dwelling  in  an  old  barn  were  to  say 
this,  it  would  obviously  lose  half  its  effect ; 
and  if  he  said  it  while  strutting  up  and  down 
in  front  of  a  dilapidated  pigstye,  he  would, 
assuredly,  be  regarded  either  as  a  madman 
or  a  very  sorry  jester.  We  English  and  Welsh 
can  very  well  understand  a  moral  right,  and  the 
strength  of  it,  as  in  the  law,  though  this 
may  generally  be  associated  with  the  impres- 
sion of  a  number  of  ponderous  volumes  bound 
in  calf,  and  the  prospect,  or  presence,  of  a 
prodigious  bill  of  costs ;  but  when  direct 
reference  is  made  to  a  substantial  object,  such 
as  a  house  or  a  tower,  we  do  expect  that 
it  shall  be  in  a  bodily  condition  to  maintain 
and  justify  the  opinion  entertained  and  de- 
clared of  it. 

Full  of  these  thoughts,  the  other  day,  I 
chanced  to  stroll  up  a  certain  hill  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  fortress  of  time-honoured 
repute  for  its  great  strength — a  strength  not 
confined  to  the  periods  of  history,  in  many 
grave  and  terrible  records  of  which  it  is  pecu- 
liarly rich ;  but,  still  held  in  extraordinary 
estimation  at  the  present  day.  I  should  pre- 
mise, that  I  only  learnt  all  this  afterwards  ; 
but,  being  a  total  stranger,  I  had  no  notion 
at  the  time  what  fortress  it  was  that  I  was 
approaching.  I  bent  my  steps  towards 
the  dark  place  of  strength,  anxious  to 
gratify  my  feelings  by  the  discovery,  that 
while  "  every  man's  house  is  his  castle,"  we 
possess  castles  in  England  which  are  capable  of 


resisting  all  possible  assaults  upon  the  houses 
of  those  who  reside  within  the  protecting 
shadow  of  their  embattled  walls. 

I  advanced  xip  the  hill  above  mentioned, 
and  emerging  upon  a  great  swelling  summit, 
I  presently  found  myself  near  to  an  immense 
range  of  old  neglected  walls  and  turrets,  such 
as  we  see  down  in  Wales  very  commonly, 
though  I  certainly  had  expected  something 
very  different  of  this  place  from  its  im- 
posing look  at  a  little  distance.  As  I  walked 
round,  my  wonder  increased  at  its  dirty, 
weed-grown,  squalid  appearance.  Of  course 
I  now  perceived  that  I  had  been  quite  mis- 
taken in  my  first  impression  ;  because,  so  far 
from  being  a  fortress  of  great  strength,  it  was 
evidently  not  habitable,  except  by  a  few  old 
crones  and  their  pensioner  husbands,  who 
were  allowed  to  reside  there,  and  make  a 
few  pence  by  showing  visitors  what  a  place  it 
once  was,  a  very  long  time  ago  ;  just  as  they 
do  at  Caernarvon  Castle,  and  Caerphilly,  and 
other  majestic  remains  of  antiquity  in  the 
ancient  principality,  God  bless  it ! 

I  descended  towards  what  appeared  to 
be  the  drawbridge  and  grand  entrance-gate, 
or  rather  the  place  Avhere  they  used  to  be, 
and  I  found  myself  passing  between  a  high 
row  of  fresh  wooden  palisades,  surround- 
ing irregularly — and  with  unfinished  gaps 
between — a  mass  of  bricklayers'  rubbish,  and 
masons'  refuse,  and  carpenters'  leavings,  and 
navigators'  work,  in  midway  of  confusion  of 
hillocks  of  mould,  and  masses  of  dirt,  and 
dry  turf,  and  shavings,  and  pieces  of  wood, 
and  heaps  of  brick  rubbish,  and  round  hard 
puddings  of  old  mortar,  and  rags,  and  charred 
wood,  and  flat  pieces  of  fresh  mortar,  and  brick- 
layers'little  quzrint  wheelbarrows,  with  ricketty 
planks  for  their  thin  round  heads  to  run  upon, 
and  navigators  with  pickaxes,  and  spades,  and 
mauls,  and  mallets,  and  mattocks,  and  paviors 
with  trowels  and  paving-rammers,  and  beetles, 
almost  as  big  as  Falstaff 's  "three-man  beetle ;" 
and  here  and  there  the  faded  red-coat  of  a 
soldier,  making  its  way  through  the  workmen 
down  towards  the  place  which  one  may  suppose 
was  once  called  the  drawbridge,  as  the  passage 
in  question,  however  overwhelmed  with  the 
doings  and  materials  and  rubbish,  extended 
over  a  great  broad  trench  below,  which  was 
no  doubt  the  moat. 

I  eventually  made  my  way  down  to  this 
bridge  of  many  wrecks,  and  standing  close  to 
one  side,  in  order  to  avoid  the  press  of  pas- 
sengers and  soldiers  and  workmen  passing  to 
and  fro,  I  looked  down  into  the  moat  below. 
It  was  of  great  width,  extending,  probably, 
some  fifty  or  sixty  feet  from  the  base  of  the 
fortress  to  its  enclosing  walled  banks  on  the 
opposite  side.  It  must  have  been  a  long  time 
since  any  water  was  there.  The  walls  dis- 
played no  remains  of  the  usual  moat  or  ditch- 
stains,  and  all  the  surface  below  was  covered 
with  a  dry  scrubby  sort  of  dusty  grass,  of  a 
russet  hue.  Two  small,  ragged,  hungry- 
looking  urchins  were  playing  a  melancholy 


A  TOWER  OF  STRENGTH. 


game  at  marbles  iu  the  centre  ;  and  a  girl, 
without  shoes  or  stockings,  and  who  had  lost 
her  front  teeth  (better  off  than  the  fortifica- 
tion, which  seemed  to  have  lost  all  the  teeth 
it  ever  had),  was  standing  by,  with  a  vacant 
look,  trying  to  be  interested  in  the  game. 
I  crossed  over  to  the  other  side,  and  gazing 
down  into  the  moat,  I  saw  several  extremely 
thin  sheep,  whose  wool  was  of  that  sort  of  dull 
neutral  tint  that  leaves  one  in  some  doubt  ;is 
to  whether  the  sheep  was  originally  a  white 
sheep  smutted,  or  a  black  sheep  faded.  The 
creatures  had  been  wandering  about  to  try  and 
find  a  few  blades  of  grass  worth  cropping,  and 
had  evidently  failed,  and  arrived  at  a  half- 
patient,  half-stupefied  stand-still.  As  my  face 
looked  over  into  the  moat  below,  the  face  of  one 
of  the  sheep  looked  up  at  me,  interrogatively  ; 
then  another  sheep  looked  up  in  my  face ; 
then  they  all  five  looked  up ;  then  one  of 
them  said  "  baa  !  " — then  I  withdrew.  I  had 
nothing  to  give  them  but  sympathy,  and  they 
could  not  eat  that. 

Now,  I  was  not  aware  whether  this  great 
fortress  had  the  reputation  of  a  "  fine  old 
ruin,"  such  as  travellers  are  directed  to  go 
and  see  in.  different  parts  of  North  and  South 
Wales,  or  in  many  parts  of  England  and  Scot- 
land ;  but  such  I  imagined  it,  till  I  heard 
some  of  the  passers-by  remark,  "  What  a 
strong  place  !  "  Could  I  have  been  so  much 
mistaken,  and  was  it  really  considered  a  place 
of  strength  1  If  so,  I  took  it  for  granted  that 
the  condition  of  affairs  outside  was  merely  a 
temporary  matter,  involving  some  repairs  of 
drains,  sewers,  gas-pipes,  new  paving,  and  so 
forth  ;  perhaps  the  repair  or  construction  of 
tunnels,  secret  passages,  and  other  underground 
work  of  elaborate  fortification.  I  passed 
over  the  bridge,  therefore,  and  through  the 
entrance-gate.  Looking  up  at  the  iron-cased 
spikes  of  the  portcullis,  I  saw  that  they  were 
so  rusty  and  rotten,  that,  if  the  gate  had  been 
suddenly  lowered,  they  would  have  shattered 
themselves  in  a  shower  of  old  touchwood  and 
dust.  Still,  I  made  no  doubt  that  within ! 
I  should  find  everything  in  high  order,  and 
fully  justifying,  by  its  tremendous  batteries 
of  guns,  admirable  arrangements  for  their 
service,  and  all  other  means  and  appliances 
of  war,  that  this  "  Tower  of  Strength  "  was 
prepared  to  maintain  its  historical  fame  and 
present  reputation. 

I  passed  through  stone  court-yards  and 
ways,  and  up  stone  steps,  and  found  myself 
wandering  round  a  kind  of  circuitous,  narrow 
street,  very  squalid  and  deserted,  having  a 
line  of  small  houses  on  one  side,  with  dirty 
windows,  some  of  them  broken,  and  with 
locked  doors,  appearing  as  if  seldom  opened, 
and  having  the  words  written  upon  them, 
"  Artillery  Officers'  Quarters."  If  an  Artillery 
officer's  cat  resided  there,  it  is  more  than  I 
should  have  expected.  On  the  other  side  arose 
high  walls,  of  different  kinds,  which  at  times 
I  thought  might  form  some  portion  or  wing 
of  the  great  castle  within  ;  others,  I  took  to 


be  the  walls  of  some  dilapidated  house  of  old 
stores  and  refuse,  while  now  and  then  was 
presented  the  remains  of  a  house  or  building 
that  had  fallen  in  ruins  a  long  time  since, 
and  sometimes  leaving  a  gap,  with  a  mass  of 
rubbish  heaped  up  below — all  evidently  of 
long  standing,  and  no  signs  visible  of  any 
intention  either  of  repairing  the  structure,  or 
clearing  away  the  wreck.  Amidst  one  of 
these  mounds  of  rubbish,  I  saw  a  poor  old 
wounded  wheelbarrow,  lying  hopelessly  upon 
its  back,  with  one  leg  and  a  stump  sticking 
up  in  the  air ;  but  this  was  the  only  token  of 
a  thought  having  once  dawned,  that  it  might 
be  as  well  not  to  leave  things  in  this  wretched 
state. 

Noticing,  here  and  there,  a  narrow  passage 
between  the  queer-looking  little  houses  called 
"  Artillery  Officers'  Quarters,"  with  a  narrow 
flight  of  stone  steps,  I  ascended  them,  and 
presently  found  myself  on  "the  lines"  or 
lower  works  of  the  fortress,  with  the  back 
windows  (or  front,  whichever  they  should  be 
called)  of  the  same  houses  on  my  right,  and 
the  walls,  with  their  embrasures  for  musketry, 
on  the  left.  At  intervals,  between  a  certain 
number  of  these  embrasures,  a  stone  shield 
was  set  up,  something  about  the  size  and 
shape  of  a  tall  tombstone,  behind  which  two 
or  threw  men  -  might  stand  with  loaded 
muskets,  and  peeping  round,  now  and  then, 
take  a  shot  at  any  advancing  party  of  an 
enemy  who  had  penetrated  the  fortress  gates, 
and  ascended  the  lines  at  the  other  end. 
I  walked  along  upon  the  slanting  pavement 
of  this  desolate  place,  feeling  uncommonly 
like  some  lonely  cat  in  search  of  adventures, 
till  I  found  the  passage  open  upon  a  broad 
flight  of  stone  steps ;  mounting  which  I 
gained  the  platform  of  a  battery,  and  here,  for 
the  first  time,  I  came  upon  a  sentry  on  duty. 
He  inquired  with  a  smile  if  I  belonged  to  the 
garrison  ?  The  word  astonished  me.  Garrison ! 
What — which — where  ?  I  had  never  ima- 
gined there  was  any  garrison  among  these 
ruins.  Such  was  my  thought,  though  re- 
duced to  words,  and  accompanied  with  a  smile 
in  return  for  that  of  the  sentry,  my  reply 
only  amounted  to  a  simple  and  dignified  "  No." 
"Then,"  said  the  sentry,  "you  must  not  come 
up  here."  As  I  was  up  there  already,  and 
had  perambulated  the  lines  in  all  the  ob- 
serving leisure  of  undisturbed  solitude,  this 
order  had  rather  a  pleasant  effect.  Of  course 
I  immediately  complied.  Yet  I  did  think 
the  thing  odd  ;  for  what  was  he  there  to 
guard  ?  Old  brick  rubbish  and  broken 
windows.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
heard  of  a  sentry  being  placed  among  ancient 
ruins.  They  never  do  this  in  Wales. 

Arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the  flight  of 
steps,  I  moved  forwards,  attracted  by  a  large 
range  of  building  apparently  new.  Several 
soldiers  were  now  visible,  and  I  soon 
came  to  a  guard-room,  with  a  score  of 
soldiers  loitering  about  in  the  colonnade,  and 
some  of  them  being  placed  iu  marching  order, 


68 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


and  sent  away  to  relieve  the  sentries.  Ascend- 
ing another  flight  of  steps,  I  arrived  in  a 
large  square.  Here  there  were  no  ruins, 
excepting  the  cannon  (long  rows  of  which 
were  displayed  in  all  the  deformity  and  rust 
of  by-gone  years),  but  I  noticed  ranges  of 
great  and  comfortless  ••  looking  buildings, 
and  in  the  middle,  amidst  much  bleak 
wind  and  sharp  flying  dust,  I  saw  a  tall 
statue  of  an  officer  raised  upon  a  pedi- 
ment, with  one  leg,  and  a  very  handsome 
one,  put  forth  to  display  a  particularly  well- 
made  Hessian  boot.  Not  finding  anything 
attractive  in  this  great  draughty  square,  I 
turned  off  to  the  left,  and  very  quickly  found 
myself  in  the  vicinity  of  barracks,  where 
soldiers  were  standing  out  in  front  of  their 
doors,  without  coat  or  waistcoat,  washing 
their  faces,  and  laughing,  and  carrying  on 
practical  jokes  with  each  other.  A  strange 
mixture  of  things,  all  this  seemed.  A  great 
square,  great  new  buildings,  and  barracks 
with  soldiers,  all  in  the  midst  of  dilapidation 
and  absolute  ruins  of  long  standing,  exactly 
like  the  appearance  of  things  after  a  great  fire  ! 

I  turned  down  a  passage,  and  soon  dis- 
covered that  I  was  making  a  semicircle  in 
the  opposite  direction  to  the  one  I  had  first 
perambulated.  Similar  sights  presented  them- 
selves. Everywhere  the  same  melancholy, 
squalid,  deserted  appearance  —  dilapidated 
houses,  fallen  houses,  heaps  of  brick-rubbish 
— desolate  Artillery  Officers'  Quarters — spl- 
diers'  canteens,  sending  forth  prelusive  odours 
of  beer,  tobacco,  and  sawdust,  so  that  I  knew 
of  them  before  I  came  upon  their  crude 
and  careless  temporary  sheds — and  broken 
windows  in  houses  that  ought  to  have  known 
better,  some  of  which  were  patched  up  with 
rags  and  paper. 

I  made  my  way  out  in  a  far  more  puzzled 
state  of  mind  than  when  I  came  in  ;  and, 
passing  over  the  drawbridge,  I  stopped  to 
read  an  inscription  upon  a  long  board.  It 
was  exhibited  upon  a  place  that  looked — from 
the  booth-like  shape  and  colour  of  it,  its  dirty 
locality,  the  heaps  of  rubbish  all  round  it,  its 
huge,  showman-like  placard,  and  its  man  in  a 
very  dirty  dress  of  red  cloth  and  old  gold-lace, 
with  a  little  round  black  squab  hat  and  gold 
band,  walking  up  and  down  in  front — exactly 
like  a  show  at  a  fair,  the  morning  after  the 
fair.  The  inscription  upon  the  long  board 
was  :— "  Ticket  Office  for  the  Sale  of  Tickets 
of  Admission.  Tickets  for  the  Armouries, 
Sixpence  each  person  ;  Tickets  for  the  Jewel 
Houses,  Sixpence  each  person." 

On  inquiry,  I  learned  that  this  was  the 
great  TOWER  OF  LONDON  !  But  so  far  from 
being  considered  as  a  ruin,  it  was  regarded 
with  all  manner  of  awe,  as  a  formidable  place 
of  strength  ;  so  far  from  being  uninhabited, 
many  soldiers,  and  many  officers  (most  of  them 
superiors,  having  leave  of  absence,  we  suppose) 
resided  in  it  ;  and  that,  so  far  from  being 
neglected,  it  was  regarded  as  a  sort  of  dusky 
town,  or  veiy  close  and  quiet  borough,  out  of 


which  a  very  great  variety  of  incomes,  places, 
fees,  and  emoluments  were  derived  by  a  great 
number  of  meritorious  individuals,  whose 
claims  upon  the  gratitude  of  their  devoted 
country  were  fully  recognised  by  those  eminent 
personages  who  happened  to  be  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  had  the  power  to  bestow  such  rewards. 

That  a  place  of  such  magnitude — comprising 
a  number  of  great  stone  buildings,  surrounded 
by  a  ruined  town  of  small  houses — should 
need  a  good  many  officers,  as  well  as  men,  to 
keep  it  in  proper  order,  I  can  have  no  doubt. 
The  sort  of  order,  or  disorder,  that  it  really 
presents,  cannot,  however,  lay  an  equal  claim 
to  be  represented  by  many  persons  of  autho- 
rity and  importance.  I  trust,  therefore, 
that  it  is  only  the  gossip  of  the  place  which 
boasts  that  the  Tower  still  has  its  Constable, 
the  Duke ;  its  Lieutenant,  the  Knightly  Major- 
General ;  its  Deputy  Lieutenant,  the  Honour- 
able Colonel  ;  its  Gentleman  Porter ;  its 
Gentleman  Gaoler;  its  Physician;  its  Chap- 
lain ;  its  Chief  Bailiff;  and — but  really  this  is 
rather  strong — its  Gentleman  Headsman, — be- 
cause, if  this  be  a  true  list  of  some  of  the 
posts  and  places,  T  cannot  help  fancying  they 
must  be  uncommonly  like  sinecures  !  Nice 
quiet  "  places,"  quite  in  the  shade,  never 
dreamed  of  by  any  hunter  after  abuses  in 
the  disposal  of  the  public  money.  Besides 
the  above,  there  are  the  Major  ;  certain  other 
officers,  and  non-commissioned  officers  ;  the 
Assistant  Chaplain  ;  the  Apothecary  (who  is, 
no  doubt,  the  Deputy  Physician)  ;  the  Yeoman 
Porter  (obviously  the  deputy  of  the  Gentleman 
Porter)  ;  the  Master  Gunner  ;  the  Coroner  ; 
the  Clerk  of  the  Peace  (who,  we  make  bold  to 
imagine,  might  be  turned  into  a  War  Clerk 
in  time  of  need),  and  some  others, — by  whom 
all  the  onerous  and  inexplicable  duties  of  the 
place  are  carried  on.  I  admit  that  this  was 
not  given  to  me  upon  evidence  and  authority  ; 
and  yet  I  can't  help  fancying  that  some  part 
of  it  must  be  true.  The  Tower  is  certainly 
a  tempting  opportunity  for  a  quiet  shady 
"  place  "  or  two. 

I  returned  to  my  hotel,  somewhat  humbled 
at  my  mistake  or  my  stupidity.  I  was  as 
sure  as  ever  that  the  Castle  of  Caernarvon 
was  a  magnificent  old  ruin :  but  after  what 
I  had  seen  of  the  Tower  of  London,  and 
been  told  of  the  many  high  offices  it  finds 
cover  for,  all  the  old  fortresses  in  my  poor 
country  must  hide  their  dismantled  heads. 
If,  however,  the  Tower  really  be  a  strong 
place  and  worth  keeping  up,  why  on  earth 
should  it  be  left  surrounded  by  such  squalor 
and  disgrace,  and  with  no  apparent  intention 
of  making  itself  decent  1 


Now  Heady,  Price  5s.  6d.,  neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FOURTH    VOLUME 

OF 

HOUSEHOLD     WORDS. 

Containing  Nos.  79  to  103  inclusive,  (from  September  V 
1851,  to  March  13,  1852.) 


fuDlnuea  M  tue  Office.  No  16,  \VelUugion  Street  North.  Mrnnd.    rrmie.1  by  Ba»u»u»f  &  Kvi»».  WhJlefriarn.  Locaon. 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SUAKKS 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL: 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


107.] 


SATURDAY,  APRIL  10,  1852. 


[.PRICE  Id. 


THE  GREAT  INVASION. 


THE  English  Nation  have  always  been 
distinguished  by  a  strong  predilection  for  a 
"  bogey" — a  dreadful  bugbear,  hated,  feared, 
talked  about  by  everybody.  For  a  bogey  of 
bogeys — a  bugbear  about  whom  there  can  be 
no  mistake, — a  thorough,  right-down,  san- 
guinary, man-eating, woman-murdering,  child- 
roasting,  raw-head-and-cross-bones  bogey, 
give  me  Bonaparte. 

In  the  time  of  the  original  "Boney"  the 
cry  was  very  strong.  The  French  were  con- 
tinually landing  (in  imagination)  somewhere 
or  other.  Not  a  smuggler  attempted  a 
peaceable  run  of  brandy  on  a  moonlight 
night,  but  the  hated  Corsicau — jack-boots, 
cocked  hat  and  all — was  presumed  to  be  in 
full  march  on  the  Metropolis  ;  not  a  little 
boy  sent  up  his  harmless  rocket,  or  dis- 
charged his  innocuous  squib,  but  fearful 
reports  were  circulated  of  a  French-kindled 
conflagration,  or  at  best  of  the  simultaneous 
illumining  of  the  beacon  fires.  Boney,  his 
marshals,  and  his  much  redoubted  invasion 
were  here,  there,  and  everywhere. 

We  had  a  slight  invasion  panic  in  the  year 
'40  (when  Commodvre  Napier  beat  the 
Egyptians  with  their  famous  instrument  of 
torture — a  stick).  Our  "Boney"  then  was 
an  astute  old  gentleman,  with  a,  pear-shaped 
head,  who,  assuming  the  patronymic  of 


return  tickets  in  lieu  of  mortars  and  howit- 
zers. '51  came,  and  another  foreign  in- 
vasion, the  results  of  which,  it  appears 
to  us,  we  have  already  described  in  this 
journal. 

And  now  the  trumpet-cry  sounds  louder 
than  ever.  Now  that  the  shores  of  England 
and  France  are  united  by  the  electric  wire, 
by  the  iron  hand-shaking  of  railroads,  by  a 
hundred  thousand  bonds  of  friendship  and 
interest  besides,  we  are  to  have  a  real  invasion 
— a  dreadful  invasion — an  invasion  in  earnest. 
It  is  all  up  with  London,  England,  Great 
Britain,  and  the  Colonies  !  Our  soldiers  can't 
fight,  and  our  ships  can't  sail  ;  our  guns  won't 
fire,  nor  will  our  bayonets  pierce.  Tilbury 
Fort  is  of  no  use,  and  the  Guards  must  march 
out  of  London  at  one  end  as  the  French 
enter  it  by  the  other.  We  haven't  got  a 
decent  fortification,  or  a  serviceable  gun,  or  an 
efficient  soldier.  As  for  "  Veritas,"  "Civilian," 
"  Q  in  the  corner,"  the  "  Constant  Readers," 
and  the  "  Occasional  Correspondents,"  they 
give  up  all  hope.  It  is  all  over  with  us. 
Let  us  put  sackcloth  and  ashes  on'  our  heads. 

But  What  is  the  use,  my  friends,  of  crying 
"  Wolf !  "  when  the  foe  lias  already  entered 
our  sheepfblds — when  he  has  already  carried 
away  the  most  succulent  of  our  young  lambs 
from  their  bleating  mothers,  and  thirsts  now, 
with  his  ravening  jaws  all  dripping  with 
gore,  for  our  lives  ] 

Shall  we  be  invaded  ] 

We  are  invaded  ;  root  and  branch,  body  and 


Smith,  abdicated  sovereignty  in  a  hack-cab. 

He  was  to  invade  us  in  the  twinkling  of  a 

bed-post  —  he,    Monsieur    Thiers,    Marshal  \  bones,  horse  and  foot,  neck  and  heel,  outfang 

Bugeaud,   and  the   Chasseurs  d'Afrique  ;  all  I  and  infang.     The  invasion  has  been  going  on 

about  sonie  Eastern  question,  the  merits  of  for  years,  and  we  recked  nothing  of  it.     The 


which,  if  anybody  understood  or  understands, 
I  am  sure  1  don't.  The  year  '43  came,  and 
that  terrible  pamphlet  by  the  good-natured 
Prince  Admiral,  who  so  kindly  stood  god- 


insidious  enemy,  burrowing  like  a  mole  under- 
ground, has  sapped  our  foundations ;  has  un- 
dermined our  institutions.  .An  unscrupulous 
army  of  mercenaries  (principally  Irish)  have 


father  to  our  Joinville  cravats.  He  was  to  '  carried  out  his  iniquitous  behests.  We  are 
blow  us  to  pieces  with  steam-frigates  ;  to  j  compassed  round  about,  hemmed  in,  sur- 
bombard  Brighton  ;  to  demolish  Dover  ;  to  rounded  by  his  fortalices — not  masked  bat- 


lay  Lowestoff  low  ;  to  turn  Great  Grimsby 
into  a  Golgotha,  and  Harwich  into  a  howling 
desert.  '45  came  ;  Pritchard,  Tahiti,  Queen 
Pomare,  and  the  grim.  Guizot.  War  !  war  ! 
war  !  cried  the  bogey-fearers.  Lamoriciere, 
Pelissier,  Changarnier  were  to  land  the  day 
after  to-morro\v.  '48  came,  and  a  few  thou- 
sand National  Guards,  who,  despite  the  fears 
of  the  alarmists,  were  provided  with  railway 


teries  or  stockaded  forts — but  defiant,  brazen- 
faced strongholds.  Great,  and  getting  greater 
day  by  day,  is  the  invasion  of  London.  We 
are  beleaguered  by  Brigadier  Bricks  and 
Field-Marshal  Mortar.  Their  weapons  of 
offence  have  been  scaffold -poles  arid  brick- 
layers' hods  ;  their  munitions  of  defence, 
hoarding  and  wheelbarrows.  This  is  what  I 
call  the  "real  invasion." 


VOL.   V 


107 


70 


HOUSEHOLD  WOftDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Take  up  this  map  of  the  Metropolis, 
published  last  year,  and  glance  at  that  little 
kernel,  coloured  scarlet,  called  the  City,  and 
then  at  the  prodigious  extent  of  Nutshell 
surrounding  it,  all  loudly  demanding,  (and 
meriting)  to  be  included  in  the  general  title 
"London."  Yet  this  little  scarlet  kernel, 
with  some  scattered  streets  about  Westmo- 
nasterian  marshes,  was  the  whole  of  London 
once.  It  was  big  enough  to  give  laws  to  all 
England,  and  to  great  part  of  France,  for 
hundreds  of  years.  It  was  big  enough  to  hold 
a  Lombard  Street ;  which,  even  then,  stood  in 
no  imfavourable  degree  of  comparison  with  a 
China  orange.  It  was  big  enough  to  have 
Lord  Mayors  who  bearded  Kings ;  to  be  a 
constant  source  of  anxiety  and  uneasiness  to 
the  Sovereign ;  to  be  the  philosopher's  stone 
of  Jack  Cade's  ambition  ;  to  be,  as  it  always 
has  been,  a  monarch  among  cities.  But  the 
nutshell  1  How  small  the  kernel  looks,  with 
his  rubicund  boundary !  Throw  in  West- 
minster and  Southwark,  as  the  three  appear 
in  Hollar's  print :  how  diminutive  they  are 
with  the  big  nutshell  around  !  Take  a  map 
of  London,  hydrographed  even  within  the 
memory  of  man — within  thirty  years  let  us 
say — the  nutshell  has  still  the  best  of  it,  and 
the  kernel  shrinks  wofully,  even  amidst  its 
layers  upon  layers  of  cuticle. 

The  prodigious  enlargement  of  London 
seems  more  to  me  in  the  act  of  the  country 
closing  round  the  town,  than  of  the  town  ad- 
vancing on  the  country — mpre  as  a  giant 
hand  gradually  closes  up  its  Titanic  lingers 
on  a  shrivelled  dwarf,  than  as  the  dwarf 
growing  into  the  giant,  and  throwing  up  earth- 
heaps  in  its  struggle  for  emancipation  from 
the  parent  monster.  The  fat  has  grown 
round  the  heart,  and  the  heart  has  grown 
torpid  and  sluggish  in  the  midst.  Do  you 
think  it  is  that  scarlet  kernel — once  the  whole 
City  of  London — that  has  pushed  out  man- 
dibles, crab-like  feelers,  on  every  side,  and, 
cancer-like,  has  spread  over  the  green  fields 
and  shady  lanes  1  Do  you  think  the  kernel 
is  the  spider,  and  Westminster  and  South- 
wark the  web  ?  It  may  be  so  ;  but  I  rather 
incline  to  the  theory  that  the  advancement 
is  towards,  and  not  from,  the  kernel.  That 
is  why  I  call  it  an  invasion :  and  the  in- 
vasion seems  to  me  gradually  but  siirely 
driving,  into  a  constantly  diminishing  circle, 
all  sorts  of  old.  abuses,  old  nuisances,  old 
vested  interests,  old  "time-honoured  insti- 
tutions," towards  the  shrivelled  old  kernel, 
which,  though  she  knows  (excuse  the  gender) 
she  might  be  rid  of  them  by  the  aerial 
locomotive  of  progress,  seeks  rather  (hap- 
pily impotently)  to  cause  them  to  permeate 
through  sewers  into  healthier  streams,  poison- 
ing them  meanwhile  ;  or  she  would  strenu- 
ously seek  (always  impotently)  to  cast  them, 
as  so  much  guano,  on  to  the  invader's  fields 
around  her,  where  they  would  produce  a  nice 
rich  crop  of  gingerbread  coaches,  men  in 
brass,  prejudice,  dirt,  water-bailiffs,  over- 


driven bullocks,  choked  sewers,  reeking 
slaughter-houses,  and  coal  and  corn  commit- 
tees. What  will  the  nut-shell  do  1  Will  its 
invasion,  hugging,  in  boa-constrictor  fashion, 
the  old,  musty,  shrivelled,  yet  wealthy  kernel, 
hug  it  into  better  shape  1  or  will  it  crush  it 
and  cause  it  to  collapse  entirely ;  forcing  it, 
by  some  hidden  phoenix  process  of  its  own, 
to  reproduction  in  another  guise  to  entire 
rejuvenescence  ? 

It  is  natural  for  large  cities  to  grow  larger. 
Pine-apples  grow ;  so  do  little  boys,  and 
lawyers'  bills  of  costs — why  not  capitals  1 
The  little  island  of  St.  Louis  once  held  all 
there  was  of  Paris.  Vienna  has  outgrown 
its  glacis ;  Madrid,  Naples,  Venice,  have  all 
grown  ;  and  Constantinople — no  ;  for  Con- 
stantinople will  be  to  me  always  a  mystery, 
even  as  Smyrna  is.  They  are  always  being 
burnt  down,  yet  never  seem  to  get  smaller  or 
larger.  But  London  has  not  grown  in  any 
natural,  reasonable,  understandable  way.  It 
hasn't  grown  bigger  consistently.  It  hasn't 
increased  by  degrees,  like  the  pine-apple  or 
the  little  boy.  The  lawyer's  bill  may  be  a 
little  more  like  it  ;  for,  like  that  dreadful 
document,  it  has  swollen  with  frightful, 
alarming,  supernatural  rapidity.  It  has 
taken  you  unawares  ;  it  has  dropped  upon 
you  without  warning  ;  it  has  started  up  with- 
out notice  ;  it  has  grown  with  stealthy  rapi- 
dity, from  a  mouse  into  a  mastodon. 

Thirty  years  ago  ! — Boney  the  first,  had 
just  finished  eating  his  heart  on  a  rock. 
Thistlewood  and  others  had  been  decapi- 
tated. A  grave  judicial  discussion  had  not 
long  before  been  closed  as  to  whether  a  mur- 
derer and  ravisher  had  a  right  to  the 
"  appeal  by  battle."  The  Old  Bailey  Monday 
morning  performances  yet  took  place  before 
crowded  and  unfashionable  audiences.  Samuel 
Hayward  had  just  been  hanged  for  burglary, 
and  Fauntleroy  was  yet  to  suffer  for  forgery  ; 
women  were  yet  whipped  for  larceny ;  and 
George,  the  gentleman  of  gentlemen,  was 
king.  There  were  no  railroads,  and  no 
police,  save  the  red-coated  Bow  Street  run- 
ners and  the  purblind  old  watchmen.  There 
were  no  coffee-shops,  no  reading-rooms  ;  and 
the  coffee-houses  were  taverns  resorted  to 
(in  the  paucity  of  clubs)  by  the  nobility  and 
gentry.  It  was  considered  aristocratic  to 
beat  the  watch ;  it  was  esteemed  "  Corin- 
thian "  to  get  drunk  in  the  purlieus  of  Drury 
Lane  ;  it  was  very  "  tip-top "  to  patronise  a 
prize-fighter.  We  have  been  invaded  by 
manners  and  customs  somewhat  different 
since  the  gentleman  of  gentlemen  was  king. 

Concerning  the  brick-and-mortar  invasion  : 
There  was  no  Regent's  Park,  no  Victoria 
Park,  no  Belgravia,  and  no  Tyburnia.  Ty- 
burn Gate,  indeed,  yet  stood  where  Tyburn 
Gallows  not  so  many  years  before  had  stood, 
and  beneath  which  mouldered  the  bones  of 
Cromwell,  Ireton,  and  Bradshaw.  Paddingtoii 
was,  but  it  was  countryfied  ;  and  the  Edge- 
ware  Eoad  was  simply  a  rural  road  leading 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GEEAT  INVASION. 


71 


to  Edgeware,  as  formerly  Oxford  Street  was 
but  the  high-road  to  Oxford.  Portland, 
Somers,  Camden,  and  Kentish  Towns  were 
no  more  integral  portions  of  London,  as  they 
now  are,  than  is  Footscray  in  Kent,  or  Pat- 
cham  in  Sussex.  The  New  Road  was  dan- 
gerous to  walk  in  at  night,  and  the  open 
fields  about  St.  Pancras  Church  (catch  any 
open  fields  about  there  now)  a  favourite  ren- 
dezvous for  body-snatchers  and  burkers  to 
hide  their  "  shots "  (so  the  bodies  they  had 
rifled  from  graves,  were  called).  Clerkenwell, 
it  is  true,  was  thickly  populated  ;  but  Pen- 
tonville,  about  where  the  Model  Prison  is 
now  (and  there  was  no  Model  Prison  then), 
was  quite  rural.  Islington,  as  far  as  concerns 
the  High  Street  and  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  "Angel,"  was  suburbanly  Londonified,  but 
Hollo  way  was  still  a  journey.  As  to  High- 
gate  and  Hornsey,they  were  nowhere — terras 
incognitas,  almost,  or  at  best  as  difficult  of 
access  as  Windsor  or  Eeading.  Touching 
the  irregular  cube,  bounded  at  the  base  by 
the  White  chapel  and  Mile  End  Eoads,  on 
the  east  and  west  by  Hackney  and  by  the 
Dalston  and  Kingsland  Eoads,  and  on  the 
north  by  the  London  and  North- Western 
branch  line  (from  Camden  Town  to  Black- 
wall) — which  irregular  cube  comprises  within 
its  limits,  Hackney,  Globe  Town,  Bethnal 
Green,  Dalston,  Kingsland,  and  the  crowded 
districts  known  as  the  Tower  Hamlets — I  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying,  that,  swarming  with 
houses  and  inhabitants  as  it  is  now,  it  was 
in  1822  very  little  better  than  a  waste. 
Goodman's  Fields  and  the  entourage  of  the 
London  Docks  had  even  then  their  tens  of 
thousands  ;  but  where  the  Commercial  Eoad 
stretches  now,  through  Stepney,  Bow,  and 
down  towards  Limehouse,  it  stretches  through 
strongholds  of  the  real  invaders  of  London 
— the  brick-and-mortar  warriors,  who  are 
compassing  the  city  round  about. 

In  '22,  where  was  Chelsea  ?  Eurally  aqua- 
tic. Chiswick,  Hammersmith,  Kew  ?  All 
plainly  and  distinguishably  separated  from 
London  ;  but  where  are  they  now  ?  Millbank 
was  far  off ;  Pimlico  was  in  the  country  ;  no 
man  had  yet  heard  of  Belgrave  Square. 
Crossing  Vauxhall  Bridge,  what  were 
Newington,  Kennington,  Vauxhall,  Lambeth, 
Walworth,  Camberwell,  Brixton,  in  the  year 
1822?  What  sort  of  road  was  the  Old 
Kent  Eoad  in  those  days  1  And  were  not 
Deptford  and  Greenwich  separated  from 
London  by  miles  of  green  fields  ?  Ber- 
mondsey  and  the  Borough  were  always, 
within  my  recollection,  integral  London  ;  but 
how  about  Eotherithe  ?  How  about  Blue 
Anchor  Eoad,  Spa  Eoad,  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  Commercial  Docks,  Millpond  Fields, 
the  Saltpetre  Works,  the  Halfpenny  Hatch, 
the 

I  am  out  of  breath !  Here  is  the  real 
invasion !  Don't  tell  me  that  the  old 
London,  the  grim  old  kernel,  far  away 
over  the  water  yonder,  has  done  all  this 


— has  simply  outgrown  herself?  It  is  an 
invasion,  I  tell  you  —  stalwart  provincials 
marching  upon  a  devoted  metropolis.  Brighton, 
I  know,  will  be  bursting  into  the  station  at 
London  Bridge  very  shortly ;  Greenwich  is 
London  already ;  so  is  Brentford  ;  so  are 
Clapham,  Wands  worth,  and  Brixton;  so  are 
Kilburn,  Cricklewood,  and  Crouch  End.  I 
am  looking  out  for  the  arrival  of  Liverpool 
daily  ;  and  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  sur- 
prised to  meet,  at  no  very  distant  period, 
Manchester,  all  clad  in  cotton,  smoking  an 
enormous  chimney,  arm-in-arm  with  Salford, 
marching  gravely  along  the  Great  North 
Eoad,  to  make  a  juncture  with  London  at 
Highgate. 

To  have  a  complete  and  comprehensive  view 
of  the  progress  of  the  invaders  and  the  plight  of 
the  invaded  ;  to  form  anything  like  a  just  view 
of  the  astonishing  growth  of  London  since  the 
year  '22  ;  to  see  it  as  it  is,  monstrous,  magnifi- 
cent, the  largest  city  in  the  world,  and  its 
capital,  you  should,  properly,  be  a  bird  :  say 
an  eagle,  or  at  least  the  gentle  lark.  Soaring 
on  high,  you  should  pause  a  moment  on  the 
wing,  and  drink  in  at  a  glance  the  wonders 
that  lie  beneath  you.  You  can't  be  a  bird, 
you  say.  Professors  of  metempsychosis  are 
not  so  plentiful  as  those  of  mesmerism,  clair- 
voyance, or  the  discernment  of  character  from 
handwriting.  Besides,  you  don't  believe  in 
the  transmigration  of  souls.  Very  well ! 
You  believe  in  balloons  ?  Here  is  one,  just 
ready  to  ascend  from  the  Eoyal  Gardens, 
no  matter  where.  The  "  aerostat "  is  in- 
flated ;  the  last  bottle  of  champagne  im- 
bibed ;  the  amateur  aeronauts  try  to  look 
easy  and  unembarrassed,  and  fail  dismally  in 
the  attempt ;  the  signal  gun  is  fired  ;  the 
aeronaut  vociferates  "  Let  go  !"  A  cheer  ! 
Two  cheers  !  Some  ridiculously  inappro- 
priate music  is  played  by  a  brass  band.  More 
cheers  !  fainter  and  fainter,  as  the  earth,  in 
a  most,  uncalled-for  and  inconsistent  manner, 
appears  to  sink  from  beneath  you.  You  do 
rise  ;  for  anon  is  silence,  stillness,  in  the  calm 
air,  through  which  the  occasional  remarks  of 
your  companions  ring  sharp  and  clear  like 
rifle  cracks.  There  :  never  mind  the  neck  of 
the  balloon  ;  that  is  the  aeronaut's  business, 
not  yours.  Take  a  firm  grip  of  the  side  of 
the  car,  and  look  down.  Look  down  with 
wonder,  admiration,  gratitude. 

The  City  is  all  burnished  gold  ;  for  the  set- 
ting sun  of  a  September  day  has  put  it  into 
a  warm  bath — a  "  bath  of  beauty,"  as  panto- 
mime poets  say.  The  river  is  all  silver  ;  save 
what  are  spangles  and  diamonds.  It  winds, 
and  twisic,  and  writhes,  like  a  beautiftil  ser- 
pent, as  it  is  magnificently  beautiful  without, 
and  foully  poisonous  (bless  the  scarlet  kernel !) 
within.  Those  bla'ck  lines  crossing  the  river 
are  the  bridges.  That  fleeting,  evanescent 
darkness,  tarnishing  the  gold  on  the  houses 
and  the  silver  on  the  river,  is  the  shadow  of 
a  cloud.  That  transparent  blue  haze  hanging 
quite  over  the  City,  like  a  gauze  drapery  to 


72 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


€il  bj 


the  golden  houses,  cut  exactly  to  the  shape  of 
the  City,  thinner,  and  almost  ragged  where 
parks,  or  squares,  or  open  places  are,  is  the 
smoke — the  smoke  of  London,  hanging  over 
it,  shrouding  it,  blackening  its  edifices,  poison- 
ing its  inhabitants. 

Keep  looking  down,  and  look  towards  where 
my  finger  points.  That  thing,  like  a  golden 
pine-apple  much  foreshortened  (the  sun  is 
strong  upon  it),  is  St.  Paul's.  Those  crowds 
of  small  black  ants  toiling  through  that 
narrow  lane,  are  men,  women,  and  children, 
in  carriages,  on  horses,  on  foot  ;  driving, 
riding,  or  walking,  eastward  or  westward. 
The  Monument  is  a  Christmas  Candle- 
stick •  the  Tower  is  a  Doll's  House.  There 
is  not  a  man  in  London  as  large  as  Shem, 
Ham,  or  Japhet,  in  the  toy  Noah's  Ark. 
Where  is  the  roar  of  London,  and  the  rattle  of 
wheels ;  the  speechifying,  the  bargain-driving, 
the  laughing  and  the  weeping  ?  Faster  and 
faster  we  rise  into  space.  And  the  silence  is 
more  intense,  and  the  City  below  us  is  no 
bigger  than  a  man's  hand. 

Now,  if  you  had  ascended  Avith  M.M.  Gar- 
nerin,  Blanchard,  or  Pilatre  de  Rosier ;  had 
you  taken  a  flight  with  old  Mr.  Sadler,  the 
aeronaut  in  18i!2,  when  George  the  Gentle- 
man was  King,  you  would  be  sore  astonished 
noMr,  gazing  ;it  London,  under  the  auspices 
of  a  "  gallant  and  intrepid  aeronaut"  in  1852. 
Where  all  was  green  before,  you  would  find 
long  lines  of  compact  masses  of  houses.  The 
crowds  of  black  ants  would  have  increased 
an  hundred-fold ;  the  blue,  gauzy,  ragged 
smoke  blanket  would  have  stretched  mar- 
vellously ;  you  would  have  appreciated  and 
acknowledged  the  effects  of  the  Bricklayers' 
Invasion. 

On  ascending  at  night  (which,  by-the-bye, 
cautious  old  Mr.  Sadler  never  did),  you  would 
be  struck  with  pleasurable  astonishment  at 
the  aspect  of  London  by  night,  as  compared 
with  London  as  it  was  thirty  years  ago.  In 
the  place  of  a  Cimmerian  darkness,  through 
which  vainly  endeavoured  to  pierce  a  few 
blinking,  sputtering,  feeble-minded  lamps — 
you  would  have  an  elaborate  and  exquisitely 
beautiful  network  of  gas  spangles — a  delicate 
tracery  of  glow-worm  lights,  of  brilliant  pin- 
holes,  sparkling  dots,  clearly  defining  the 
outline  of  every  street,  square,  and  alley  of 
the  world  City  ;  stretching  out  less  thickly 
towards  where  the  brick  invasion  had  relaxed 
its  vigour,  dotting  long  lines  of  suburban 
roads,  where  the  metropolitan  constabulary 
drops  off,  and  the  horse  patrol  begin  to  be 
visible,  getting  small  by  degrees  and  beauti- 
fully iess  till  they  end  in  the  blue  blackness 
of  the  far-off  country,  twenty  or  thirty  miles 
away  on  either  side  of  you. 

In  no  part  of  London  is  the  invasion  of 
bricks  and  mortar  so  perceptible  as  on  the 
line  of  railway  which,  commencing  at  Camdeu 
Town  (they  are  about  to  extend  it  to  Kilburn, 
I  think),  runs  through  Islington,  Hackney, 
Bow,  Stratford,  Old  Ford.  Stepney,  and  Lime- 


house  to  Blackwall.  It  extends  nearly  half 
round  the  Middlesex  side  of  London.  It  is 
an  eccentric  railway,  for  I  have  measured  the 
distance  (on  the  map)  from  Camdeu  Town  to 
Blackwall,  and  my  friend  the  railway  goes 
miles  out  of  its  road  to  take  you  to  the  last- 
named  locality ;  though,  curiously  enough,  it 
rattles  you  thither  in  quicker  time  than  the 
omnibus  would  do.  I  have  seen  irascible  old 
gentlemen  clench  their  umbrellas,  muttering 
fiercely  that  they  didn't  understand  being 
taken  to  Hackney  on  their  way  to  Fenchurca 
Street  ;  and  middle-aged  females  reduced  to 
a  piteous  state  of  mental  imbecility  by 
Islington  being  near  Limehouse  ;  afterwards 
piteously  demanding  which  was  Bow  (which 
they  were  given  to  understand  was  in  Cheap- 
side),  and  inextricably  confounding  Stratford 
with  the  birth-place  of  the  Swan  of  Avon. 
The  last  time  I  patronised  this  cheerful  line, 
there  was  no  glass  to  the  window  of  the  car- 
riage in  which  I  sat.  Complaining  mildly  to 
four  separate  porters  at  four  separate  stations, 
and  pleading  rheumatism,  I  received  con- 
secutive answers  of  "  Dear  me  !  "  "  Oh,  ah  !  " 
"So  it  is!"  and  "Can't  help  it;"  which 
(taking  them  to  b»e  somewhat  evasive  and  un<- 
satisfactory  in  their  construction)  prompted 
me  to  give  vent  to  vague  threats  of  me- 
morialising the  public  journals.  I  should 
like  to  become  better  acquainted  with  that 
philosopher  (he  must  have  been  a  philosopher) 
who,  seeing  me  irate,  administered  cold 
Comfort  to  me  by  telling  me  that  the  last 
time  he  travelled  by  the  line  in  question,  his 
carriage  had  no  door.  "  And  it  was  night, 
sir !  " 

As  this  iron  and  not  immaculate  railroad 
(it  has  its  good  points,  notwithstanding) 
pursues  its  circuitous  route,  you  may — if  you 
don't  mind  looking  out  of  the  window,  and 
running  all  the  adverse  chances  of  easterly 
winds,  and  ashes  from  the  engine — see  many 
curious  and  edifying  things.  Anon,  the  train 
rushes  through  mangy,  brown-turfed  fields, 
where  the  invasion  has  just  begun  ;  where 
rubbish  may  be  shot ;  where  poles,  with  pla- 
cards aflixed  to  them,  denote  the  various 
"  lots  "  which  are  "  To  be  Sold  .  or  Let,  oa 
Building  Leases."  Melancholy- looking  cows, 
misanthropic  donkeys,  pigs  convinced  of  the 
hollowness  of  the  world,  wander  pensively 
about  these  fields,  gazing  at  the  building- 
lots,  grubbing  about  the  lines  of  foundation 
for  rows  of  houses  which  are  to  be  erected ; 
lamenting,  perhaps,  in  their  vaccine,  asinine, 
or  porcine  hearts,  the  ruthless  march  of 
bricks  and  mortar.  These  semi-suburban 
animals  feed  strangely.  Feeling  themselves 
to  be  in  a  state  of  transition,  perhaps,  like 
their  pasture-grounds,  they  accommodate 
themselves  to  all  kinds  of  food.  I  think  the 
cows  eat  quite  as  much  broken  crockery-ware 
as  grass ;  the  donkeys  eat  anything,  from 
saucepan-lids  to  pieces  of  fractured  bottles ; 
and  there  is  a  pig  of  my  acquaintance— *• 
residing  in  an  impromptu  pigstye  in  the 


Cbarles  Dickens/] 


NOEFOLK  ISLAND. 


neighbourhood  of  Hoxton — which,  before 
my  eyes,  ate  a  straw-hat  of  considerable 
dimensions  ;  and  which,  being  subsequently 
(by  the  juvenile  and  indignant  proprietor  of 
the  hat)  lapidated  with  a  decayed  flower-pot, 
ate  that  too  ! 

Bricks  and  mortar  invade  market-gardens  ; 
they  elbow  green-houses ;  they  jostle  con- 
servatories ;  they  thrust  summer-houses 
away.  Still  looking  from  the  carriage-win- 
dow, do  we  see  streets  upon  streets  growing 
up  in  commons,  and  what  were  once  shady 
lanes  ;  filling  up  ditches  ;  tumbling  down 
hedges  everywhere  ;  crushing  up  the  country 
in  its  concrete  grasp.  Here  and  there  a 
solitary  pollard-willow  stands  among  scaf- 
fold-poles and  wheelbarrows,  seeming  to 
wonder  very  much  how  it  got  there,  and 
feeling  itself,  doubtless,  an  anachronism. 
Again,  the  train  rushes  over  houses — or 
rather  on  a  viaduct  parallel  with  the  tops 
of  the  houses.  The  impertinent  locomotive 
gives  "  knowing  looks "  into  little,  queer, 
poky  attics,  where  gentlemen  are  giving 
the  last  turn  to  their  Avhiskers,  and  ladies 
the  last  tug  at  the  laces  of  their  corsets. 
Carious  Asmodens-like  peeps  do  we  get 
of  the  internal  life  of  these  houses.  The 
knowing  locomotives  wink  at  the  windows, 
and  the  washing  hung  out  in  the  back  garden  ; 
and,  with  an  impertinent  whistle  and  a  puff 
of  smoke,  rushes  on. 

Diverge  at  "Bow,  and  you  can  go  through 
Old  London  to  Fenchurch  Street.  Keep  on 
towards  Blackwall,  and  the  traces  of  New 
London,  in  its  invading  form,  meet  you  at 
every  step.  Factories,  dye-houses,  bone- 
boiling  establishments,  are  surrounded  by 
houses,  where  they  were  (and  ought  to  be) 
removed  from  the  contiguity  of  a  metropolis. 
Chapels,  devoted  to  the  service  of  all  ima- 
ginable creeds,  start  up  in  these  invading 
streets.  New  Jerusalemites,  Mormonites, 
Johanna  Southcotonians,  Howlers,  Jumpers, 
and  Shakers,  join  the  army  of  invaders,  and 
are  fiercely  pious  in  Meeting-houses,  the 
roofs  of  which  occasionally  tumble  in,  not 
with  age,  but  for  pure  want  of  seasoning — so 
new  they  are. 

Try  to  get  out  of  town  any  way,  and  the 
bricks  drive  you  back,  the  mortar  hangs  on 
your  skirts,  and  harasses  you  fiercely.  I  re- 
member the  time  when  London  finished  at  Pad- 
lock House,  and  when  Kensington  was  almost 
in  the  country.  Kensington,  Hammersmith, 
Turnham  Green  (the  "  Pack  Horse  "),  is  a 
mere  omnibus  "public"  now! — Brentford — 
Isleworth  almost — what  are  they  now  ?  A 
line  of  houses — that  is  all. 

Where  is  it  all  to  end?  "When  will  the 
invasion  cease  1  Will  the  whole  island  be 
covered  with  houses  1  Or  even  as  the  great 
wheel  keeps  turning  immd  and  round ;  even 
as  the  winter  gives  place  to  spring,  and 
so  round  to  winter  again  and  again  ;  even  as 
the  new  grows  old,  and  then  new  again  ;  so, 
perhaps,  will  the  great  City  grow  and  grow, 


and  its  growth  yet  resolve  itself  into  insig- 
nificance— till  the  great  becomes  small,  as. 
small  as  when  the  boatman  ferried  St.  Peter 
over  the  pond  to  Westminster,  or  the  Danes 
fought  at  Holborn  Bars,  01  Eleanor's  corse 
rested  at  the  village  of  Charing. 


NORFOLK  ISLAND. 


SIXCE  residence  on  Norfolk  Island  is  per- 
mitted only  to  two  classes  of  men  ; — namely, 
to  those  who  are  engaged  there  in  the  public 
service,  and  to  those  who,  having  done  the 
public  some  dis-service,  are  transported  thither 
in  the  character  of  convicts  ;  and  since  it  is 
only  on  occasions  of  great  emergency  that 
any  but  a  government  ship  showing  the 
private  signals,  is  permitted  to  approach  its 
shore,  I  take  it  to  be  a  fact  that  Norfolk 
Island  does  not  often  occupy  a  chapter  in 
books  of  travel.  Now,  I  have  been  to 
Norfolk  Island  ;  I  know  the  place  well  and 
the  people  living  there,  convicts  and  all. 
How  I  came  by  my  knowledge  is  a  question 
which  I  am  not  obliged  to  answer  ;  but,  for 
the  comfort  of  the  clean-fingered,  I  may  state 
that  I  am  not  legally  pitch.  My  misdeeds 
have  not  yet  come  to  be  discussed  in  any 
court  of  justice  whatever. 

The  first  glimpse  of  Norfolk  Island  that  one 
gets  from  a  ship's  deck,  is  made  remarkable  by 
a  tree — well-known  by  means  of  pictures  and 
descriptions — the  grand  Norfolk  Island  pine  ; 
which  clothes  the  hills  to  their  summit.  The 
island  is  of  volcanic  origin.  It  is  about  twenty- 
one  miles  in  girth,  and  rises  abruptly  from 
the  sea  on  every  side  but  one.  On  that  one 
side,  of  course,  we  land.  It  is  a  low  sandy 
level — the  site  of  the  penal  settlement — and 
not  very^  accessible.  The  island  bids  men 
keep  their  distance  by  its  physical  formation 
quite  as  much  as  by  its  laws.  A  coral  reef 
runs  round  it.  Where  the  coast  is  inac- 
cessible, the  reef  lurks  under  water ;  but 
where  the  coast  might  otherwise  be  come  at, 
the  reef  shows  its  teeth  and  foams  at  an  ap- 
proaching vessel.  It  is  only  at  certain  times — 
when  the  surf  beats  ove^*  the  bar  in  a  com- 
paratively placid  state  of  wrath — that  any 
hope  of  landing  can  be  entertained.  The 
union  jack  hoisted  on  the  flagstaff  indicates 
such  a  season  of  relapse,  and  informs  boats 
that  they  may  attempt  to  come  ashore.  The 
black  flag  hoisted  means :  "  If  you  come  now, 
there  is  an  end  of  you." 

A  boat  having  arrived,  under  favourable 
circumstances,  within  the  reef;  having  been 
dashed  over  the  bar  very  rudely  by  the 
wave  that  crosses  it,  and  tossed  down  abreast 
of  the  jetty  ;  the  visitor,  when  he  has  fetched 
his  breath,  has  leisure  to  observe  a  gang 
of  convicts,  stripped  to  the  waist,  with 
ropes  in  their  hands,  ready  to  plunge  in  to 
the  rescue,  if  the  boat  should  happen  to 
capsize.  Perhaps  the  visitor  is  not  allowed 
to  fetch  his  breath,  or  to  observe  this 
gang,  until  he  has  taken  a  salt-water  bath, 


74 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


and  has  been  dragged  into  society  by  a 
rope  fastened  round  his  middle.  These  con- 
victs form  the  Rescue  Gang ;  and  any  one 
of  them  who  saves  a  life  enjoys  a  shortened 
period  of  punishment.  If  it  should  happen 
that  the  boat  is  not  upset,  the  visitor 
stands  in  it  for  a  little  time,  tossing  on  the 
water  near  the  pier.  Then,  watching  his 
opportunity,  when  he  is  on  the  top  of  a  wave, 
he  leaps  out  of  the  boat  into  the  arms  of  a 
Rescue  man  extended  to  receive  him. 

Norfolk  Island  consists  of  a  series  of  hills 
and  valleys  beautifully  interfolded,  rising  in 
green  ridges  one  above  another,  till  they  all 
culminate  in  the  summit  of  Mount  Pitt,  the 
highest  point  in  the  Island,  about  three 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

The  population  of  the  Island  is  composed 
of  eight  hundred  convicts,  and  the  local 
staff  essential  for  their  proper  management. 
The  free  community  consists,  therefore, 
wholly  of  Government  officials  and  their 
families,  together  with  a  military  force  of 
about  one  hundred  and  fifty  men  and  four 
or  five  officers.  The  good  society  or  first 
rank  of  Norfolk  Island  is  composed  of  the 
civil  commandant,  the  officers  of  the  garrison, 
the  engineer  and  commissariat,  the  two 
clergymen, — one  Protestant,  the  other  Roman 
Catholic — and  a  medical  officer  or  two. 
Superintendents  and  overseers  of  convicts 
make  a  second  rank.  Common  soldiers  are 
a  third  rank  ;  and  the  convicts  are,  of  course, 
the  least  respectable. 

The  capital  of  Norfolk  Island  is  the  gaol. 
There  is,  besides,  a  spacious  quadrangle  of 
buildings  for  the  convict  barracks,  for  school- 
rooms, and  for  places  appointed  for  divine 
service.  There  are  commodious  barracks 
for  the  army  of  occupation  of  Norfolk 
Island.  There  is  the  mansion  of  the  com- 
mandant, on  a  beautiful  green  mound  ;  there 
are  handsome  houses  for  the  officials  ;  and,  in 
picturesque,  convenient  nooks,  lurk  pleasant 
cottages  for  overseers.  About  three  miles 
from  the  gaol  is  Longridge,  where  a  number 
of  prisoners  are  employed  in  farming  opera- 
tions. There  is  also  an  establishment  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Island  called  the  Cas- 
cades, the  business  of  which  place  is  now 
declining. 

From  the  boundary  of  the  settlement  there 
runs  a  well-trodden  pathway  to  the  Cemetery, 
which  is  enclosed  on  three  sides  by  tear- 
droppirig  hedges  of  the  manchineel  ;  and,  on 
the  fourth  side  by  a  restless  mourner,  the  vexed 
sea.  The  climate  is  healthy,  but  the  graves 
are  numerous  and  new.  A  sudden  end  has 
closed  in  this  Island  many  a  rugged  way  of 
vice.  Born  in  a  country  which  professes  to 
be  too  religious  to  give  education  to  its 
masses,  left  to  be  reared  in  infamy  till  the 
day  comes — which  is  so  long  in  coming — when 
sectarian  pride  is  to  give  place  to  Christian 
charity,  the  men  who  sleep  here  in  the  graves 
among  the  manchineels  are  to  be  visited  with 
human  sorrow.  In  me  the  common  grave- 


yard reverence  was  not  the  less  for  want  of 
tombstone  eulogies.  "  He  was  a  thankless 
son,  a  cruel  husband,  a  hard  father,  and  a  pot- 
house friend.  Banished  for  all  his  burglaries. 
by  an  indignant  country,  he  lies  buried  here. 
His  end  was  violent :  he  died,  in  quarrel, 
by  the  knife  of  an  associate."  That  might  be 
the  kind  of  epitaph  which  would  speak  truth 
among  the  mounds  here,  far  away  in  Norfolk 
Island,  about  which  no  foot  of  wife  or  sister 
has  been  treading. 

A  large  crop  of  the  graves  in  Norfolk  Island 
has  grown  out  of  those  attempts  at  revolt ; 
which  formerly  were  frequent,  and  could  be 
put  down  only  by  brute  force.  In  1834  a 
conspiracy  was  formed ;  of  which  the  aim  was 
to  destroy  the  military  inhabitants  by  poison- 
ing the  wells,  and  then  to  put  the  Island  into 
the  possession  of  the  convicts.  That  was  de- 
feated ;  and  thirty-one  revolters  on  that  occa- 
sion suffered  the  penalty  of  death.  The  last 
outbreak  occurred  in  1846.  The  object  on  that 
occasion  was  to  destroy  certain  overseers  who 
had,  by  bringing  men  frequently  to  punish- 
ment, made  themselves  objects  of  a  wild  hate. 
The  leader  on  this  occasion  was  a  certain 
William  Westwood,  commonly  called  Jacky 
Jacky  ;  that  name  having  been  given  to  him 
by  the  natives  of  New  South  Wales,  when  he- 
was  leading  there  a  lawless  life.  By  a  con- 
vict, who  was  this  man's  close  companion  and 
confederate,  I  have  been  favoured  with  a 
Newgate  calendar  of  details.  Like  many  of 
such  details,  black  and  repulsive  in  the  mass, 
they  show  here  and  there,  through  all  the 
mist,  a  glimmer  of  that  true  light  of  huma- 
nity which  might  have  brightened  the  man's 
life.  , 

There  was  indeed  some  good  mixed  even 
with  the  evil  deed  that  had  brought  Jacky 
Jacky  into  Norfolk  Island.  Bent  upon  plun- 
der, he  with  his  associates  had  visited  a 
settler's  house,  during  the  absence  of  the 
master.  They  confined  the  servants,  and 
proceeded  to  the  best  room ;  in  which  the 
lady  of  the  house,  with  a  young  lady,  her 
friend,  were  preparing  the  children  for  bed, 
and  perhaps  teaching  them  their  prayers. 
Jacky  Jacky  stated  briefly  the  object  of  his 
visit ;  and,  having  left  an  unaccustomed  con- 
federate in  charge  of  the  affrighted  women, 
went  up-stairs.  The  report  of  a  gun,  followed 
by  screams,  called  him  down  again.  The  lady 
of  the  house  lay  on  the  floor,  surrounded  by 
the  children,  bleeding  profusely  from  a  gunshot 
wound,  which  had  divided  the  femoral  artery. 
Jacky  Jacky  promptly  called  the  whole  house  ' 
to  his  aid,  bound  the  wound  round  with 
sheets  as  tightly  as  he  could,  ordered  the 
settler's  horse  to  be  put  to  the  gig ;  and,  as 
soon  as  the  lady  had  recovered  consciousness, 
had  her  placed  carefully  on  cushions  at  the 
bottom  of  the  vehicle.  Then  taking  the  reins, 
himself,  he  quitted  his  plunder,  drove  with 
utmost  speed  twelve  miles  to  the  nearest 
station  ;  and,  knocking  up  the  doctor,  com- 
mitted the  wounded  lady  to  his  care.  Then 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NORFOLK  ISLAND. 


returning  to  his  followers,  he  called  them 
off,  bidding  them  not  remove  an  atom  from 
the  premises.  Upon  the  information  of  the 
man  who  had  fired  the  gun,  according  to 
his  own  statement,  Jacky  Jacky  and  his 
friends  were  soon  afterwards  taken  in  the 
Bush.  Many  crimes  having  been  laid  to  their 
charge,  they  were  condemned  to  death  ;  but 
by  the  earnest  representations  of  the  lady, 
who  remembered  gratefully  the  considerate 
distinction  he  had  made  in  practice  between 
burglary  and  murder,  the  sentence  was  com- 
muted to  transportation  for  life  to  Norfolk 
Island.  But  he  was  not  born  to  die  in  his 
bed.  He  headed,  as  I  before  said,  the  con- 
spiracy of  July,  1846. 

Obnoxious  constables  were  to  be  destroyed 
and  the  island  to  be  seized.  One  morning, 
immediately  after  inspection,  as  the  various 
gangs  were  being  marched  to  their  work, 
the  revolt  was  opened  by  a  simultaneous 
rush,  and  convicts  scattered  themselves  over 
the  settlement  in  search  of  their  victims ; — 
certain  constables  who  lived  in  detached 
cottages  near  the  beach.  Those  who  had  been 
on  duty  the  preceding  night,  were  in  one 
cottage  barbarously  murdered  in  their  sleep. 
The  soldiery,  after  much  exertion,  got  the 
greater  number  of  the  convicts  back  within 
the  gaol ;  but  some  were  scattered  still 
among  the  hills,  and  three  or  four  had  seized 
a  boat  upon  the  beach,  and  made  their  escape 
to  Philip  Island.  Philip  Island  is  a  lonely 
rock,  lying  about  six  miles  from  the  settle- 
ment, inhabited  by  goats  and  rabbits,  by  the 
sea-birds,  and  by  a  peculiar  kind  of  green 
parrot.  It  is  a  place  occasionally  visited 
by  officers  of  the  convict  garrison,  for  a 
day's  shooting.  On  Philip  Island,  these  three 
or  four  men  were  able  for  a  long  time  to 
elude  the  vigilance  of  those  sent  in  pursuit ; 
at  length,  however,  all  but  one  were  taken,  or 
had  thought  it  prudent  to  surrender.  For 
eighteen  months  that  one  man,  hunted  by  his 
fellows,  lived  on  in  his  desolation,  and  escaped 
from  every  one  of  the  many  searching  parties 
sent  out  to  capture  him ;  who  were  to  be 
heard  shouting  about  the  rock  from  time 
to  time — the  only  human  voices  that  dis- 
turbed his  solitude.  At  length  his  lair  was 
discovered.  The  desperate  man  then  climbed 
swiftly  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  rock  in 
the  small  island.  There  he  quietly  awaited 
his  pursuers.  With  much  toil  they  had 
nearly  scaled  the  height  on  which  he  stood  : 
he  gave  them  a  wild  look  of  hatred  and 
defiance,  covered  his  head  with  his  jacket, 
and  leapt  down,  rebounding  from  rock  to 
rock,  and  falling  a  shattered  mass  into  the 
sea.  What  was  his  mother  doing  then  in 
England  '? 

For  this  outbreak,  seventy  convicts  were 
put  on  their  trial ;  and  of  the  Seventy,  thirteen, 
including  Jacky  Jacky,  were  condemned  to 
death.  They  lie  together  in  one  grave,  upon 
unconsecrated  ground  outside  the  cemetery, 
close  to  the  rocky  shore  where  the  waves  beat 


upon  the  coral  reef.  They  had  been  tried  by 
a  commission  sent  from  Sydney.  Until  then, 
all  persons  charged  with  capital  offences  had 
been  shipped  to  Sydney  for  trial ;  but  that 
practice  was  dropped,  in  order  that  there 
might  no  longer  exist  a  motive  which  ha  1 
been  a  strange  and  frequent  source  of  crime. 
The  old  hardened  convicts  had  amused 
themselves  by  urging  the  new-comers  into 
conflict  with  each  other ;  and  inciting  them  to 
murder  their  companions,  in  order  that  they 
— the  instigators — might  have  evidence  to 
give,  and  thus  get  the  relief  of  a  voyage  to 
Sydney  in  the  character  of  witnesses. 

My  talk  has  wandered  from  the  cemetery  : 
but  I  must  come  back  to  it  and  read  one 
tombstone,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  Thomas 
Salisbury  Wright,  who  was  transported  from 
Sydney  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and  three 
for  the  term  of  his  natural  life.  So  here  he 
dijed,  having  completed  his  one  hundred  and 
fifth  year.  To  be  sure  he  was  a  young  man 
when  he  committed  the  forgery  for  which  he 
was  transported.  That  occurred  when  he 
was  only  eighty-three  years  old. 

Through  a  cutting  in  the  ledge  of  rock 
which  overhangs  the  sea,  I  come  now  upon 
an  amphitheatre  of  hills.  These  hills  are  all 
richly  dressed  in  a  thick  clothing  of  wild  shrubs, 
flowers,  and  grapery.  On  one  side  is  a  mount 
covered  to  the  top'  with  the  gigantic  Norfolk 
Island  pine  ;  on  another  side  down  goes  a 
ravine  that  seems  to  offer  a  short  cut  to  the 
interior  of  the  earth  :  a  short  and  a  most 
pleasant  cut ;  for  intricate  dark  foliage  is 
lighted  up  by  lemon  groves,  where,  here  and 
there,  the  sun  is  playing  on  their  golden 
fruit.  I  descend  by  the  path  into  the  ravine. 
Foliage  shuts  me  out  from  the  sun  ;  magni- 
ficent creepers  (for  in  nature,  as  in  society, 
there  are  creepers  which  take  rank  as  the 
magnificent)  twist  and  twirl  themselves 
about  my  path.  The  birds  that  perch  upon 
them  glitter  like  their  flowers :  lories, 
parrots,  parroquets,  beautiful  wood-pigeons. 
But  the  forest  is  dark,  and  I  ascend  again, 
and  get  among  such  quaint  aspects  of 
vegetative  life  as  are  made  by  clusters  of 
large  fern  trees,  rising  with  a  lean — some  to 
this  quarter  and  some  to  that — trees  sadly 
wanting  in  uprightness  of  character,  but  car- 
rying their  crests  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  above 
the  ground.  These  look  like  grass  among  the 
Norfolk  Island  pines,  which  pile  one  dark 
feather-crown  upon  another — crown  above 
crown,  to  a  height  of  some  two  hundred  feet 
above  the  soil. 

From  the  summit  of  Mount  Pitt,  which 
I  have  now  reached,  I  have  Norfolk  Island 
in  complete  subjection  to  one  of  my  senses. 
I  can  see  it  all.  Rock,  forest,  valley,  corn- 
fields, islets,  sunshine  on  sea,  sunshine  on 
birds,  no  sun  in  gloomy  glades,  rays,  darting 
into  darkness,  and  revealing  parasites  and 
creepers  exquisitely  coloured,  and  the  bright 
green  fans  of  the  palmetto  rising  out  of  a 
froth  of  white  convolvulus ;  guava  and  lemon, 


76 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  67 


a  delicious  air,  clear  sky,  and  the  sharp  outline 

ment,  as  has  humanised  their  conduct  among 

Df  every  light  feather  of  the  foliage  picked  out 

one  another,  and  towards   those  set  in   au- 

against it. 

thority  over  them.     Formerly,  in  the  blaze 

'  There  used  to  be  oranges  ;  but,  once  upon 

of  noonday,  it  was   dangerous   for   any  one 

a  time,  there  lived  in  Norfolk  Island  a  wise 

to  walk  alone  beyond  the  precincts  of  the 

commandant,  who  voted  oranges  too  great  a 

settlement.      Violent    crimes    and    murders 

.uxury  for  convicts,  and  caused  the  trees  that 

were  common  among  the  gangs  while  at  their 

rrrew  them  to  be  extirpated.     They  are  now, 

work  —  convict  quarrelling  with  convict.     The 

lowever,  being  reintroduced.     In  a   garden 

resident  was  clouded  with  a  daily  sense  of 

jelonging  to  the  commandant,  called  Orange 

insecurity,  a  dread  for  the  safety  of  his  wife 

Vale,  sight,  taste,  and  smell  enjoy  a  paradise. 

or   children  when  they  left  his  sight.     For 

Delicate     cinnamon    grows    by    the    rough 

then   the   incessant   lash  made   hard   hearts 

stout  old  English  oak.     Tea,  coffee,  tobacco, 

harder  ;  and  wretches  made  to  grovel  in  dark 

sugarcane,  banana,  figs,  arrowroot  and  lemon 

cells,  chained  by  ring-bolts  to  the  floor,  and 

grow  in  company  with   English   fruits   and 

wearing  sixty  pounds  of  iron  on  their  arms, 

vegetables   that   have    been  forced    by  the 

were  degraded  even  lower  than  they  had  been 

climate  into  an  ecstatic,  transcendental  state. 

forced  at  home  below  the  feelings  of  humanity. 

The  spirituality  of  a  carrot  gets  to  be  de- 

Then   convicts    were    driven    at    night-fall, 

veloped    when  it  grows  up   in   such    good 

besmeared  and  dirty  with  the  day's  toil,  into 

company  as  that  of  sweet  bucks  and  bananas. 

the  barrack,  and  were  locked  up  till  morning 

Sweet  bucks  are  sweet  potatoes,  which  are 

in  neglected  rooms,  to  prey  upon  each  other. 

very  kisses  to  the  palate  ;  and  are  served  out 

No  officer  who  ventured  there  among  them 

daily  as  rations  to  the  evil  and  the  good,  the 

would  come  out  alive  ;  but,  in  front  of  the 

convicts  and  the  officers. 

open  grated  windows  sentries  paced,  whose 

But  truly  there  is  need  of  a  fine  climate  to 

orders  were  to  fire  promptly  into  any  room 

make  compensation  for  the  other  details  of  a 

from    which    the    sound   of    tumult   or   the 

residence  in  Norfolk  Island  —  I  do  not  mean 

cry  of  murder   should   proceed,   if  the  dis- 

;o the  convicts  who  are  cut  off  here  from  all 

turbance    did    not    cease    at    his  command. 

the    rest    of  mankind,   and   whose    case    is 

Whether   the   shot   went    into  the   body   of 

deplorable  ;    but  to  those   who    guard  and 

the    right    offender,    was    a    lottery    which 

govern    them.      The    members    of  the   local 

rendered  it  the  interest  of  all,  if  possible  — 

staff  form  but    a   limited  field  of  social  in- 

but among    men  so  brutalised,  how  was   it 

tercourse     for    one    another.       The    "  Lady 

possible  ?  —  to  check  the  violent. 

Franklin"  is  the  only  regular  trader  to  their 

Now,  this  is   all   changed   for   the  better. 

little  coast  from  ITobart  Town  (one  thousand 

Still   the    discipline   is   very   strict  ;   and   so 

three  hundred  miles  away)  ;  she  makes  but 

works,  that  it  is  to  the  most  hardened  the 

Tour  trips  in  the  year.     A  convict  ship  is  not 

most   severe   in   punishment.     The  sleeping- 

often  sent  on  from  England.     When  a  ship 

rooms   are  now   well   lighted  and  well  ven- 

does arrive  on  lawful   business  at  Norfolk 

tilated.     The  two  hours  between  supper  and 

Island,  great  is  the  sensation.     The  coming  in 

rest    have   been   spent    in    the  school,   and 

of  a  ship  on  business  causes,  apparently,  all 

the  day  has  been  closed  with  prayers.     The 

business  to  be  at  an  end.     Letters  from  home 

two  clergymen,  Messrs.  Batchelor  and  Ryan 

bless  the  temporary  exiles  ;  for  they  have  to 

—  one   Protestant,    one    Roman    Catholic  —  ' 

be  enjoyed  and  answered.    All  in  the  ship  who 

each  in  his  sphere  work  without   intermis- 

are entertainable  are  hospitably  to  be  enter- 

sion.   The  schools  are  well-conducted  ;   and, 

tained.     In  private  aud  in  public  life,  who  is 

where  they  awaken,  as  they  do  in  most,  a 

alive  and  who  is  dead  in  England  ;  who  is  up 

desire  for  knowledge,  they   beget   a  mutual 

and  who  is  down  ;  what  bubbles  have  burst, 

confidence  between  the  well-conducted,  who 

and  what  new  bubbles  have  been  blown,  have 

now    form   by   far   the  chief  proportion    of 

to  be  learned   over  the    dinner-table.     The 

the    convicts.     Locks  and  bolts   are  falling 

highest     virtue    of  a     visitor,     is    untiling 

out  of  use  upon  the  doors  of  the  residents  ; 

loquacity. 

and,  because  there  are  few  female  servants, 

The  dark  scenes  of  convict  life,  of  which  I  j  pretty  children  —  children  thrive  and  look 
have  already  given  some  examples,  do  not  |  unusually  pretty  in  a  climate  such  as  this — 
now  fill  Norfolk  Island  with  their  ancient  may  be  seen  carried  on  the  arms  of  house- 


honours.  Here  also  the  good  old  times  have 
given  way  to  better  new  times.  Captain 
Macconochie,  under  all  the  difficulties  against 
which  he  had  to  contend  when  he  was  go- 
vernor, utterly  broke  down  the  old  ferocious 
system.  Under  the  temperate,  strict,  and 
judicious  control  of  Mr.  Price,  the  present 
commandant,  a  system  of  discipline  has  been 
established  ;  which,  while  it  does  not  make 
the  probation  of  the  convicts  other  than 
a  term  of  punishment,  accords  to  them  such 
wholesome  management,  and  such  fair  treat- 


breakers,  or  drawn  in  their  small  carts 
through  the  lemon  groves  and  gardens,  by  the 
brown,  rugged  hands  that  had  grown  hard  iu 
deeds  of  violence. 

It  'is  no  miracle  that  has  been  here  per- 
formed ;  men  bred  to  crime  in  England  by 
the  ignorance  and  filth  we  cherish,  are  bred 
out  of  crime  again  in  Norfolk  Island,  by 
a  little  teaching  and  a  little  human  care. 
Almost  all  the  men  who  return  to  Hobart 
Town  after  fulfilling  their  term  of  probation 
here,  are  in  demand  as  servants,  and  are 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SAINT  GEOEGE  AND  THE  DRAGON. 


77 


preferred  to  fresh  arrivers  from  the  mother- 
country.  Stepmother-country  she  is  to  an 
immense  proportion  of  her  children  ! 


SAINT  GEOEGE  AND  THE  DEAGON. 


AT  the  most  active  corner  of  the  most 
active  lung  of  the  great  metropolis,  stands  a 
large  building  of  the  pseudo-classical  style. 
Its  vast  monotonous  white  flank,  exposed  to 
the  full  roar  of  Piccadilly,  gives  no  sign  of 
life  or  animation  ;  and  if  it  were  not  for  the 
inscription  on  its  frieze,  "  supported  by  volun- 
tary contributions,"  it  might  be  taken  for  a 
workhouse,  or  for  one  of  Nash's  palaces.  Will 
the  reader  be  conducted  through  the  laby- 
rinths of  Saint  George's  Hospital,  and  see 
something  of  the  eternal  fight  that  every  day 
beholds  between  the  good  Saint  George  and 
the  undying  Dragon  of  Disease  ? 

But  let  him  not  enter  with  the  idea  that 
there  is  anything  repulsive  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  this  congregation  of  human  sufferers  ; 
but  rather  with  a  sense  of  the  beneficence  of 
an  institution,  which  snatches  poor  helpless 
creatm'es  from  the  depressing  influences  of 
noisome  alleys,  or  the  fever-jungles  of  pesti- 
lential courts,  and  opens  to  them  here — in  the 
free  air,  where  a  palace  might  be  proud  to 
plant  itself — a  home,  with  benevolence  and 
charity  as  their  friends  and  servitors.  Neither 
must  he  look  with  a  half-averted  glance  upon 
the  scenes  we  have  to  show  him ;  for  their 
aim  is  to  render  the  anguish  of  one  sufferer 
subservient  to  the  future  ease  of  some  suc- 
ceeding sufferer ;  to  make  great  Death  himself 
pay  tribute  to  the  living. 

As  we  enter  and  proceed  into  the  fine  ves- 
tibule, a  crowd  of  students  are  seen  hanging 
about  the  Board-room  door.  It  is  one  o'clock, 
and  "  High  Change"  at  the  Hospital.  Dotted 
about,  among  the  living  mass,  are  some  who 
carry  little  wooden  trays  filled  with  lint  and 
surgical  instruments.  These  are  "  dressers," 
waiting  for  the  surgeons  to  make  their  daily 
round  of  the  wards.  Others  have  long 
green  books  tucked  under  their  arms  :  these 
are  the  clerks  of  the  physicians,  whose  duty 
it  is  to  post  up,  day  by  day,  the  progress 
of  the  patients,  until  "dead"  or  "recovered" 
closes  the  account.  They  are  all  looking  into 
the  Board-room,  and  expecting  the  advent 
of  the  big  Medicine-men.  The  younger  men 
regard  this  room  with  awe  ;  for,  to  them,  it  is 
a  sealed  book  ;  and  they  wonder  if  the  time 
will  ever  come  when  they  will  lounge  care- 
lessly in  and  out  of  it,  or  have  their  portraits 
hung  upon  the  walls,  or  their  busts  placed 
upon  brackets. 

Now,  the  Board-room  door  opens  :  a  surgeon 
comes  out,  wheels  to  the  right,  strides  down 
the  passage,  and  ofi'  goes  one  of  the  trays  and 
a  bruil  of  students.  A  physician  follows,  and 
turns  to  the  left :  with  him  flies  a  green  book 
and  another  ring  of  satellites.  Surgeons  and 
physicians  follow,  one  after  another,  each 
taking  up  his  little  crowd  of  followers,  green 


books  and  trays  ;  and  the  noisy  vestibule  is  at 
once  deserted.  Let  us  follow  the  last  batch 
up  the  stairs. 

This  is  a  physician's  ward.  At  this  horn 
all  the  patients  are  in  bed  to  await  their 
doctor's  visit.  The  cluster  of  students  follow 
the  physician,  and  settle  for  a  few  minutes 
here  and  there  upon  particular  beds,  as  they 
proceed  down  the  long  vista  of  sufferers. 
The  patients  are  quiet  enough  whilst  the 
physicians  are  present ;  but  we  will  just 
look  in  half-an-hour  hence  and  see  what 
a  change  there  will  be.  At  the  end  of  each 
ward  is  a  room  for  the  nurse.  See  how  she 
has  contrived  to  make  it  look  like  home  ; 
the  bit  of  carpet,  the  canary,  the  pictures 
round  the  walls,  all  express  an  individuality 
strongly  in  contrast  with  the  bare  monotonous 
aspect  of  the  open  ward.  Meanwhile  the 
swarm  of  black  bees  is  pitching  upon  a  distant 
bed  ;  before  we  can  reach  it,  however,  a  little 
bell  rings,  and  all  the  patients'  eyes  turn  to- 
wards a  particular  part  of  the  wall.  There 
we  see  a  large  dial,  like  that  of  a  barometer, 
with  a  hand  in  the  centre.  Eound  it  are  the 
names  of  the  medical  officers,  nurses,  and  the 
words  accident,  operation,  chapel,  &c.  There 
is  one  of  these  dials  in  every  ward,  and  all 
are  worked  by  a  series  of  iron  rods  which 
communicate  with  each  other,  the  impulse 
being  given  by  the  porter  below  in  the 
hall.  By  this  means  anything  that  is  going 
on  in  the  Hospital  is  known  simultaneously 
at  every  part  of  it.  The  bell  that  has 
just  rung  is  part  of  the  apparatus,  and 
draws  attention  to  the  movements  of  the 
hand.  It  stops  at  "operation;"  and  in  a 
minute  afterwards  a  long  line  of  students 
are  seen  winding  up  the  stairs,  the  surgeon 
at  their  head.  He  looks  calm  ;  but  depend 
upon  it,  he  bears  an  anxious  mind,  for  life 
and  reputation  wait  upon  his  skill.  Let  us 
follow  the  crowd ;  a  new  spirit  has  come 
over  the  students  ; — the  jolliest  and  most 
careless  walk  up  steadily  and  silently.  It  is 
to  be  a  tremendous  operation — one  of  the 
great  arteries,  deep  down  in  the  pelvis,  has  to 
be  tied,  and  no  one  knows  how  it  may 
terminate. 

Steadily  and  quietly  the  Operating  Theatre 
is  overflowed  from  the  top  benches,  and  the 
spectator  looks  down  upon  a  hollow  cone  of 
human  heads.  The  focus  of  this  living  mass 
is  the  operating  table,  on  which,  covered  with 
a  sheet,  lies  the  anxious  patient ;  and  every 
now  and  then  he  sweeps  with  an  anxious 
glance  the  sea  of  heads  which  surrounds  him. 
Close  to  him  is  the  surgeon  ;  his  white  cuffs 
lightly  turned  up,  examining  carelessly  a 
gleaming  knife,  and  talking  in  whispers  to 
his  colleagues  and  assistants. 

Slowly  the  bewildered  countenance  of  the 
patient  relaxes, — his  eyes  close, — he  breathes 
peacefully, — he  sleeps,  under  the  beneficent 
influence  of  chloroform,  like  a  two-years' 
old  child.  The  sheet  is  removed,  and  there 
lies  a  motionless,  helpless,  nerve-numbed  life  j 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


an  assistant  pushes  back  the  eyelid,  and  the 
iixed  eye  stares  vacantly  at  the  roof. 

The  student  below  us  clutches  the  bars  in 
front  of  him.  It  is  his  first  operation ;  and  he 
wishes  he  were  far  away  ;  and  wonders  how 
the  nurses  can  stand  so  calmly,  waiting  with 
the  warm  sponges. 

There  is  a  sudden  movement  forward  of 
every  head  ;  and  then  a  dead  silence.  The 
.surgeon  has  broken  into  the  house  of 
life,  and  every  eye  converges  towards  his 
1  lands,  —  those  hands  that  manipulate  so 
calmly — those  fingers  that  see,  as  it  were, 
where  vision  cannot  penetrate,  and  which 
single  out  unerringly,  amid  the  tangled  net- 
work of  the  frame,  the  life-duct  that  they 
want.  For  a  moment  there  is  a  painful 
pause  ;  an  instrument  has  to  be  changed,  and 
the  operator  whispers  to  his  assistant.  "  Some- 
thing is  going  wrong,"  flashes  in  a  moment 
through  every  mind.  No  ! — the  fingers  pro- 
ceed with  a  precision  that  reassures  ;  the 
artery  is  tied ;  and  the  life  that  trembled  upon 
the  verge  of  eternity  is  called  back,  and  se- 
cured by  a  loop  of  whipcord  ! 

There  is  a  buzz,  and  a  general  movement 
in  the  Theatre ;  the  huge  hollow  cone  of  heads 
turns  round,  and  becomes  a  cloud  of  white 
faces  —  no  longer  anxious.  Some  students 
vault  over  the  backs  of  the  seats  ;  others 
swing  Tip  by  the  force  of  their  arms  ;  the 
whole  human  cone  boils  over  the  top  benches, 
and  .pours  out  at  the  doors.  Brown  pulls 
Jones's  hair  playfully ;  whereupon  Jones 
"  bonnets "  Robinson ;  and  there  is  a  uni- 
versal "  scrimmage"  on  the  stairs.  Can  these 
be  the  same  silent,  grave-looking  students  we 
saw  half-an-hour  since  ?  Yes  !  Who  expects 
medical  students  to  keep  grave  more  than 
half-an-hour  ? 

As  we  pass  down  stairs  towards  the  base- 
ment, we  see  the  wards  opening  out  on  either 
hand.  These  are  the  surgeons'  wards ;  and  you 
look  upon  long  vistas  of  "fractures,"  and  of  con- 
valescent operation  cases.  The  "  dressers"  are 
at  work,  and  trays  now  come  into  full  play. 

A  stranger's  preconceived  ideas  of  the  suf- 
fering in  an  hospital  are  not  at  all  borne  out 
by  the  appearance  of  the  patients  generally. 
Many  of  them  are  quietly  reading  the  better- 
class  cheap  literature  of  the  day  ;  others  are 
conversing  round  the  ample  fire.  The  little 
child,  with  its  leg  in  a  splint,  is  as  merry  as 
possible,  with  its  bed  covered  with  playthings. 
Everything  that  humanity  can  dictate,  or  to 
which  art  can  minister,  is  .supplied.  The 
most  eminent  medical  men — whose  attendance 
sometimes  the  rich  cannot  purchase — watch 
the  patient  with  all  due  art  and  skill  ; 
whilst  carefully-trained  nurses  are  at  hand, 
day  and  night,  to  ease  his  tired  limb,  or  to 
soothe  his  racking  pain. 

Below,  again,  is  the  floor  devoted  to  the 
medical  cases  ;  which  we  have  already  passed 
through  :  but  it  does  not  look  like  the  same 
ward.  See  how  that  Rheumatism  case  has 
struck  up  an  acquaintance  with  the  Chronic 


Bronchitis  ;  and  how  confidentially  the  Dropsy 
is  whispering  to  the  St.  Vitus's  Dance. 
The  fair-haired  girl,  with  the  large  lustrous 
eyes,  is  making  up  a  bonnet  for  the  coming 
spring — poor  girl  !  before  that  time  comes, 
the  dark  screen  will,  in  all  probability,  be 
drawn  round  her  bed,  and  then  all  the  ward 
will  know  what  has  happened. 

Anything  to  get  rid  of  ennui  in  the  hos- 
pital. As  we  pass  the  men's  ward,  that  rough 
navigator  washes  up  his  own  tea-things ; 
that  convalescent  cabman  smooths  the  little 
child's  pillow ;  and,  farther  on,  the  poor 
shattered  tailor  helps  his  fellow  in  mis- 
fortune to  walk,  with  the  inverted  sweeping- 
brush  as  a  crutch !  The  tenderness  and 
sympathy  you  see  rough  fellows  show  in 
hospitals  is  very  touching. 

The  basement  floor  is  mostly  given  up  to 
the  purposes  of  the  Medical  School  and  the 
students.  The  library  is  there  ;  its  windows 
look  out  upon  a  sickly  garden  (why  should 
hospitals  have  sickly  gardens,  when  covered 
glass  conservatories,  affording  an  equable 
temperature,  might  be  so  easily  and  cheaply 
constructed  ?).  Where  books  do  not  prevail, 
the  walls  are  covered  with  full-length  plates 
of  the  human  form,  dressed  in  light  suits 
of  blue  and  red  piping.  In  the  corner 
sits  a  young  anchorite  mournfully  contem- 
plating a  skull ; — he  is  only  a  first-year's  man 
having  a  "  grind  at  the  bones."  Two  or  three 
more  are  in  close  consultation  with  that 
"  rough  sketch  of  man,"  suspended  by  a  cord 
from  the  ceiling ;  they  are  articulating  his 
joints,  and  rubbing  up  their  own  brains  for  an 
examination.  Another  group  by  the  fire-place 
is  holding  a  black  inquest  upon  some  pro- 
ceeding of  the  big  Medicine-men  up-stairs  : 
young  students  are  so  very  critical.  In  a 
few  years  these  seemingly  thoughtless  young 
fellows  will  be  spread  the  wide  world  over; 
some,  in  ^,he  golden  East ;  some,  skirting  the 
pestilential  shores  of  Africa ;  some,  in  the  new 
Australian  world  ;  some,  in  remote  hamlets, 
some  in  the  fever-stricken  depths  of  cities — • 
all  bent  upon  the  mission  of  warring  with 
the  grim  Dragon — disease. 

But  we  must  pass  on,  as  we  have  yet 
much  to  see.  This  is  the  lecture-room.  How 
well  the  students  know  that  hideous  cast 
over  the  glass  case,  with  the  notch  and 
swelling  in  its  neck  ;  their  chief  point  of  view 
in  many  a  long  lecture.  Through  the  lecture- 
room  is  the  Pathological  Museum,  surrounded 
by  armies  of  cold  shiny  bottles.  These  con- 
tain contributions  from  the  dead  to  the 
living — of  disease  to  health.  It  seems  wronder- 
ful  how  the  poor  human  frame  manages  to 
rub  on  at  all ;  subject  as  we  here  see  it  is,  to 
such  innumerable  maladies.  But  it  does 
contrive  ;  and  many  of  these  "  specimens  " 
are  the  triumphs  of  the  surgeon's  skill  over 
the  destroyer.  Scores  of  men  walk  about 
well  and  hearty  who  could  recognise  their  own 
peculiar  property  among  these  bottles,  and 
who  remember  with  gratitude  the  successful 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SAINT  GEOEGE  AND  THE  DKAGON. 


burglary  committed  upon  their  own  bodies, 
when  mortal  pain  was  stolen  from  them  as 
they  sweetly  slept. 

There  is  the  representation  of  a  woman 
•who  seems  to  have  been  devoted  from  her 
youth  up  to  the  nourishment  of  that  huge, 
pale  pumpkin  growing  from  her  neck  ;  there 
are  casts  of  hands  sprouting  with  super- 
numerary fingers.  Here  are  models  of  feai'- 
i'ul  faces  in  wax,  which  call  to  mind  Madame 
Tussaud's  Chamber  of  Horrors.  Next  comes 
a  skeleton  almost  tied  up  into  a  knot  by 
disease  ;  above  our  head  is  a  shelf  devoted 
to  a  whole  infant  population,  not  constituted 
exactly  according  to  pattern.  "  But  what  is 
all  this  boiled  tripe  for  1  "  says  the  visitor. 
Boiled  tripe,  my  visitor  !  These  are  the  real 
valuables  of  the  Museum,  and  each  bottle  has 
its  separate  and  absorbing  history  posted  on 
that  great  blood-red  ledger. 

The  mere  curiosities  of  the  place  are  to  be 
found  in  this  glass  case.  There  you  see  the 
half-sovereign  that  stuck  in  Mr.  Brunei's  wind- 
pipe :  a  present  from  its  late  proprietor,  who 
was  doubtless  as  glad  to  get  rid  of  it  as  we, 
the  public,  were  to  learn  that  he  had  done 
so  ;  for  Mr.  Brunei  is  not  a  man  whom  we 
can,  on  any  terms,  afford  to  lose.  There 
is  a  long  tube  filled  with  the  very  best  Japan 
ink  (for  so  it  seems),  taken  out  of  a  tumour. 
Pence  that  have  lain  perdu  for  months  in  the 
stomach,  and  knives  that  have  made  the  grand 
tour  without  inconvenience,  lie  side  by  side  ; 
and  here  is  a  packet  of  needles  that  came  out 
simultaneously  all  over  a  young  lady's  body. 
Do  you  see  that  hide  1  Take  off  your  hat,  for 
you  owe  it  some  reverence ;  the  pretty  girl 
you  love,  but  for  the  late  occupant  of  that 
skin,  might  have  been  a  loathsome  fright. 
That  is  the  hide  of  the  sacred  cow  from 
which  Jenner  took  the  first  vaccine  matter. 

But  what  are  they  doing  in  that  little  room 
beyond  ;  opening  Goldner's  Canisters  1  No, 
no ;  there  sit  the  curator  and  his  assistant 
putting  up  "  preparations."  Why  is  he  in- 
tei'ested  so  much  about  that  bit  of  cartilage  1 
Why  does  he  so  carefully  put  away  that  piece 
of  fractured  bone  1  What  mystery  lies  in  that 
little  soft  grey  mass,  that  he  should  scrutinise 
it  so  narrowly  with  the  microscope,  adjusting 
and  re-adjusting  the  screws  with  such  nervous 
eagerness  ?  These  are  the  hieroglyphics 
which  must  be  deciphered  ere  the  great 
hidden  language  of  disease  can  be  discovered ; 
these  are  the  painstaking  labours  by  which 
science  creeps  on  from  point  to  point. 

The  next  door  leads  to  the  Blue  Beard's 
chamber  of  the  establishment,  which  we  will 
not  explore.  Another  step  takes  us  into 
the  Post  Mortem  Theatre.  There,  upon  that 
cold  slab  underneath  the  sheet,  you  trace 
that  dread  mysterious  outline,  which  appals 
more  than  the  uncovered  truth.  It  has  been 
brought  from  the  ward  above  to  answer  some 
enigma,  which  has  baffled  the  questioning 
of  the  physician  for  months  ;  and  here,  in 
the  face  of  his  class,  his  judgment  and  skill 


will  speedily  be  tested,  and  the  knife  will 
show  us  what  has  brought  to  a  stand  still 
the  curious  and  delicate  machinery  of  life. 
Think  not,  however,  that  nature  yields  up 
her  secrets  without,  sometimes,  exacting  a 
terrible  retribution  upon  those  who  would  pry 
into  her  innermost  workings.  The  faintest 
puncture  upon  the  surgeon's  hand,  the  least 
abrasion  of  the  cuticle  with  the  knife  that 
has  drunk  the  venom  of  the  body,  has  been 
known  to  kill  as  surely  as  the  most  subtly 
concocted  poison  ever  administered  by  Italian 
revenge. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  ground-floor  wards. 
These  wards,  right  and  left,  are  consigned  to 
the  surgeons  :  you  see,  as  you  pass,  the  long 
perspective  of  "  accidents,"  to  which  the 
ground-floor  is  mainly  devoted,  on  account 
of  its  proximity  to  the  street. 

But  that  room  filled  with  such  decent- 
looking  persons — what  are  they  doing  there, 
ranged  round  the  wall  1  These  are  the  out- 
patients ;  the  sickly  troop  that  flocks  day  by 
day  for  relief.  Do  you  wish  to  know  how 
terrible  the  sufferings,  how  fearful  the 
struggles,  of  "  respectable  poverty  1 "  Go, 
then,  and  listen  to  the  questions  the  physician 
puts  to  them  one  by  one,  and  you  wil^  come 
out  saddened  and  astonished.  There  is  one 
disease  which  haunts  that  room  to  which  he 
cannot  minister,  one  quiver  from  which  issue 
unseen  the  arrows  of  death,  which  he  cannot 
avert.  Listen  whilst  he  questions  that  neatly 
dressed  young  woman  :  "  How  have  you  been 
living  1 "  She  hangs  her  head,  fences  with 
the  query,  and  is  silent  ;  pressed  kindly,  she 
confesses,  a  little  tea  and  bread  have  been  her 
only  nourishment  for  months.  Wait  a  few 
minutes  until  the  men  are  called  in,  and  you 
shall  hear  that  wasted  giant,  in  the  adjoining 
room,  make  still  the  same  reply ;  "  tea  and 
bread  for  months  "  have  dragged  his  herculean 
frame  to  the  ground.  They  do  not  complain ; 
they  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

As  we  leave  the  Hospital  the  clock  strikes 
three,  the  "  seeing  hour  "  of  the  poor  patients 
in  the  wards  ;  the  crowd  of  visitors  who  have 
been  waiting  outside  the  doors  press  in,  and 
throng  up  the  vestibule.  The  burly  porter, 
however,  posts  himself  in  front,  and  dodges 
about  like  a  boy  who  heads  a  flock  of  bolting 
sheep.  Now  he  pounces  upon  an  old  fish- 
woman  who  tries  to  rush  past  him.  What  is 
he  about  1  Flat  pick-pocketing,  by  all  that  is 
sacred  !  Is  he  goin^  to  rob  the  woman  of  her 
seed-cake  ]  Scarcely  is  she  past,  than  he 
dives  into  the  capacious  pocket  of  the  second, 
and  comes  up  with  half-a-dozen  oranges ;  a 
third  is  eased  of  a  two-ounce  bottle  of  gin  ; 
a  fourth,  in  evident  trepidation,  gives  up  a 
pound  of  sugar;  a  fifth — to  her  he  gives  a 
low  bow,  and  she  passes  on  in  "  maiden  medi- 
tation, fancy  free."  She,  be  sure,  is  one  of 
the  "  Governors."  This  momentary  suspen- 
sion of  his  powers,  makes  him  a  very  tiger 
after  "  trash  and  messes  ; "  a  fresh  onslaught 
is  commenced,  and  scarce  a  person  but  is 


80 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


mulcted  of  some  article ;  and  his  eye  rests 
upon  the  table  covered  with  the  spoils  with 
the  complacency  of  a  man  who  has  done  his 
duty.  This  stern  janitor  is  the  percolator  of 
the  establishment,  through  whom  the  visitors 
are  strained  of  the  deleterious  ingredients 
they  would  smuggle  to  their  friends. 

Let  us  take  one  more  peep  into  the  wards 
before  we  go.  Who  would  think  he  was  in 
an  hospital,  and  that  lie  was  surrounded  by 
disease  ?  Each  bed  is  a  divan,  and  each 
patient  gives  audience  to  a  host  of  friends.  A 
thousand  kind  greetings  are  heard  on  every 
hand,  and  the  lines  that  pain  has  long  been 
graving  in  the  countenance,  joy  and  affection 
for  a  moment  efface.  Did  we  say  each  bed 
was  thronged  with  friends  1  Ah,  no  !  not  all  ! 
Here  and  there  we  see  a  gap  in  the  chain  of 
human  sympathy — a  poor  sufferer,  by  whose 
lonely  bed  no  friend  waits. 

Let  us  come  out  once  more  into  the  air. 

The  fresh  breeze  of  the  Park  seems  sweet 
after  the  close  atmosphere  of  St.  George's  ; 
yet  sweeter  seem  the  actions  of  the  merciful. 
As  we  pass  the  corner  of  the  hospital,  the  eye 
catches  an  inscription  upon  a  porcelain  slab 
let  into  the  wall.  The  words  are  simple  : — 

"  In  aid  of  those  patients  who  leave  this  Hospital 
homeless  and  in  need." 

Below,  is  an  openipg  for  the  reception  of  gifts, 
so  that  the  poorest  and  most  friendless  go  not 
uncared  for.  This  little  arrangement  is  "  the 
corner-stone  of  faith  "  of  one  of  the  benevolent 
physicians.  He  imagined  that  a  constantly 
open  hand — for  the  wounded — lield  out  at  this 
thronged  corner,  might  not  be  without  its 
effect,  and  his  confidence  in  the  good  side  of 
human  nature  was  not  ill-placed.  As  much  as 
twelve  pounds  have  been  taken  from  the  box 
in  one  week — glittering  gold  and  silver  mixed 
with  pence  and  farthings,  attesting  that 
'  human  sympathy  is  not  of  class  or  degree. 
In  the  full  light  of  daf,  whilst  the  tide  of  life 
has  been  swiftly  flowing  past,  many  a  rough 
hand  has  dropped  its  contribution  ;  and  in  the 
silent  night,  when  the  bright  stars  above  have 
been  the  only  witnesses,  many  a  rich  gift  has 
been  deposited ;  together  with  the  good 
wishes  of  compassionate  and  sympathising 
human  hearts. 


AN  EMIGRANT'S  GLANCE  HOMEWARD. 

FAB,  far  from  those  whose  tender  patchings  bred  me; 

Far  from  the  hedge-row  haunts  that  pleased  my 

youth  ; 
Far  from  the  friends  whose  gentle  teachings  led  ine 

In  the  blest  ways  of  innocence  and  truth  ; 
E'en  from  my  own  peculiar  Northern  Star, 
From  every  chiltlish  memory,  I  am  far  ! 

Perchance  no  more  may  meet  my  foreign  car 
The  chastened  kindness  of  a  brother's  tone  ; 

A  mother's  voice  no  more  may  call  me  dear, 
In  the  fond  language  only  mothers  own  ; 

And  she,  whoso  name  is  never  named  by  me, 

The  loved,  the  unforgotten — where  is  she  ? 


Yet  I  am  happy  in  my  distant  home  ; 

A  sunny  sky  smiles  ever  over  me  ; 
And  let  what  will  from  God's  good  pleasure  come, 

My  friend,  my  husband,  I  have  always  ihee  : 
And  gaily  round,  our  laughing  treasure  plays 
In  all  the  winning  grace  of  childhood's  ways. 

I  never  can  be  lonely.     Where  I  go 

With  these,  is  home  ;  but  yearnings  fond  and  bland 
For  those  departed  days,  where  all  things  glow 

With  a  bright  glory,  from  that  far-off  land, 
Wind  round  my  heart,  as  with  a  magic  chain, 
Which  I  must  kiss  ere  I  unwind  again. 

Oh  !  days  for  ever  gone — for  ever  fair  ! 

Fair,  because  gone — oh,  sunbright,  youthful  days  ' 
Are  ye  not  woj-th  one  earnest  thought,  one  care, 

One  heartfelt  lay,  devoted  to  your  praise  ? 
But  not  the  lays  of  an  immortal  tongue 
Could  give  me  back  the  days  when  I  was  young. 

The  kindly  hands  which  mine  with  love  would  press, 
The  beaming  eyes  that  with  affection  shone, 

The  loving  lips,  whose  sweet  and  pure  caress 
Still  marked  how  dear  that  young  beloved  one  : 

England  again  my  hopeful  eyes  may  see, 

But  these  can  never  be  the  same  to  me. 

Far,  far  from  those  whose  tender  watchings  bred  me  ; 

Far  from  the  hedge-row  haunts  that  pleased  my 

youth ; 
Far  from  the  friends  whose  gentle  teachings  led  me 

In  the  blest  ways  of  innocence  and  truth  ; 
E'en  from  my  own  peculiar  Northern  Star, 
From  every  childish  memory,  I  am  far  ! 


OLD  HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


CERTAIN  persons  can  hardly  believe,  al- 
though they  live  in  the  middle  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  to  whom  the  wonders  of 
steam  and  electricity  are  familiar,  that  we 
have  distanced  our  respectable  ancestors  in 
scientific  knowledge.  We  purpose  offering  a 
few  illustrations  of  the  way  in  which  that 
knowledge  was  applied  to  medical  uses — to 
quote,  in  short,  a  few  genuine  Old  Household 
Words. 

The  science  of  judicial  astrology  has  few 
votaries  now  ;  natural  philosophy  is  based  on 
rather  surer  principles  than  of  yore,  and  the 
healing  art  depends  upon  something  more 
positive  than  spells.  But  exceptions  may 
yet  be  found  ;  there  are  still  a  select  few 
— the  country  readers  of  Zadkiel,  we  will 
suppose — who  prefer  the  charms  of  Ashmole, 
and  the  sympathetic  powder  of  Sir  Kenelm 
Digby,  to  the  operations  of  Lawrence  or  the 
advice  of  Bright ;  and  what  these  lovers  of  the 
temporis  acti  believe  in,  or,  at  all  events,  what 
our  ancestors  pinned  their  faiths  to,  we  shall 
here  expose. 

The  idea  was  suggested  to  us,  while  turn- 
ing over  some  of  the  Ayscough  MSS.  in  the 
British  Museum ;  in  which  are  preserved 
some  very  striking  specimens  of  the  pharma- 
ceutical wisdom  of  our  forefathers.  We 
thought  it  a  pity  that  knowledge  so  valuable 
should  be  concealed  any  longer ;  and  although. 


Charles  Dickon*.] 


OLD  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


81 


the  handwriting  bore  no  slight  resemblance 
to  that  which  puzzled  Tony  Lumpkin,  we 
patiently  set  to  work  to  transcribe  some  of 
the  most  remarkable  "remedies"  contained 
in  the  precious  volume. 

Oliver  Goldsmith  has  said,  in  the  "  Citizen 
of  the  World,"  that  the  epidemic  of  England 
is  the  fear  of  mad  dogs.  The  apprehension 
appears  to  be  of  old  date,  for  the  receipt-books 
of  our  ancestors  are  filled  with  remedies 
against  their  bite.  The  Ayscough  MS.  gives  us 
various  examples,  two  of  which  we  select — one 
simply  medicinal,  the  other  purely  occult : — 
"  A  cataplasm  made  of  nutts,  with  an  onion, 
salt,  and  honey,  helpeth  the  biting  of  a  madd 
dogg."  We  should  value  this  receipt  more  than 
we  do,  if  we  could  feel  quite  certain  who  it  is  in- 
tended to  benefit ;  for  as  the  sentence  stands, 
it  appears  doubtful,  whether  the  object  be  to 
assist  dogs  in  biting,  or  patients  in  recovering. 

The  charm  receipt  is  not  a  very  difficult 
one  to  remember : — "  For  the  bite  of  a  madd 
dogg,  say  '  Lemus,  Lamus,  Remus,  Ramus, 
Oxiologe  ! '  "  It  is  to  be  presumed  that  this 
formula  must  be  uttered  before  you  are 
bitten  :  few  dogs,  we  conceive,  would  be  mad 
enough  to  bite  the  person  who  repeated  it. 

This  view  of  the  case  is  confirmed  by  what 
you  are  advised  to  do  after  the  bite  has 
actually  been  perpetrated.  "  Charme  for 
those  who  are  madd,  man  or  beast.  The 
haire  being  cutt  off,  lay  betony  to  the  mould  of 
the  head.  Then  wright  theis  words  on  a  peece 
of  cheese,  '  Antanbragon,  Tetragrammaton,' 
and  give  the  party  so  diseased."  The  art  of 
writing  on  cheese  is  one  of  the  secrets  which, 
unfortunately,  our  ancestors  have  not  handed 
down  to  us.  If  they  had  but  left  a  receipt 
for  that  also,  we  would  at  once  have  made  a 
large  investment — say  in  "  single  Gloucester" 
— and  sent  in  a  tender  to  the  Governors  of 
St.  Luke's. 

Having  made  our  patient  sane,  let  us  see 
what  the  Ayscough  MS.  recommends  to  keep 
him  so  :  "  At  such  time  as  menne  sow  beanes, 
take  a  beane,  and  put  it  into  the  harte  of  a 
black  catt,  being  reddy  rested.  Then  bury  it 
in  a  dunghill ;  and,  when,  they  be  ripe,  carry 
one  about  thee,  and  thou  shalt  never  goe 
madd." 

We  regret  to  remark,  that  in  all  these 
simple  and  easy  remedies,  there  is  always 
some  obscurity  as  to  the  manner  of  reducing 
them  to  practice.  What  we  want  to  know 
here  is,  which  is  to  be  roasted — the  bean,  or 
the  cat's  heart  ?  Roasting  beans  is  a  very 
familiar  process,  as  all  coffee-dealers  know  ; 
cats,  _too,  have  been  roasted,  as  Spanish 
novelists  assure  us — so  there  is  no  difficulty 
about  the  cookery ;  but  the  question  re- 
mains— which  ?  We  pass  over  the  pleasant 
notion  of  carrying  about  one's  person  an 
article  that  had  been  so  agreeably  inhumed, 
and  merely  observe,  that  we  think  it  impos- 
sible anybody  could  go  mad  who  adopted  this 
remedy. 

Our  ancestors  stood  crreatlv  in  fear  of  beinc:' 


poisoned  ;  and  perhaps,  in  the  days  when  a 
pair  of  perfumed  gloves  could  quietly  accom- 
plish the  poisoner's  purpose,  they  were  not  so 
far  wrong.  Here  is  a  remedy  for  a  poisoned 
wound  :  "  Take  a  toad  and  put  it  into  a  glass, 
and  stopp  it  very  close  ;  inclose  this  glass 
in  some  earthen  vessel  filled  full  with  sand, 
thereby  the  better  to  prevent  it  breaking  ;  so 
sett  it  over  the  fire  till  it  be  consumed  to 
ashes,  and  apply  them  to  the  place  wounded, 
and  it  is  a  present  remedy."  Slightly  cruel, 
as  far  as  the  toad  is  concerned  ;  but  that  is  a 
trifle. 

Let  us  try  another,  for  the  bite  of  a  scor- 
pion :  it  is  worthy  of  King  Midas  :  "  Saye  to 
an  asse,  secretly,  and  as  it  were  whispering  in 
his  eare,  '  I  am  bitten  with  a  scorpion.'  "  A 
remedy  which  gives  rise  to  such  natural 
good-fellowship  deserves  to  be  a  successful 
one. 

The  following  receipt  is  recommended  to 
young  officers  going  out  to  join  their  regi- 
ments in  the  West  Indies  :  "  If  onions  be 
eaten  raw"  (though  this  would  scarcely  be 
allowed,  if  the  regiment  was  at  all  "  crack  ")r 
"  and  strong  wine  be  drunk  frequently  after 
them,  they  are  good  against  the  biting  of 
serpents ;  and  are  good  for  them  that  are 
infected  with  poison,  and  for  such  as  have 
cold  passions." 

Amongst  the  most  annoying  disorders  of 
the  olden  time,  the  colic  was  pre-eminent. 
That  universal  specific  "punch"  had  not  then 
been  discovered,  and  our  ancestors  were 
limited  to  colder  prescriptions.  The  Ays- 
cough  MS.  says  :  "  Olde  decrepit  cockes  have 
softer  flesh  than  those  which  are  younger  -r 
and  a  pottage  thereof  is  held  good  for  the- 
colic  passion."  Nobody  would  greatly  object 
to  cock-a-leekie,  but  the  next  cure  for  the 
same  complaint  is  not  quite  so  pleasant ;  it 
suggests  the  remark,  that  the  remedy  is  worse 
than  the  disease :  "  Horse  dung,  drunk  in 
wine,  will  prevent  the  colick."  Few  persons, 
afflicted  with  the  ailment,  would,  we  lancyr 
be  inclined  to  try  the  antidote  ;  but  our  ances- 
tors were  not  the  nicest  in  their  tastes.  Many 
of  their  receipts,  though  simple,  were  com- 
prehensive. 

"  The  juice  of  pomegranates  dropped  in  the 
eyes  is  a  remedy  for  the  yellow  jaundice." 
"  If  the  feet  of  those  that  have  the  gout  be 
washed  with  the  broth  of  turnips,  it  will 
mitigate  the  pain."  Here  is  a  quaint  intima- 
tion :  ':  Asparagus  doth  mollify  the  belly 
gently."  We  should  imagine  the  next  remedy 
to  be  of  doubtful  efficacy  :  "  To  heare  well. 
Stop  up  the  eares  with  good  dry  sewet." 

Let  us  turn  from  these  plain  specifics  to  those 
which  owed  their  value  to  an  occult  influence. 
Here  is  one  for  the  headache,  only  available, 
however,  we  apprehend,  for  the  lady  of  Mr. 
Calcraft :  "  A  charme  for  the  headache.  Tie  a 
halter  about  your  head  wherewith  one  hath 
been  hanged."  Tied  a  little  lower,  it  would 
cure  net  only  the  headache,  but  all  "the 
natural  ills  that  llesh  is  heir  to."  The  next 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


['Conducted  by 


is  ii- -.-luable  for  nurses,  especially  if  they 
be  Irish  ones  :  "  A  charme  for  the  chincough. 
Take  three  sips  of  a  chalice  when  the  priest 
has  said  masse,  and  swallow  it  down  with 
good  devotion."  We  should  like  to  know 
•what  is  in  the  chalice  ? 

Agues  are  cured  in  various  ways.  The 
following  is  one  of  them  :  "  Take  a  crust  of 
bread,  and  write  these  three  words  following, 
and,  after  they  be  writ,  eate  them  ;  '  Calinda, 
caliudan,  calindant.'  "  Here  the  only  difficulty 
that  strikes  us  is  the  old  calligraphic  one. 
How  do  you  write  on  bread  1  With  a  toasting 
fork. 

We  commend  the  following  to  practitioners 
who  are  fond  of  experiments  :  "  To  release  a 
woman  in  travell.  Throwe  over  the  top  of 
the  house  where  a  woman  in  travell  lieth,  a 
stone,  or  any  other  thing,  that  hath  killed 
three  living  creatures — namely,  a  man,  a  wild- 
boare,  and  a  shee  beare."  It  would  be  so 
easy  to  get  a  stone,  or  "  any  other  thing,"  that 
had  performed  these  three  successive  feats. 

It  may  be  doubted  whether  any  of  the 
swell-mob  of  the  present  day  would  manifest 
the  proper  degree  of  emotion  caused  by  the 
application  of  the  charmed  herb,  vervain. 
"  For  theft,  touch  all  the  suspected  with  this 
herb,  and  the  theefe  shall  weepe."  Vervain  was 
a  very  cunning  simple.  In  one  particular  it 
superseded  the  art  of  old  Izaak  Walton. 
"  To  catch  fish.  Carry  vervaine  about  thee, 
and  say  '  Venitej  and  all  fishes  shall  come 
about  thee."  Perhaps,  vervain  might  help 
one  to  a  glimpse  of  the  real  sea-serpent. 

Vervain  was  also  found  a  very  useful  ally 
in  affairs  of  love  ;  but,  on  this  subject,  the 
receipt  books  of  the  middle  ages  are  eloquent. 
Listen  to  the  Ayscough  MS.,  though  it  is 
almost  dangerous  to  society  to  communicate 
such  facts  as  the  following.  However,  we 
will  venture.  "  To  see  one's  mistress.  Take 
foure  haires  of  her  hedd,  and  a  thred 
spunne  upon  a  Friday,  of  a  puer  virgin, 
and  make  a  candle  therewith  of  virgin  wax, 
four  square,  and  wright  with  the  bloud  of 
a  cocke-sparrowe  the  name  of  the  woman,  and 
light  the  caudle,  whereas  it  may  not  dropp 
upon  the  earth.  And  she  will  come  to  the 
candle."  Like  a  moth,  no  doubt.  But  there 
were  devices  more  potent  still :  "  Take  the 
tonge  of  a  sparrowe,  and  close  it  in  virgin 
wax  under  thy  upward  clothes  the  space  of 
four  Fridays,  and  keepe  it  in  thy  mouth,  sub 
lingua,  tud  ;  then  kisse  thy  love,  et  ipsa  te 
amabit"  Or  another,  more  practicable : 
"  Say  unto  a  woman  in  her  left  eare,  '  Veneto, 
melchy,  mobelcby — follow  me.  Fiat.' "  We 
should  think  so.  The  next  receipt  is  quaint 
and  pleasing  :  "  Take  a  redd  frog  and  bury 
him  in  a  hillock.  Then  take  the  bones  and 
lay  them  on  a  tile  stone  redd  hot,  till  he  lift 
over  himself  on  the  other  side.  So  let  it  lie  till 
she  is  so  likewise.  Then  make  powder  thereof, 
and  strew  them  on  her  clothes  whom  thou 
lovest,  and  she  shall  love  thee."  There  is  a 
little  confusion  of  genders  in  the  preceding, 


but  we  must  not  be  too  particular.  Here  is 
another  of  the  same  class  :  "  Take  a  batt " 
(no  easy  matter)  ;  "  let  him  bloud  with  a 
glass  or  flint,  and  with  the  bloud  wright  this 
letter,  D,  and  touch  a  man  or  woman,  and 
they  will  follow  thee.  For  triall  touch  a  dogg 
and  he  will  follow  thee." 

We  are  travelling  a  little  out  of  the  record, 
but  the  transition  from  the  material  to  the 
marvellous,  is  so  unsuspiciously  set  forth  in 
the  Ayscough  MS.  that  we  cannot  resist  a 
few  more  illustrations  of  ancestral  wisdom. 
The  following  ought  to  be  worth  something, 
especially  if  one  could  name  the  winner  of  the 
Derby  by  means  of  it : 

"A  perfume  made  of  hempseede,  and  of 
the  plea-wort  and  violette  roots,  and  parslie 
and  smallage,  niaketh  to  see  things  to  come, 
and  is  available  for  prophesie." 

A  policeman  or  a  thief,  we  beg  pardon  of 
the  former  for  the  juxtaposition,  would  find 
this  useful : 

"To  goe  invisible.  Take  a  peece  of  deal 
and  wright  thereon,  'Athatos,  Stiros,  Theon, 
Pantocraton,'  and  put  it  under  your  left 
foote."  In  your  boot,  of  course. 

The  usual  receipt  for  seeing  sights  is  to 
put  a  shilling  in  your  pocket,  but  the 
Ayscough  MS.  recommends  other  methods. 
"  To  see  strange  sights.  Make  an  oyntment 
of  the  galle  of  a  bulle  and  the  fat  of  a  henne, 
and  anoyrit  your  eyes."  Again:  "Take  ants' 
egges  and  the  bloud  of  a  whyte  henne,  and 
anoynt  your  face  therewith,  and  you  shall 
see  wonders."  Another :  "  Take  the  fatt  of 
a  black  catt  and  the  fatt  of  a  white  henne, 
and  anoynt  your  eyes,  and  you  shall  see 
marvellous  things.  If  you  would  have  any 
other  to  see  them,  let  him  set  his  foot  upon 
yours  and  he  shall  see  them." 

Cornelius  Agrippa,  a  name  held  in  great 
veneration  by  our  ancestors,  has  written  a 
great  deal  to  the  same  purpose  as  the  above. 
One  or  two  extracts  from  his  "  Occiilt 
Philosophy"  will  show  what  sort  of  wisdom 
he  encouraged  : — 

"  The  stringes  of  an  instrument  made  of 
the  gutts  of  a  wolfe,  and  being  strained  upon 
a  harp  or  lute,  with  the  stringes  made  of  a 
sheep's  gutts,  will  make  no  harmony."  Who- 
ever sang  to  the  instrument,  we  should  think, 
would  naturally  howl.  Cornelius  Agrippa 
must  have  been  fond  of  discord.  Here  is  a 
receipt  for  producing  it ;  we  recommend  it 
to  the  Protectionists,  at  the  approaching 
general  election :  "  A  stone  that  is  bit  by  a 
mad  dog,  if  it  be  put  in  drinke,  hath  power 
to  cause  discord." 

But  the  next  is,  perhaps,  the  pleasantest 
receipt  we  ever  met  with  :  "  A  cup  of  liquor 
being  made  with  the  brains  of  a  bear,  and 
druuke  out  of  the  scull,  shall  make  him  that 
drinks  it  be  as  fierce  and  as  raging  as  a  bear, 
a'nd  thinke  himself  to  be  changed  into  a  bear, 
and  judge  all  things  to  be  bears;  and  so  con- 
tinue in  that  madness,  until  the  force  of  the 
draught  shall  be  dissolved,  no  other  distemper 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GHOST-RAISER. 


83 


being  all  this  while  perceived  in  him."  The 
urso-mania  appears  to  us  to  be  distemper 
.enough  for  the  time.  We  believe  in  this 
receipt ;  for  we  have  seen  people  who  have 
taken  "a  cup  of  liquor"  too  much,  behave 
themselves  exactly  like  bears  ! 

We  wish  we  had  as  much  faith  in  the  last 
extract  we  shall  make  from  the  Ays- 
cough  MS.,  which  involves  a  secret  that  we 
understand  many  people  have  been  anxious 
to  discover  for  some  time — namely  : 

"  To  make  money  spent,  to  return.  Make 
a  purse  of  mole's  skinne  and  wright  in  it  : 
'  Belzebub,  Zetus,  Caiaphas,'  with  the  bloud 
of  a  batt.  And  lay  a  good  pennie  in  the  high 
waie,  for  the  space  of  three  days  and  three 
nights ;  and  after  put  it  in  the  purse.  And 
when  you  will  give  it,  say  '  Vade  et  vine.'  " 


THE  GHOST-RAISER. 


MY  Uncle  Beagley,  who  commenced  his 
commercial  career  very  early  in  the  present 
century  as  a  bagman,  will  tell  stories.  Among 
them,  he  tells  bis  Single  Ghost  story  so  often, 
that  I  am  heartily  tired  of  it.  In  self-defence, 
therefore,  I  publish  the  tale  in  order  that 
when  next  the  good,  kind  old  gentleman 
offers  to  bore  us  with  it,  everybody  may  say 
they  know  it.  I  remember  every  word  of  it. 

One  fine  autumn  evening,  about  forty  years 
ago,  I  was  travelling  on  horseback  from 
Shrewsbury  to  Chester.  I  felt  tolerably 
tired,  and  was  beginning  to  look  out  for  some 
snug  way-side  inn,  where  I  might  pass  the 
night,  when  a  sudden  and  violent  thunder- 
storm came  on.  My  horse,  terrified  by  the 
lightning,  fairly  took  the  bridle  between  his 
teeth,  and  started  off  with  me  at  full  gallop 
through  lanes  and  cross-roads,  until  at  length 
I  managed  to  pull  him  up  just  near  the  door 
of  a  neat-looking  country  inn. 

"  Well,"  thought  I,  "  there  was  wit  in  your 
madness,  old  boy,  since  it  brought  us  to  this 
comfortable  refuge."  And  alighting,  I  gave 
him  in  charge  to  the  stout  farmer's  boy  who 
acted  as  ostler.  The  inn-kitchen,  which  was 
also  the  guest-room,  was  large,  clean,  neat,  and 
comfortable,  very  like  the  pleasant  hostelry 
described  by  Izaak  Walton.  There  were 
several  travellers  already  in  the  room — pro- 
bably, like  myself,  driven  there  for  shelter — 
and  they  were  all  warming  themselves  by  the 
blazing  fire  while  waiting  for  supper.  I  joined 
the  party.  Presently,  being  summoned  by  the 
hostess,  we  all  sat  down,  twelve  in  number, 
to  a  smoking  repast  of  bacon  and  eggs,  corned 
beef  and  carrots,  and  stewed  hare. 

The  conversation  naturally  turned  on  the 
mishaps  occasioned  by  the  storm,  of  which 
everyone  seemed  to  have  had  his  full  share. 
One  had  been  thrown  off  his  horse  ;  another, 
driving  in  a  gig,  had  been  upset  into  a  muddy 
dyke  ;  all  had  got  a  thorough  wetting,  and 
agreed  unanimously  that  it  was  dreadful 
weather — a  regular  witches'  sabbath  ! 


"  Witches  and  ghosts  prefer  for  their  sab- 
bath a  fine  moonlight  night  to  such  weather 
as  this ! " 

These  words  were  uttered  in  a  solemn  tone, 
and  with  strange  emphasis,  by  one  of  the 
company.  He  was  a  tall  dark-looking  man, 
and  I  had  set  him  down  in  my  own  mind  as 
a  travelling  merchant  or  pedlar.  My  next 
neighbour  was  a  gay,  well-looking,  fashionably- 
dressed  young  man,  who,  bursting  into  a  peal 
of  laughter,  he  said  : 

"  You  must  know  the  manners  and  customs 
of  ghosts  very  well,  to  be  able  to  tell  that  they 
dislike  getting  wet  or  muddy." 

The  first  speaker  giving  him  a  dark  fierce 
look,  said : 

"  Young  man,  speak  not  so  lightly  of  things 
above  your  comprehension." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  imply  that  there  are  such 
things  as  ghosts  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  there  are,  if  you  had  courage  to 
look  at  them." 

The  young  man  stood  up,  flushed  with 
anger.  But  presently  resuming  his  seat,  he 
said,  calmly : 

"  That  taunt  should  cost  you  dear,  if  it  were 
not  such  a  foolish  one." 

"  A  foolish  one  !  "  exclaimed  the  merchant, 
throwing  on  the  table  a  heavy  leathern  purse. 
"  There  are  fifty  guineas.  I  am  content  to 
lose  them,  if,  before  the  hour  is  ended,  I  do 
not  succeed  in  showing  you,  who  are  so  ob- 
stinately prejudiced,  the  form  of  any  one  of 
your  deceased  friends  ;  and  if,  after  you  have 
recognised  him,  you  allow  him  to  kiss  your  lips." 

We  all  looked  at  each  other,  but  my  young 
neighbour,  still  in  the  same  mocking  manner, 
replied  : 

"•You  will  do  that,  will  you  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other — "  I  will  stake  these 
fifty  guineas,  on  condition  that  you  will  pay  a 
similar  sum,  if  you  lose." 

After  a  short  silence,  the  young  man  said, 
gaily  : 

"Fifty  guineas,  my  worthy  sorcerer,  are 
more  than  a  poor  college  sizar  ever  possessed  ; 
but  here  are  five,  which,  if  you  are  satisfied, 
I  shall  be  most  willing  to  wager." 

The  other  took  up  his  purse,  saying,  in  a 
contemptuous  tone  : 

"  Young  gentleman,  you  wish  to  draw 
back?  " 

"  /  draw  back  !  "  exclaimed  the  student. 
"  Well !  if  I  had  the  fifty  guineas,  you  should 
see  whether  I  wish  to  draw  back  !  " 

"  Here,"  said  I,  "  are  four  guineas,  which 
I  will  stake  on  your  wager." 

No  sooner  had  I  made  this  proposition  than 
the  rest  of  the  company,  attracted  by  the  singu- 
larity of  the  affair,  came  forward  to  lay  down 
their  money  ;  and  in  a  minute  or  two  the  fifty 
guineas  were  subscribed.  The  merchant  ap- 
peared so  sure  of  winning,  that  he  placed  all 
the  stakes  in  the  student's  hands,  and  pre- 
pared for  his  experiment.  We  selected  for  the 
purpose  a  small  summer-house  in  the  garden, 
perfectly  isolated,  and  having  110  means  of  exit 


84 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


but  a  window  and  a  door,  which  we  carefully 
fastened,  after  placing  the  young  man  within. 
We  put  writing  materials  on  a  small  table 
in  the  summer-house,  and  took  away  the 
candles.  We  remained  outside,  with  the 
pedlar  amongst  us.  In  a  low  solemn  voice  he 
began  to  chant  the  following  lines  : — 

"  What  riseth  slow  from  the  ocean  caves 

And  the  stormy  surf? 
The  phantom  pale  sets  his  blackened  foot 
\  Oil  the  fresh  green  turf." 

Then,  raising  his  voice  solemnly,  he  said  : 

"you  asked  to  see  your  friend,  Francis 
Villiers,  who  was  drowned,  three  years  ago,  off 
the  coast  of  South  America — what  do  you 
see?" 

"  I  see,"  replied  the  student,  "  a  white  light 
arising  near  the  window ;  but  it  has  no 
form  ;  it  is  like  an  uncertain  cloud." 

We — the  spectators — remained  profoundly 
silent. 

"  Are  you  afraid  ? "  asked  the  merchant,  in 
a  loud  voice. 

"  I  am  not,"  replied  the  student,  firmly. 

After  a  moment's  silence,  the  pedlar 
stamped  three  times  on  the  ground,  and 
sang : 

"  And  the  phantom  white,  whose  clay-cold  face 

Was  oiicc  so  fair, 
Dries  with  his  shroud  his  clinging  vest 

And  his  sea-tossed  hair." 

Once  more  the  solemn  question  : 

"You,  who  would  see  revealed  the  mys- 
teries of  the  tomb — what  do  you  see  now  1 " 

The  student  answered,  in  a  calm  voice,  but 
like  that  of  a  man  describing  things  as  they 
pass  before  him : 

"  I  see  the  cloud  taking  the  form  of  a 
phantom  ;  its  head  is  covered  with  a  long 
veil — it  stands  still  ! " 

"  Are  you  afraid  1 " 

"  I  am  not ! " 

~We  looked  at  each  other  in  horror-stricken 
silence,  while  the  merchant,  raising  his  arms 
above  his  head,  chanted,  in  a  sepulchral 
voice : 

"  And  the  phantom  said,  as  he  rose  from  the  wave, 

lie  shall  know  me  in  sooth  ! 
I  will  go  to  my  friend,  gay,  smiling,  and  fond, 

As  in  our  first  youth  !" 

"What  do  you  see  1"  said  he. 

"  I  see  the  phantom  advance ;  he  lifts  his 
veil — :tis  Francis  Villiers  !  he  approaches  the 
table — he  writes  ! — 'tis  his  signature  !" 

"  Are  you  afraid  ?" 

A  fearful  moment  of  silence  ensued  ;  then 
the  student  replied,  but  in  an  altered  voice  : 

"  I  am  not." 

With  strange  and  frantic  gestures,  the 
merchant  then  sang : 

"  And  the  phantom  said  to  the  mocking  seer, 

J  come  from  the  South  ; 
Put  thy  haud  on  my  hand — thy  heart  on  my  heart 

Thy  mouth  on  my  mouth  ! " 


"  What  do  you  see  1" 

"  He  comes — he  approaches — he  pursues 
me — he  is  stretching  out  his  arms — he  will 
have  me  !  Help  !  help  !  Save  me  !" 

"Are  you  afraid,  now?"  asked  the  mer- 
chant, in  a  mocking  voice. 

A  piercing  cry,  and  then  a  stifled  groan, 
were  the  only  reply  to  this  terrible  question. 

"  Help  that  rash  youth  ! "  said  the  mer- 
chant, bitterly.  "  I  have,  I  think,  won  the 
wager  ;  but  it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  have  given 
him  a  lesson.  Let  him  keep  his  money,  and 
be  wiser  for  the  future." 

He  walked  rapidly  away.  We  opened  the 
door  of  the  summer-house,  and  found  the 
student  in  convulsions.  A  paper,  signed  with 
the  name  "  Francis  Villiers,"  was  on  the  table. 
A  a  soon  as  the  student's  senses  were  restored, 
he  asked  vehemently  where  was  the  vile  sor- 
cerer who  had  subjected  him  to  such  a 
horrible  ordeal  —  he  would  kill  him  !  He 
sought  him  throughout  the  inn  in  vain  ;  then, 
with  the  speed  of  a  madman,  he  dashed  off 
across  the  fields  in  pursuit  of  him — and  we 
never  saw  either  of  them  again.  That,  chil- 
dren, is  my  Ghost  Story  ! 

"  And  how  is  it,  Uncle,  that  after  that,  you 
don't  believe  in  ghosts  1 "  said  I,  the  first 
time  I  heard  it. 

"  Because,  my  boy,"  replied  my  Uncle, 
"  neither  the  student  nor  the  merchant  ever 
returned  ;  and  the  forty-five  guineas,  belong- 
ing to  me  and  the  other  travellers,  continued 
equally  invisible.  Those  two  swindlers  carried 
them  off,  after  having  acted  a  farce,  which  we, 
like  ninnies,  believed  to  be  real." 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  FOR  WIVES. 


WE  have  a  good  deal  of  sympathy  with 
persons — and  they  are  many — who  look  with 
regret  on  the  women  employed  in  factories. 
It  is,  undeniably,  a  sad  sight  to  see  women, 
young  and  middle-aged,  come  pouring  out  of 
workrooms  into  the  street,  at  meal-times — 
some  dirty,  some  fine,  some  in  an  anxious 
hurry  to  get  home  to  their  children,  some 
disposed  rather  to  romp  and  talk  and  to  laugh 
loud  in  the  hearing  of  the  citizens.  It  is  a 
dreary  thought — how  few  of  them  can  make 
bread  or  boil  a  potato  properly  ;  how  few  can 
make  a  shirt,  or  mend  a  gown ;  how  few  can 
carry  an  intelligent  and  informed  mind  to 
their  own  firesides,  and  amuse  their  children 
with  knowledge,  and  satisfy  their  husbands 
with  sympathy. 

Again,  we  agree  largely  with  another  set 
of  observers,  who  point  out  that  many  pro- 
cesses of  manufacture  seem  to  demand  the 
handiwork  of  women,  and  that  it  is  fair 
and  right  that  employments  should  be 
opened  to  them,  in  an  age  when  the  position 
of  women  is  rapidly  altering.  There  are 
more  people,  in  proportion  to  employments, 
than  there  used  to  be  ;  and  there  is  les.s 
marriage.  Very  large  numbers  of  women 
must,  in  our  day,  earn  their  own  main- 


Charles  DickenB.] 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  FOE  WIVES. 


tenance  :  and,  this  being  the  case,  it  is. clearly 
fair  and  right — even  necessary — that  whatever 
women  can  do  well,  they  should  be  encouraged 
to  do.  Accordingly,  we  are  sorry  when  we 
find  the  men  in  a  rather  small  manufacturing 
town  tyrannising  over  the  women,  so  as  to 
prevent  their  undertaking  work  that  can  be 
pursued  at  home,  while  the  baby  is  asleep  in 
the  cradle,  and  the  stew  is  simmering  on  the 
fire  :  and  we  find  it  a  pleasant  thing  to  see, 
in  a  very  lai-ge  manufacturing  town,  lofty 
and  well-lighted  rooms  filled  with  women, 
busy  at  their  work  of  burnishing,  stamping, 
and  punching,  painting,  or  varnishing,  or 
making  up  packets  of  goods.  It  is  pleasant 
to  think  that  of  these  some  may  be  sup- 
porting aged  parents ;  others  earning  an 
education  for  their  children,  or  maintenance 
for  a  sick  husband  ;  and  all,  probably,  an 
honourable  subsistence  for  themselves.  We 
see  that  much  may  be  said  on  both  sides  of 
the  question  of  female  factory  work.  And  the 
more  we  see  this,  the  stronger  is  our  sym- 
pathy with  certain  other  observers — as  yet 
sadly  few — who,  accepting  female  factory 
labour  as  an  established  fact,  are  hastening  to 
remedy  as  much  as  they  can  of  the  evils 
which  hang  about  it. 

Four  years  and  a  half  since  the  first  Evening 
School  for  Women  was  opened  at  Birmingham. 
It  was  planned  and  opened  and  has  been  con- 
ducted by  ladies,  who  did  not  lose  time  in 
arguing  whether  it  was  a  good  or  a  bad  thing 
that  women  should  be  employed  in  manu- 
factures, but  offered  means  of  improvement 
in  mind  and  in  ways  to  such  as  were  so 
employed.  They  offered  at  once  to  teach 
reading,  writing,  arithmetic  ;  sewing — in- 
cluding the  cutting  out  and  mending  of 
clothes  ;  and  to  give  instruction  in  the  con- 
tents of  the  Bible,  and  of  the  other  great 
book — the  world  we  live  in — as  far  as  means 
would  allo\v.  They  hoped,  and  still  hope 
and  intend,  to  teach  the  most  important  of 
the  domestic  arts  of  life — and  first,  Cookery. 
In  time,  vocal  music,  and  other  softening 
and  sweetening  arts,  may  be  attempted. 
Time  will  show  that.  Meanwhile,  time  has 
shown  that  good  has  been  done,  which  ought 
to  be  made  known  for  other  reasons  than  the 
pleasure  of  it  ;  that  such  things  may  be  done 
elsewhere. 

It  may  not  be  seen,  at  a  glance,  what  an 
undertaking  this  was.  Everybody  may  not 
know  what  factory  women — some  factory 
women,  at  least — are.  They  are  women,  and 
not  children,  in  the  first  place.  The  class  con- 
templated had  grown  up  in  ignorance  ;  they 
had  not  lived  among  home  influences,  but  in 
the  rough  independence  of  factory  life.  Their 
prejudices  were  in  proportion  to  their  igno- 
rance ;  and  their  pride  was  in  proportion  to 
their  ignorance,  prejudices,  age,  habits,  and 
class  jealousy,  all  together.  Some  who  knew 
of  the  scheme  prophesied  that  no  woman 
would  come  :  others,  that  they  would  be  too 
disreputable  to  be  kept  in  order,  but  by 


policemen :  others,  again,  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  teach  them,  if  they  did  come, 
and  that  there  would  be  an  incessant  change 
of  scholars.  These  prophecies  were  so  many 
warnings  to  the  ladies  what  to  anticipate, 
and  how  to  act.  They  would  ask  no  questions 
about  character,  nor  look  to  see  who  had 
wedding-rings,  and  who  had  none.  What 
they  ottered  was  knowledge ;  and  every 
woman  who  came  for  knowledge  should  be 
welcome  to  it,  as  long  as  she  pursued  her 
object  decently  and  quietly.  They  would 
admit  no  policeman — no  man  whatever, 
happen  what  might.  They  would  stand  or 
fall  by  their  object  of  making  this  a  woman's 
affair  altogether.  They  would  be  careful, 
above  everything,  to  treat  every  person  within 
the  walls  with  the  respect  due  to  woman- 
hood, under  any  provocation  whate\rer.  They 
reminded  each  other  of  the  vast  difference — 
now  to  be  first  practically  experienced — 
between  the  manners  in  which  they  had  been 
reared,  and  those  which  were  habitual  with 
their  pupils ;  that  offensive  things  would  be 
said  and  done  which  must  pass  unnoticed, 
while  there  was  a  possibility  of  no  offence 
being  meant.  It  would  be  hard  to  under- 
stand and  remember  this  sometimes  ;  but  it 
must  be  understood  and  remembered.  As  to 
whether  the  women  would  come  for  instruc- 
tion, that  was  a  thing  to  be  ascertained  by 
experiment, — and  not  otherwise.  The  ex- 
periment was  tried. 

The  history  of  the  beginning  of  this  enter- 
prise reminds  one  of  the  excellent  Wilder- 
spin's  account  of  the  opening  of  the  first  Infant 
School.  He  and  his  wife,  supported  by  the 
promoters  of  the  scheme,  agreed,  after  much 
hesitation,  to  try  what  they  could  do  with  a 
schoolful  of  infants.  They  dreaded  the  day  ; 
and  they  found  it  truly  dreadful.  When  the 
mothers  were  gone,  it  was  arduous  work  to 
keep  the  little  things  entertained  and  beguiled 
at  all.  At  last,  one  child  cried  aloud ;  two 
or  three  more  caught  up  the  lamentation, 
which  spread,  by  infection,  till  every  infant  of 
the  whole  crowd  (we  forget  how  many  there 
were)  was  roaring  as  loud  as  it  could  roar. 
After  vain  attempts  to  pacify  them,  in  utter 
despair  about  the  children,  and  horror  at  the 
effect  upon  the  whole  neighbourhood,  the 
worthy  couple  rushed  from  the  school-room 
into  the  next  chamber,  when  the  wife  sank  in 
tears  upon  the  bed.  Her  husband  was  no  less 
wretched  :  this  din  of  woe  was  maddening; 
something  must  be  done — but  what  1  In  the 
freakishness  of  despair,  he  seized  a  pole, 
and  put  on  the  top  of  it  a  cap  of  his  wife's 
which  was  drying  from  the  wash-tub.  He 
rushed  back  into  the  school-room,  waving  his 
new  apparatus  of  instruction — giving,  as  he 
found,  his  first  lesson  on  Objects.  The  effect 
which  ensued  was  his  lesson.  In  a  minute 
not  a  child  was  crying.  All  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  cap  ;  all  tears  stood  still  and  dried 
up  on  all  cheeks.  The  wife  now  joined 
him ;  and  they  kept  the  children  amused,  and 


86 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  neighbours  from  storming  the  doors,  till 
the  clock  struck  twelve.  A  momentary  joy 
entered  the  hearts  of  the  Wilderspins  at  the 
sound  ;  but  it  died  away  as  they  sank  down 
exhausted,  and  asked  each  other,  with  faces 
of  dismay,  whether  they  were  to  go  through 
this  again  in  the  afternoon,  and  every  day. 

For  something  as  bad  as  this,  though  of  a 
different  kind,  did  the  little  band  of  Birming- 
ham ladies  pi-epare  themselves.  Almost  with- 
out means,  they  began  one  evening  in  Sep- 
tember, 1847.  A  room  was  kindly  lent  them 
by  a  merchant.  The  counter  was  their  table, 
and  for  seats  they  had  packing-cases  covered 
with  meal-sacks.  Much  time  must  be  lost 
at  the  beginning  and  end  of  each  evening, 
from  the  necessity  of  putting  away  every- 
thing, and  leaving  the  room  as  they  found 
it,  for  the  daily  use  of  the  workmen.  But 
to  have  any  room  at  all  was  something. 
Thirty-six  women  appeared  the  first  night, 
all  unused  to  be  taught,  and  the  teachers  were 
no  more  familiar  with  the  sort  of  teaching 
they  had  undertaken  to  give.  The  first  thing 
done  was  writing  down  their  names,  and  their 
reasons  for  wishing  to  learn  this  and  that. 
The  eagerness  to  learn  to  write  was  the  most 
remarkable  indication  that  night ;  as,  perhaps, 
it  has  remained  since.  One  young  woman 
undertook  to  give  reasons  for  another's  wish 
to  learn.  "  Hur  wants  to  write  to  hur  chap." 
The  "  chap  "  was  gone  "  to  Australia  ;  "  how 
and  why  there  was  no  occasion  to  inquire. 
There  were  plenty  of  reasons  for  others  having 
the  same  wish  ;  and  there  is  something  strange 
and  very  impressive,  to  this  day,  in  the 
patience  with  which  these  women  sit  at  their 
pot-hook  making — sometimes  in  the  know- 
ledge of  what  they  are  undertaking,  and 
sometimes  in  simple  faith  that  they  are  going 
through  a  necessary  process.  One  woman 
made  0  s  in  her  copy-book  for  weeks ;  and 
then  being  set  to  join  on  an  I,  was  delighted 
to  find  that  she  had  made  a  d,  and  could 
write  the  first  letter  of  her  own  name.  Some 
are  less  humble ;  and  there  is  more  conceit 
about  the  reading  than  about  writing.  One 
woman  complained  that  she  was  treated 
like  a  child,  in  having  to  learn  o,  x,  ox,  and  in 
being  asked  what  it  meant ;  "  as  if,"  said  she, 
"  everybody  didn't  know  that  a  hox  is  a 
cow ! "  Owing  to  a  curious  local  circum- 
stance, writing  is  remarkably  difficult  to  one 
class  of  the  scholars — those  who  polish  papier- 
mficho  articles  by  hand.  The  palm  must  be 
kept  perfectly  smooth ;  and,  in  the  act  of 
constantly  preserving  it  from  contact  with 
whatever  would  roughen  it,  the  fingers  be- 
come stiff,  and  of  an  unusual  form,  which, 
though  favourable  to  the  use  of  the  needle,  is 
much  otherwise  to  that  of  the  pen.  Yet  the 
learners  stick  to  their  writing,  as  if  nothing 
could  discourage  them. 

Of  the  thirty-six  who  first  presented  them- 
selves, many  were  married  and  had  families  ; 
yet  there  were  only  three — and  they  were 
dress-makers — who  could  cut  out  or  fix  any 


one  article  of  their  own  clothing.  About 
three-fifths  did  not  know  how  to  hem  or 
seam,  when  the  prepared  work  was  put  into 
their  hands.  It  must  be  understood,  too, 
that  many  declare  and  believe  themselves 
able  to  sew  who  cannot  do  it  passably.  One 
woman  was  surprised  at  being  asked  to  hem 
a  sleeve  ;  a  thing  which  she  made  very  light 
of.  The  sleeve  was  presented  in  five  minutes 
— finished.  At  a  single  pull,  the  thread  came 
out  from  end  to  end,  and  she  was  shown  how 
to  do  it  properly ;  when  she  was  more  sur- 
prised than  ever  to  find  that  her  work  was 
unfinished  when  school  was  over.  It  is  still 
difficult  to  induce  them  to  learn  what  is  most 
important  in  the  sewing  way.  They  will  not 
bring  clothes  to  mend  ;  and  they  prefer 
making  gowns  to  all  humbler  work.  A 
variety  of  work  is  provided  through  the  help 
of  a  benevolent  draper,  who  gives  his  contri- 
bution to  the  school  in  the  form  of  whole 
pieces,  "at  the  lowest  cost  price,  of  calico, 
flannel,  prints,  &c.  The  garments  cut  out 
and  made,  for  instruction,  at  the  school,  are 
bought  by  the  women  at  the  cost  of  the 
material  ;  and  this  may  tend  to  strengthen 
the  disinclination  to  bring  mending  work 
from  home.  There  can  be  no  question  of  the 
good  done  by  the  sewing  lessons  ;  of  the 
pride  and  comfort  introduced  at  home  by 
somebody  there  being  dressed  in  clothes  of 
the  wife's  or  sister's  "  own  making  ;  "  and  it 
may  be  hoped  that  the  same  happy  conse- 
quences may  follow  from  the  instruction  in 
cookery,  whenever  the  kitchen  is  opened ; 
though  the  women  are  as  certain  that  they 
can  cook  as  they  ever  were  that  they  could 
sew. 

Poor  things  !  Penalties  do  visit  them, 
from  their  ignorance  of  household  business, 
which  might  open  their  eyes  to  their  own 
position,  one  would  think.  What  a  story  we 
heard,  the  other  day,  of  a  first  matrimonial 
quarrel  !  A  young  .  couple  married  on  a 
Tuesday,  all  love  and  gaiety.  On  the  next 
Sunday,  the  bridegroom  was  to  be  introduced 
to  his  wife's  family.  The  bride  was  so 
anxious  that  he  should  look  his  best,  that  she 
spent  all  Friday  and  Saturday  (to  the  neglect 
of  her  own  finery)  in  making  ready  his  one 
white  shirt  (his  weekly  wear  being  check). 
She  learned  that  starched  cambric  fronts  were 
"  all  the  go,"  so  she  starched  and  starched 
away,  and  finished  late  on  Saturday  night — 
tired  and  happy.  On  Sunday  morning,  her 
husband  found  his  shirt  starched  all  over, 
stiff  enough  to  stand  alone ;  and,  of  course, 
unwearable.  He  cursed  her  for  a  good-for- 
nothing  slattern  ;  terrified  her  with  oaths  ; 
and  so  was  broken  up,  thus  early,  their  matri- 
monial peace.  Neither  of  them  knew  how  to 
get  the  starch  out  again  ;  and  this  did  not 
mend  the  matter.  This  is  but  one  case  in  a 
million.  Young  men  see  girls — very  respect- 
able, steady  workers — with  coral  necklaces, 
neat  hair,  well  braided,  and  with  some  pretty 
net  or  tie  upon  it,  gowns  well  made,  and,  on 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  NEW  SCHOOL  FOE  WIVES. 


Sundays,  a  handsome  shawl.  They  marry 
these  girls  ;  find  that  the  shawl  is  at  the  pawn- 
broker's all  the  week,  and  redeemed  every 
Saturday  night ;  that  the  gown  is  made  by  the 
dress-maker  ;  that  the  head-dress  is  bought  ; 
that  all  the  other  clothes  are  mean  and 
slatternly ;  that  the  wife  cannot  make  bread  ; 
that  the  broth  she  attempts  to  make  is  bits  of 
hard  meat  and  vegetables  floating  in  warm 
water,  probably  smoked ;  and  that  her  idea 
of  comfort  is  warm  new  bread,  and  an  ex- 
pensive dish  of  ham  from  the  huckster's  ;  and 
that  she  cannot  keep  accounts. 

These  are  terrible  discoveries ;  and,  as 
children  come  into  the  world,  the  chances  of 
family  peace  are  not  improved.  It  is  surely 
worth  some  trouble,  and  some  exercise  of 
courage,  to  improve  these  chances  ;  and  this  is 
why  a  few  ladies — some  of  them  governesses, 
who  toil  all  day  and  every  day  with  other 
pupils — brave  dark  nights,  and  pelting  rain, 
and  frost  and  thaw,  to  make  some  hundred 
women  and  girls  somewhat  more  fit  to  be  wives 
and  mothers  than  they  have  hitherto  been. 

It  has  required  no  little  courage.  Prepared 
as  they  were  for  rude  manners,  the  ladies  did 
not  know  what  accidents  might  happen  ;  and 
certainly  they  did  not  dream  of  being  left  in 
the  dark,  with  a  set  of  noisy  women.  This 
happened,  however,  one  evening,  early  in  the 
experiment.  The  men  outside  put  out  the 
gas,  leaving  only  the  glimmer  of  the  fire 
within  ;  and  the  scholars  responded  to  the 
joke  with  loud  and  coarse  mirth.  The  teachers 
kept  their  nerve.  One  went  out  to  keep  off 
the  police  ;  candles  were  procured  ;  and  soon, 
by  firmness,  good-humour,  and  patience,  quiet- 
ness was  restored.  On  one  occasion,  the 
young  minister's  wife  who  chiefly  originated 
this  school,  climbed  the  counter,  as  the  only 
way  of  making  herself  seen  ;  clapped  her 
hands  to  make  herself  heard,  and  gave  a 
lesson  on  order  and  quietness.  No  such  ap- 
peals are  necessary  now.  It  was  found  that 
the  workmen  left  their  work  half  an  hour 
earlier,  that  they  might  fall  in  with  the 
women  as  they  left  school.  By  arrangement, 
the  men  were  kept  to  their  work  till  the 
proper  time,  that  the  women  might  get  home. 
These  things  are  remembered  as  difficulties 
long  past  ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  future  enter- 
prises, they  should  not  be  forgotten.  It  is 
difficult  now  to  believe  that  such  things  could 
have  been  ;  so  earnestly  as  the  scholars  knit 
their  brows  over  their  sums,  and  gaze  at  their 
teacher,  as  she  expounds  their  Bible  lesson. 
For  the  most  part,  the  individuals  are  not 
the  same  ;  but  some  are.  For  the  first  two 
months  there  were  many  changes.  Those 
who  were  too  proud  to  spell  o,  x,  ox,  went 
away  ;  and  so  did  some  who  disliked  the 
order  and  quietness.  The  husband  of  one  of 
the  ladies  feared  that  the  change  was  greater 
than  it  was.  On  one  occasion  (not  the  regular 
school  evening,  when  none  but  ladies  attend) 
he  told  his  wife  that  what  he  feared  was 
happening  ;  that  the  class  most  in  need  of 


help  were  falling  away,  and  a  higher  one 
coming  in.  She  asked  him  to  point  out  some 
of  this  higher  order.  The  first  he  indicated 
had  been  one  of  the  attendants  on  the  open- 
ing night,  and  ever  since.  It  was  the  im- 
proved respectability  that  had  misled  him. 

In  half-a-year,  there  was  more  convenience, 
and  a  saving  of  time,  by  the  kindness  of  the 
Messrs.  Osier,  who  lent  a  room,  furnished 
with  benches  and  desks  ;  and  here  the  work 
went  on  till  the  room  was  wanted  for  the 
Crystal  Fountain.  The  school-rooms  belong- 
ing to  a  neighbouring  Chapel  are  now  the 
place  of  meeting  for  the  original  school,  three 
evenings  in  the  week ;  while  another  is 
opened  elsewhere.  More  are  to  follow.  There 
is  a  paid  superintendent,  and  one  paid  teacher 
besides  ;  and  it  would  be  well  if  there  were 
more.  As  the  experienced  observe,  "  volun- 
tary teaching  is  a  broken  staff  to  lean  upon." 
The  paid  teachers  will,  of  course,  be  persons 
who  can  undertake  to  be  always  present, — • 
which  is  more  than  most  ladies,  however 
well-disposed,  can  answer  for.  It  is  of  the 
utmost  consequence  to  the  scholars  to  know 
that  at  least  one  person  in  authority  will  be 
regularly  at  her  post.  The  irregularity  of 
the  voluntary  visitors  (from  circumstances  of 
domestic  engagements,  health,  weather,  &c., 
if  there  were  no  unsteadiness  of  purpose,)  is 
a  serious  evil  at  best ;  and  it  would  be  fatal 
if  the  attendance  of  one,  two,  or  more  teachers 
were  not  absolutely  secured.  It  has  happened 
that  the  superintendent,  when  prepared  to 
meet  her  own  class,  has  found  herself  charged 
with  the  management  of  thirty,  or  even  forty, 
women,  whose  teachers  have  not  appeared. 
Considering  that  the  most  irregular  of  the 
visitors  are  those  who  come,  at  times,  the 
most  smartly  dressed, — thus  doing  mischief 
by  their  mere  appearance  when  they  do  come, 
it  is  much  to  be  wished  that,  in  all  such 
schools,  there  may  be  funds  to  afford  the 
engagement  of  educated  ladies, — governesses, 
whose  hearts  are  in  their  work, — who  under- 
stand the  peculiarities  of  the  case,  and  can 
make  the  best  use  of  them. 

As  to  the  matter  of  dress.  There  can  be 
nothing  but  good  in  telling  the  plain  fact, 
that  the  most  earnest  and  devoted  of  the 
ladies  have  found  it  their  duty  to  wear  no 
stays,  in  order  to  add  the  force  of  example  to 
their  efforts  to  save  the  young  women  who 
are  killing  themselves  with  tight-lacing.  One 
poor  scholar  died,  almost  suddenly,  from  tight- 
lacing  alone.  Another  was,  presently  after, 
so  ill,  from  the  same  abuse,  that  she  could  do 
nothing.  A  third  could  not  stoop  to  her 
desk,  and  had  to  sit  at  a  higher  one,  which 
suited  the  requirements  of  her  self-imposed 
pillory.  In  overlooking  those  who  were 
writing,  we  were  struck  by  the  short-breath- 
ing of  several  of  them.  We  asked  what  their 
employments  were,  supposing  them  to  be  of 
some  pernicious  nature.  It  was  not  so  :  all 
were  cases  of  evident  tight-lacing.  The  ugly 
walling-up  of  the  figure  is  a  painful  contrast 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


to  the  supple  grace  of  some  of  the  teachers.  |  between  them  ?     They  are  sisters  ;  workers 
The  girls  see  this  grace,  but  will  not  believe,  |  at  the  steel-pen  manufactory.     The  younger, 


O  CT  7 

till  convinced  by  the  feel,  that  there  are  no 
stays  to  account  for  it. 

"  And  what  hare  you  got  on  1 "  said  one  of 
the  ladies,  feeling   in  like   manner.     "  Why, 


you  are  perfectlv  walled-up. 
bear  it  1 " 


liow  can  you 


'•  Why,"  answered  the  girl,  "I  have  got 
only  six-and-twenty  whalebones." 

The  lady  obtained  some  anatomical  plates, 
and  foi'med  a  class  of  the  older  women,  apart 
from  the  rest,  to  whom  she  displayed  the 
consequences,  in  full,  of  this  fatal  practice. 
At  the  moment,  they  appear  to  disbelieve  the 
facts  ;  but  a  little  time  shows  that  they  have 
taken  the  alarm  : — to  what  extent,  the  dress 


of  their   daughters, 
probably  indicate. 


as  they  grow  up,  will 


The  number  on  the  books  of  this  school  is 
about  one  hundred  ;  the  average  attendance 
is  about  fifty.  The  eagerness  to  attend  is 
remarkable  ;  and  the  dread  of  losing  their 
place  through  non-attendance  is  testified  in 
the  strongest  ways.  Many  are  detained  late 
at  their  work  on  Friday  evenings  ;  but  they 
come,  if  only  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  or 
if  prevented,  perhaps  send  a  supplicating 
note  that  their  place  may  not  be  filled  up. 
Some  few,  who  work  in  over-heated  rooms  all 
day,  really  cannot  give  their  minds  to  study 
at  night.  These  may  be  expected  to  go  off 
to  parties  and  balls  at  the  public-houses ; 
and  the  younger  ones,  perhaps,  to  take 
dancing  lessons  at  such  houses,  at  half-a- 
crown  a-quarter,  instead  of  what  they  can 
get  at  these  schools  for  thirteen-pence,  and  a 
penny  for  the  copybook.  But  there  is  one 
woman  who,  too  weary  to  learn  imich,  conies 
for  the  solace  of  seeing  cheerful  faces  in  a 
warm,  bright  room.  She  toils  to  support  a 
sick  husband,  whom  she  is  always  nursing, 
when  not  earning  his  bread.  She  is  welcome 
here  ;  and  she  must  hear  many  things  interest- 
ing and  amusing  to  her  mind.  The  eagerness 
to  learn  is  beyond  description — not  only  the 


herself  not  young,  is  teaching  the  elder  to 
read, — the  one.  patient,  the  other  humble, 
over  the  syllables  they  have  arrived  at  : — • 
both  much  too  earnest  to  be  ashamed.  It  is 
a  pretty  sight. 

The  oddity  about  the  arithmetic  is,  that 
the  scholars  have  to  admit  two  sorts,  or  to 
unlearn  one.  They  have  a  good  deal  of 
reckoning  to  do  every  day, — most  of  them. 
They  reckon  their  work  by  "  grosses  ;"  and 
they  are  quick  in  calculating  their  wages  : 
but  all  the  slower  are  they  for  this  in  doing 
sums  on  the  slate.  That  beautiful  girl,  who 
makes  a  perpetual  tat-tat  on  her  slate,  has 
to  multiply  four  figures  by  nine.  By  the 
long  rows  of  little  strokes,  we  imagine  that 
she  has  made  nine  marks  many  times  over, 
and  that  she  proposes  to  count  them.  She 
will  thus  learn,  at  all  events,  the  convenience 
of  the  multiplication  table.  And  so  will  that 
other, — untidy  but  absorbed, — who  is  counting 
her  fingers,  from  one  five  minutes  to  another, 
with  many  a  knitting  of  the  brows,  and  many 
a  sigh  the  while.  They  do  learn  arithmetic 
to  some  purpose  :  and  they  learn  some- 
thing else  by  means  of  it : — nothing  less  than 
that  it  answers  better  to  some  of  them  to  stay 
at  home  and  keep  house,  than  to  earn  wages 
in  the  manufactory.  Some  of  the  hucksters, 
from  whom  household  articles  are  bought, 
are  themselves  very  ill-educated  ;  and  it  may 
often  happen  that,  without  any  evil  intention, 
they  may  set  down  a  penny  in  the  shilling 
column  of  their  books,  and  so  on.  With 
great  satisfaction,  a  wife  here  and  there  now 
finds  herself  able  to  check  such  mistakes. 
When,  added  to  this,  she  has  become  a 
reasonable  thinker  and  planner,  can  under- 
stand her  business, — can  make  and  mend, 
and  buy  and  economise,  and  suit  her  ways  to 
her  means ;  she  may  easily  find  that  it 
answers  better,  as  regards  mere  money,  to 
stay  at  home,  than  to  work  at  the  factory. 
The  great  truth  will  be  more  evident  still 


preliminaries  of  reading  and  writing,  but  the  j  when  the  kitchen  is  opened,  and  the  world 
facts  of  the  world.    "  What  is  this  1 "    "  What   of  economy  and  comfort  belonging  to   that 


is  that  I  "  "  Tell  us  this  ;"  "  Tell  us  that,"  is 
for  ever  the  cry,  on  the  discovery  that  they 
are  ignorant  of  the  commonest  things  that 
are  before  their  eyes ; — on  the  belief,  too,  that 
their  teachers  know  everything.  What  a 
change  from  the  days  when  they  were  saucy 
and  rude,  in  their  inability  to  conceive  of  their 
being  treated  with  respect  and  politeness  by 
ladies,  whom  they  had  supposed  to  be,  some- 
how, "  against"  them  !  While  one  class  is 
fixed  in  attention  to  the  superintendent,  their 
eyes  moving  only  from  their  Bibles  to  her 
face,  and  from  her  face  to  their  Bibles  ;  while 


department  is  revealed  to  minds  at  present 
wholly  dark  in  regard  to  it.  The  women 
think  they  can  cook,  as  before  they  thought 
they  could  reckon  and  could  sew.  They  will 
soon  see. 

Here,  then,  we  find  ourselves  brought 
round,  through  our  sympathy  with  one  order 
of  observers,  into  sympathy  with  the  other  two. 
We  see  what  the  demand  for  female  workers 
is,  and  how  it  has  sprung  up  ;  and,  when 
we  learn  that,  owing  to  this  demand,  women's 
wages  have  risen  of  late  twenty  per  cent.,  we 
are  not  disposed  to  try  to  counteract  the 


more    presently)    in    the    arithmetic   class  ; 
while  a  dozen  more  are  writing  at  the  desks 
with   an    earnestness   perfectly   desperate,  — 
who   are   those   two  —  the  pair   sitting   with 
their  backs  to  the  rest,  and  holding  a  book 

Again,  we  share  the  recoil  with  which  others 
see  young  girls  trooping  through  the  streets 
to   the   factories,   and    wives    locking    their 
doors,  —  every   morning  turning   their   backs 
upon   their  homes.      And  now,  we   have  a 

Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOEY  OF  ENGLAND. 


89 


•ht  to  claim  the  sympathy  of  both,  in  regard   and  brightest  of  all  the  glittering  company 

there,   and   had  the  honor    of  carrying   the 


to  this  new  movement,  by  which,  without 
the  slightest  interference  Avith  the  rights  of 
labour,  or  with  the  liberty  of  a  single  indi- 
vidual, women  are  led  back  to  their  own 
homes,  and  the  good  old-fashioned  seat  by 
their  own  firesides.  After  sympathy,  or  with 
it,  comes  help.  Those  who  think  well  of  what 
has  been  done,  should,  and  will,  go  and  do 
the  same  thing.  There  should,  and  will,  be 
more  evening  schools  for  women  employed  in 
manufactures. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOEY  OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER  THE   FIFTEENTH. 

KING  Edward  the  Second,  the  first  Prince 
of  Wales,  was  twenty-three  years  old  when 
his  father  died.  There  was  a  certain  favorite 
of  his,  a  young  man  from  Gascony,  named 
PIERS  GAVESTON,  of  whom  his  father  had  so 
much  disapproved  that  he  had  ordered  him 
out  of  England,  and  had  made  his  son  swear 
by  the  side  of  his  sick-bed,  never  to  bring 
him  back.  But,  the  Prince  no  sooner  found 
himself  Kiug,  than  he  broke  his  oath,  as  so 
many  other  Princes  and  Kings  did  (they 
were  far  too  ready  to  take  oaths),  and  sent 
for  his  dear  friend  immediately. 

Now,  this  same  Gaveston  was  handsome 
enough,  but  was  a  reckless,  insolent,  auda- 
cious fellow.  He  was  detested  by  the  proud 
English  Lords  :  not  only  because  he  had  such 
power  over  the  King,  and  made  the  Court 
such  a  dissipated  place,  but,  also,  because  he 
could  ride  better  than  they  at  tournaments, 
and  was  used,  in  his  impudence,  to  cut  very 
bad  jokes  on  them ;  calling  one,  the  old  hog  ; 
another,  the  stage-player  ;  another,  the  Jew  ; 
another,  the  black  dog  of  Ardenne.  This 
was  as  poor  wit  as  need  be,  but  it  made  those 
Lords  very  wroth ;  and  the  surly  Earl  of 
Warwick,  who  was  the  black  dog,  swore  that 
the  time  should  come  when  Piers  Gaveston 
should  feel  the  black  dog's  teeth. 

It  was  not  come  yet,  however,  nor  did  it 
seem  to  be  coming.  The  King  made  him 
Earl  of  Cornwall,  and  gave  him  vast  riches ; 
and,  when  the  King  went  over  to  France  to 
marry  the  French  Princess  ISABELLA,  daughter 
of  PHILIP  LE  BEL  :  who  was  said  to  be  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world :  he  made 
Gaveston,  Eegent  of  the  Kingdom.  His 
splendid  marriage-ceremony  in  the  Church 
of  Our  Lady  at  Boulogne,  where  there  were 
four  Kings  and  three  Queens  present  (quite 
a  pack  of  Court  Cards,  for  I  dare  say  the 
Knaves  were  not  wanting),  being  over,  he 
seemed  to  care  little  or  nothing  for  his  beau- 
tiful wife  ;  but  was  wild  with  impatience  to 
meet  Gaveston  again. 

When  he  landed  at  home,  he  paid  no  at- 
tention to  anybody  else,  but  ran  into  the 
favorite's  arms  before  a  great  concourse  of 
people,  and  hugged  him,  and  kissed  him,  and 
called  him  his  brother.  At  the  coronation 
which  soon  followed,  Gaveston  was  the  richest 


crown.  This  made  the  proud  Lords  fiercer 
than  ever ;  the  people,  too,  despised  the 
favorite,  and  would  never  call  hirn  Earl  of 
Cornwall,  however  much  he  complained  to 
the  Kiug  and  asked  him  to  punish  them  for 
not  doing  so,  but  persisted  in  styling  him 
plain  Piers  Gaveston. 

The  Barons  were  so  unceremonious  with 
the  King  in  giving  him  to  understand  that 
they  would  not  bear  this  favorite,  that  the 
King  was  obliged  to  send  him  out  of  the 
country.  The  favorite  himself  was  made  to 
take  an  oath  (more  oaths  !)  that  he  would 
never  come  back,  and  the  Barons  supposed 
him  to  be  banished  in  disgrace,  until  they 
heard  that  he  was  appointed  Governor  of  Ire- 
land. Even  this  was  not  enough  for  the  be- 
sotted King,  who  brought  him  home  again  in 
a  year's  time,  and  not  only  disgusted  the 
Court  and  the  people  by  his  doting  folly,  but 
offended  his  beautiful  wife  too,  who  never 
liked  him  afterwards. 

He  had  now  the  old  Eoyal  want — of  money 
— and  the  Barons  had  the  new  power  of  posi- 
tively refusing  to  let  him  raise  any.  He  sum- 
moned a  Parliament  at  York  ;  the  Barons 
declined  to  make  one,  while  the  favorite  Avas 
near  him.  He  summoned  another  Parliament 
at  Westminster,  and  sent  Gaveston  away. 
Then,  the  Barons  came,  completely  armed, 
and  appointed  a  committee  of  themselves,  to 
correct  abuses  in  the  state  and  in  the  King's 
household.  He  got  some  money  on  these 
conditions,  and  directly  set  off  with  Gaveston 
to  the  Border-country,  where  they  spent  it 
in  idling  away  the  time,  and  feasting,  while 
Bruce  made  ready  to  drive  the  English  out 
of  Scotland.  For,  though  the  old  King  had 
even  made  this  poor  weak  son  of  his  swear 
(as  some  say)  that  he  would  not  bury  his 
bones,  but  would  have  them  boiled  clean  in 
a  caldron,  and  carried  before  the  English 
army  until  Scotland  was  entirely  subdued,  the 
second  Edward  was  so  unlike  the  first  that 
Bruce  gained  strength  and  power  every  day. 

The  committee  of  Nobles,  after  some 
months  of  deliberation,  ordained  that  the 
King  should  henceforth  call  a  Parliament 
together,  once  every  year,  and  even  twice  i'f 
necessary,  instead  of  summoning  it  only  when 
he  chose.  Further,  that  Gaveston  should  once 
more  be  banished,  and,  this  time,  on  pain  of 


death  if  he   ever   came 
tears  were  of  no  avail 


back.      The   King's 
he  was  obliged   to 


send  his  favorite  to  Flanders.  As  soon  as 
he  had  done  so,  however,  he  dissolved  the 
Parliament,  with  the  low  cunning  of  a  mere 
fool,  and  set  off  to  the  North  of  England, 
thinking  to  get  an  army  about  him  to  oppose 
the  Nobles.  And  once  again  he  brought 
Gaveston  home,  and  heaped  upon  him  all 
the  riches  and  titles  of  which  the  Barons 
had  deprived  him. 

The  Lords  saw,  now,  that  there  was  nothing 
for    it    but    to    put    the   favorite   to    death. 


90 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


They  could  have  done  so,  legally,  according  to 
the  terms  of  his  banishment  ;  but  they  did  so, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  in  a  shabby  and  unworthy 
manner.  Led  by  the  Earl  of  Lancaster,  the 
King's  cousin,  they  first  of  all  attacked  the 
King  and  Gaveston  at  Newcastle.  They  had 
time  to  escape  by  sea,  and  the  mean  King, 
having  his  precious  Gaveston  with  him,  was 
quite  content  to  leave  his  lovely  wife  behind. 
When  they  were  comparatively  safe,  they 
separated ;  the  King  went  to  Yoi'k  to  collect 
a  force  of  soldiers  ;  and  the  favorite  shut 
himself  up,  in  the  meantime,  in  Scarborough 
Castle  over-looking  the  sea.  This  was  what 
the  Barons  wanted.  They  knew  that  the 
Castle  could  not  hold  out ;  they  attacked  it  ; 
and  made  Gaveston  surrender.  He  delivered 
himself  up  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke — that  Lord 
whom  he  had  called  the  Jew — on  the  Earl's 
pledging  his  faith  and  knightly  word,  that  no 
harm  should  happen  to  him  and  no  violence 
be  done  him. 

Now,  it  was  agreed  with  Gaveston  that  he 
should  be  taken  to  the  Castle  of  Wallingford, 
and  there  kept  in  honorable  custody.  They 
travelled  as  far  as  Dedington,  near  Banbury, 
where,  in  the  Castle  of  that  place,  they  stopped 
for  a  night  to  rest.  Whether  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke  left  his  prisoner  there,  knowing 
what  would  happen,  or  really  left  him  think- 
ing no  harm,  and  only  going  (as  he  pretended) 
to  visit  his  wife,  the  Countess,  who  was  in  the 
neighbourhood,  is  no  great  matter  now ;  in 
any  case,  he  was  bound  as  an  honorable  gen- 
tleman to  protect  his  prisoner,  and  he  did  not 
do  it.  In  the  morning,  while  the  favorite 
was  yet  in  bed,  he  was  required  to  dress  him- 
self and  come  down  into  the  court-yard.  He 
did  so  without  any  mistrust,  but  started  and 
turned  pale  when  he  found  it  full  of  strange 
armed  men.  "  I  think  you  know  me  ? "  said 
their  leader,  also  armed  from  head  to  foot. 
"  I  am  the  black  dog  of  Ardenne  !  " 

The  time  was  come  when  Piers  Gaveston 
was  to  feel  the  black  dog's  teeth  indeed.  They 
set  him  on  a  mule,  and  carried  him,  in  mock 
state  and  with  military  music,  to  the  black 
dog's  kennel — Warwick  Castle — where  a 
hasty  council,  composed  of  some  great  noble- 
men, considered  what  should  be  done  with 
him.  Some  were  for  sparing  him,  but  one 
loud  voice — it  was  the  black  dog's  bark,  I 
dare  say — sounded  through  the  Castle  Hall, 
uttering  these  words  :  "  You  have  the  fox  in 
your  power.  Let  him  go  oiow,  and  you  must 
hunt  him  again."  They  sentenced  him  to 
death.  He  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the 
Earl  of  Lancaster — the  old  hog — but  the  old 
hog  was  as  savage  as  the  dog.  He  was 
taken  out  upon  the  pleasant  road,  leading 
from  Warwick  to  Coventry,  where  the  beau- 
tiful river  Avon,  by  which,  long  afterwards, 
WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE  was  born  and  now 
lies  buried,  sparkled  in  the  bright  landscape 
of  the  beautiful  May-day  ;  and  there  they 
struck  off  his  wretched  head,  and  stained  the 
dust  with  his  blood. 


When  the  King  heard  of  this  black  deed, 
in  his  grief  and  rage  he  denounced  relentless 
war  against  his  Barons,  and  both  sides  were 
in  arms  for  half- a- year.  But,  it  then  became 
necessary  for  them  to  join  their  forces  against 
Bruce,  who  had  used  the  time  well  while  they 
were  divided,  and  had  now  a  great  power  in 
Scotland. 

Intelligence  was  brought  that  Bruce  was 
then  besieging  Stirling  Castle,  and  that  the 
Governor  had  been  obliged  to  pledge  himself 
to  surrender  it,  unless  he  should  be  relieved 
before  a  certain  day.  Hereupon,  the  King 
ordered  the  nobles  and  their  fighting-men  to 
meet  him  at  Berwick  ;  but,  the  nobles  cared 
so  little  for  the  King,  and  so  neglected  the 
summons,  and  lost  time,  that  only  on  the  day 
before  that  appointed  for  the  surrender, 
did  the  King  find  himself  at  Stirling,  and 
even  then  with  a  smaller  force  than  he 
had  expected.  However,  he  had,  altogether, 
a  hundred  thousand  men,  and  Bruce  had  not 
more  than  forty  thousand  ;  but,  Bruce's  army 
was  strongly  posted  in  three  square  columns, 
on  the  ground  lying  between  the  Burn  or 
Brook  of  Bannock  and  the  walls  of  Stirling 
Castle.  On  the  very  evening,  when  the  King 
came  up,  Bruce  did  a  brave  act  that  en- 
couraged his .  men.  He  was  seen  by  a  cer- 
tain HENRY  DE  BOHUN,  an  English  Knight, 
riding  about  before  his  army  on  a  little  horse, 
with  a  light  battle-axe  in  his  hand,  and  a 
crown  of  gold  on  his  head.  This  English 
Knight,  who  was  mounted  on  a  strong  war- 
horse,  cased  in  steel,  strongly  armed,  and  able 
(as  he  thought)  to  overthrow  Bruce  by 
crushing  him  with  his  mere  weight,  set  spurs 
to  his  great  charger,  rode  on  him,  and  made 
a  thrust  at  him  with  his  heavy  spear.  Bruce 
parried  the  thrust,  and  with  one  blow  of  his 
battle-axe  split  his  skull. 

The  Scottish  men  did  not  forget  this,  next 
day  when  the  battle  raged.  RANDOLPH, 
Bruce's  valiant  Nephew,  rode,  with  the  small 
body  of  men  he  commanded,  into  such  a  host 
of  the  English,  all  shining  in  polished  armour 
in  the  sunlight,  that  they  seemed  to  be 
swallowed  up  and  lost,  as  if  they  had  plunged 
into  the  sea.  But,  they  fought  so  well,  and 
did  such  dreadful  execution,  that  the  English 
staggered.  Then,  came  Bruce  himself  upon 
them,  with  all  the  rest  of  his  army.  While 
they  were  thus  hard  pressed  and  amazed,  there 
appeared  upon  the  hills  what  they  supposed  to 
be  a  new  Scottish  army,  but  what  were  really 
only  the  camp  followers,  in  number  fifteen 
thousand  :  whom  Bruce  had  taught  to  shew 
themselves  at  that  place  and  time.  The  Earl 
of  Gloucester,  commanding  the  English  horse, 
made  a  last  rush  to  change  the  fortune  of  the 
day  ;  but,  Bruce  (like  Jack  the  Giant-killer  in 
the  story)  had  had  pits  dug  in  the  ground, 
and  covered  over  with  turfs  and  stakes. 
Into  these,  as  they  gave  way  beneath  the 
weight  of  the  horses,  riders  and  horses  rolled 
by  hundreds.  The  English  were  completely 
routed  ;  all  their  treasure,  stores,  and  engines, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


91 


were  taken  by  the  Scottish  men  ;  so  many 
waggons  and  other  wheeled  vehicles  were 
seized,  that  it  is  related  that  they  would  have 
reached,  if  they  had  been  drawn  out  in  a  line, 
one  hundred  and  eighty  miles.  The  fortunes 
of  Scotland  were,  for  the  time,  completely 
changed  ;  and  never  was  a  battle  won,  more 
famous  upon  Scottish  ground,  than  this  great 
battle  of  Banuockburn. 

Plague  and  famine  succeeded  in  England  ; 
and  still  the  powerless  King  and  his  dis- 
dainful Lords  were  always  in  contention. 
Some  of  the  turbulent  chiefs  of  Ireland  made 
proposals  to  Bruce,  to  accept  the  rule  of  that 
country.  He  sent  his  brother  Edward  to 
them,  who  was  crowned  King  of  Ireland.  He 
afterwards  went  himself  to  help  his  brother 
in  his  Irish  wars,  but  his  brother  was 
defeated  in  the  end  and  killed.  Eobert 
Bruce,  returning  to  Scotland,  still  increased 
his  strength  there. 

As  the  King's  ruin  had  begun  in  a  favorite, 
so  it  seemed  likely  to  end  in  one.  He  was 
too  poor  a  creature  to  rely  at  all  upon  him- 
self ;  and  his  new  favorite  was  one  HUGH  LE 
DESPENSER,  the  son  of  a  gentleman  of  an 
ancient  family.  Hugh  was  handsome  and 
brave,  but  he  was  the  favorite  of  a  weak 
King,  whom  no  man  cared  a  rush  for,  and 
that  was  a  dangerous  place  to  hold.  The 
Nobles  leagued  against  him,  because  the  King 
liked  him  ;  and  they  lay  in  wait,  both  for  his 
ruin  and  his  father's.  Now,  the  King  had 
married  him  to  the  daughter  of  the  late  Earl 
of  Gloucester,  and  had  given  both  him  and 
his  father  great  possessions  in  Wales.  In 
their  endeavours  to  extend  these,  they  gave 
violent  offence  to  an  angry  "Welsh  gentleman, 
named  JOHN  DE  MOWBRAT,  and  to  divers 
other  angry  Welsh  gentlemen,  who  resorted 
to  arms,  took  their  castles,  and  seized  their 
estates.  The  Earl  of  Lancaster  had  first 
placed  the  favorite  (who  was  a  poor  relation 
of  his  own)  at  Court,  and  he  considered  his 
own  dignity  offended  by  the  preference  he 
received  and  the  honors  he  acquired ;  so 
he,  and  the  Barons  who  were  his  friends, 
joined  the  Welshmen,  marched  on  London, 
and  sent  a  message  to  the  King  demanding 
to  have  the  favorite  and  his  father  banished. 
At  first,  the  King  unaccountably  took  it  into 
his  head  to  be  spirited,  and  to  send  them  a 
bold  reply  ;  but,  when  they  quartered  them- 
selves around  Holborn  and  Clerkenwell,  and 
went  down,  armed,  to  the  Parliament  at 
Westminster,  he  gave  way,  and  complied 
with  their  demands. 

His  turn  of  triumph  came  sooner  than  he 
expected.  It  arose  out  of  an  accidental  cir- 
cumstance. The  beautiful  Queen  happening 
to  be  travelling,  came  one  night  to  one  of  the 
royal  castles,  and  demanded  to  be  lodged  and 
entertained  there  until  morning.  The  go- 
vernor of  this  castle,  who  was  one  of  the 
enraged  lords,  was  away,  and,  in  his  absence, 
his  wife  refused  admission  to  the  Queen  ;  a 
scuffle  took  place  among  the  common  men  on 


either  side,  and  some  of  the  royal  attendants 
were  killed.  The  people,  who  cared  nothing 
for  the  King,  were  very  angry  that  their 
beautiful  Queen  should  he  thus  rudely  treated 
in  her  own  dominions  ;  and  the  King,  taking 
advantage  of  this  feeling,  besieged  the  castle, 
took  it,  and  then  recalled  the  two  Despensers 
home.  Upon  this,  the  confederate  lords  and 
the  Welshmen  went  over  to  Bruce.  The  King 
encountered  them  at  Boroughbridge,  gained 
the  victory,  and  took  a  number  of  distinguished 
prisoners ;  among  them,  the  Earl  of  Lan- 
caster, now  an  old  man,  upon  whose  de- 
struction he  was  resolved.  This  Earl  was 
taken  to  his  own  castle  of  Pontefract,  and 
there  tried  and  found  guilty  by  an  unfair 
court  appointed  for  the  purpose  ;  he  was  not 
even  allowed  to  speak  in  his  own  defence. 
He  was  insulted,  pelted,  mounted  on  a 
starved  pony  without  saddle  or  bridle,  carried 
out,  and  beheaded.  Eight-and-twenty  knights 
were  hanged,  drawn,  and  quartered.  When 
the  King  had  despatched  this  bloody  work,  and 
had  made  a  fresh  and  a  long  truce  with  Bruce, 
he  took  the  Despensers  into  greater  favor  than 
ever,  and  made  the  father  Earl  of  Winchester. 

But  one  prisoner,  and  an  important  one, 
who  was  taken  at  Boroughbridge,  made  his 
escape,  and  turned  the  tide  against  the  King. 
This  was  ROGER  MORTIMER,  always  resolutely 
opposed  to  him,  who  was  sentenced  to  death, 
and  placed  for  safe-custody  in  the  Tower  of 
London.  He  treated  his  guards  to  a  quantity 
of  wine  into  which  he  had  put  a  sleeping 
potion ;  and,  when  they  were  insensible,  broke 
out  of  his  dungeon,  got  into  a  kitchen, 
climbed  up  the  chimney,  let  himself  down 
from  the  roof  of  the  building  with  a  rope- 
ladder,  passed  the  sentries,  got  down  to  the 
river,  and  made  away  in  a  boat  to  where 
servants  and  horses  were  waiting  for  him. 
He  finally  escaped  to  France,  where  CHARLES 
LE  BEL,  the  brother  of  the  beautiful  Queen, 
was  King.  Charles  sought  to  quarrel  with 
the  King  of  England,  on  pretence  of  his 
not  having  come  to  do  him  homage  at  his 
coronation.  It  was  proposed  that  the  beau- 
tiful Queen  should  go  over  to  arrange  the 
dispute  ;  she  went,  and  wrote  home  to  the 
King,  that  as  he  was  sick  and  could  not  come 
to  France  himself,  perhaps  it  would  be  better 
to  send  over  the  young  Prince,  their  son,  who 
was  only  twelve  years  old,  who  could  do 
homage  to  her  brother  in  his  stead,  and  in 
whose  company  she  would  immediately  return. 
The  King  sent  him  :  but,  both  he  and  the 
Queen  remained  at  the  French  court,  and 
Roger  Mortimer  became  the  Queen's  lover. 

When  the  King  wrote,  again  and  again,  to 
the  Queen  to  come  home,  she  did  not  reply 
that  she  despised  him  too  much  to  live  with 
him  any  more  (which  was  the  truth),  but  said 
she  was  afraid  of  the  two  Despensers.  In  short, 
her  design  was  to  overthrow  the  favorite's 
power,  and  the  King's  powei*,  such  as  it  was, 
and  invade  England.  Having  obtained  a 
French  force  of  two  thousand  men,  and  being 


92 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


joined  by  all  the  English  exiles  then  in  France, 
she  landed,  within  a  year,  at  Orewell,  in 
Suffolk,  where  she  was  immediately  joined 
by  the  Earls  of  Kent  arid  Norfolk,  the  King's 
two  brothers  ;  by  other  powerful  noblemen  ; 
and  lastly,  by  the  first  English  general  who 
was  despatched  to  check  her  :  who,  went  over 
to  her  with  all  his  men.  The  people  of  London, 
receiving  these  tidings,  would  do  nothing  for 
the  King,  but  broke  open  the  Tower,  let  out 
all  his  prisoners,  and  threw  up  their  caps  and 
hurrahed  for  the  beautiful  Queen. 

The  King,  with  his  two  favorites,  fled  to 
Bristol,  where  he  left  old  Despenser  in  charge 
of  the  town  and  castle,  while  he  went  on  with 
the  son  to  Wales.  The  Bristol  men  being 
opposed  to  the  King,  and  it  being  impossible 
to  hold  the  town  with  enemies  everywhere 
within  the  walls,  Despenser  yielded  it  up  on 
the  third  day,  and  was  instantly  brought  to 
trial  for  having  traitorously  influenced  what 
was  called  "the  King's  mind" — though  I 
doubt  if  the  King  ever  had  any.  He  was  a 
venerable  old  man,  upwards  of  ninety  years 
of  age,  but  his  age  gained  no  respect  or 
mercy.  He  was  hanged,  torn  open  while  he 
was  yet  alive,  cut  up  into  pieces,  and  thrown 
to  the  dogs.  His  sou  was  soon  taken,  tried  at 
Hereford  before  the  same  judge  on  a  long  series 
of  foolish  charges,  found  guilty,  and  hanged 
upon  a  gallows  fifty  feet  high,  with  a  chaplet 
of  nettles  round  his  head.  His  poor  old 
father  and  he  were  innocent  enough  of  any 
worse  crimes  than  the  crime  of  having  been 
the  friends  of  a  King,  on  whom,  as  a  mere 
man,  they  Avould  never  have  deigned  to  cast 
a  favorable  look.  It  is  a  bad  crime,  I  know, 
and  leads  to  worse  ;  but,  many  lords  and 
gentlemen — I  even  think  some  ladies,  too,  if  I 
recollect  right — have  committed  it  in  England, 
who  have  neither  been  given  to  the  dogs,  nor 
hanged  up  fifty  feet  high. 

The  wretched  King  was  running  here  and 
there,  all  this  time,  and  never  getting  any- 
where in  particular,  until  he  gave  himself  up, 
and  was  taken  off  to  Kenilworth.  Castle. 
When  he  was  safely  lodged  there,  the  Queen 
went  to  London  and  met  the  Parliament.  And 
the  Bishop  of  Hereford,  who  was  the  most  skil- 
ful of  her  friends,  said,  What  was  to  be  done 
now  ?  Here  was  an  imbecile,  indolent,  mise- 
rable King  upon  the  throne  ;  wouldn't  it  be 
better  to  take  him  off,  and  put  his  son  there 
instead  1  I  don't  know  whether  the  Queen 
really  pitied  him  at  this  pass,  but  she  began 
to  cry  ;  so,  the  Bishop  said,  Well,  my  Lords 
and  Gentlemen,  what  do  you  think,  upon  the 
whole,  of  sending  down  to  Kenilworth,  and 
seeing  if  His  Majesty  (God  bless  him,  and 
forbid  we  should  depose  him !)  won't  resign  ? 

My  Lords  and  Gentlemen  thought  it  a 
good  notion,  so  a  deputation  of  them  went 
down  to  Kenilworth  ;  and  there  the  King 
came  into  the  great  hall  of  the  Castle,  com- 
monly dressed  in  a  poor  black  gown  ;  and 
when  he  saw  a  certain  bishop  among  them, 
fell  down,  poor  feeble-headed  man,  and  made 


a  wretched  spectacle  of  himself.  Somebody 
lifted  him  up,  and  then  Sin  WILLIAM  TRUSSKL, 
the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  almost 
frightened  him  to  death  by  making  him  a 
tremendous  speech,  to  the  effect  that  he  was 
no  longer  a  King,  and  that  everybody  re- 
nounced allegiance  to  him.  After  which,  SIR 
THOMAS  BLOUNT,  the  Steward  of  the  House- 
hold, nearly  finished  him,  by  coming  forward 
and  breaking  his  white  wand — which  was  a 
ceremony  only  performed  at  a  King's  death. 
Being  asked  in  this  pressing  manner  what  he 
thought  of  resigning,  the  King  said  he  thought 
it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do.  So,  he  did 
it,  and  they  proclaimed  his  son  next  day. 

I  wish  I  could  close  his  history  by  saying 
that  he  lived  a  harmless  life  in  the  Castle  and 
the  Castle  gardens  at  Keuil  worth,  many  years 
— that  he  had  a  favorite,  and  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink — and,  having  that,  wanted  nothing. 
But  he  was  shamefully  humiliated.  He  was 
outraged,  and  slighted,  and  had  dirty  water 
from  ditches  given  him  to  shave  with,  and  wept 
and  said  he  would  have  clean  warm  water,  and 
was  altogether  very  miserable.  He  was  moved 
from  this  castle  to  that  castle,  and  from  that 
castle  to  the  other  castle,  because  this  lord 
or  that  lord,  or  the  other  lord,  was  too  kind 
to  him  :  until  at  last  he  came  to  Berkeley 
Castle,  near  the  River  Severn,  where  (the 
Lord  Berkeley  being  then  ill  and  absent)  lie 
fell  into  the  hands  of  two  black  ruffians  called 
THOMAS  GOURNAY,  and  WILLIAM  OGLE.  One 
night — it  was  the  night  of  September  the 
twenty-first,  one  thousand  three  hundred  and 
twenty-seven — dreadful  screams  were  heard, 
by  the  startled  people  in  the  neighbouring 
town,  ringing  through  the  thick  walls  of  the 
Castle,  and  the  dark  deep  night  ;  and  they 
said,  as  they  were  thus  horribly  awakened 
from  their  sleep,  "  May  Heaven  be  merciful 
to  the  King  ;  for  those  cries  forbode  that  no 
good  is  being  done  to  him  in  his  dismal 
prison  !  "  Next  morning  he  was  dead — not 
bruised,  or  stabbed,  or  marked  upon  tlhe 
body,  but  much  distorted  in  the  face  ;  and  it 
was  whispered  afterwards,  that  those  two 
villains,  Gournay  and  Ogle,  had  burnt  up  his 
inside  with  a  red-hot  iron. 

If  you  ever  come  near  Gloucester,  and  see 
the  centre  t6\ver  of  its  beautiful  Cathedral, 
with  its  four  rich  pinnacles,  rising  lightly  in 
the  air ;  you  may  remember  that  the  wretched 
Edward  the  Second  was  buried  in  the  old 
abbey  of  that  ancient  city,  at  forty-three 
years  old,  after  being  for  nineteen  years  and 
a  half  a  perfectly  incapable  King. 


Kow  neady,  Price  3s.  Gil., 
THE  FIRST  VOLUME  OF 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

To  Tie  completed  in  three  Volumes,  of  the  same  size  and  price. 

Collected  and  revised  from  "  Household  Words," 
With  a  Table  of  Dates. 

BRADBURY  AND  EVANS,  11,  BOUVERIE  STKEET. 


I'ubUshcd  at  the  Office,  No  16.  Wellington  Street  North,  Strantl.    1'nuteJ  by  BKABHUBI  &  EVA.-<«,  WuitefrUrn.  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD   WORDS."— SHA* 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


108.] 


SATURDAY,  APKIL   17,  1852. 


[PRICK  Id. 


OLD  CLOTHES! 

A  STERN  legislature  has  laid  its  red,  or 
rather  blue,  right  hand,  in  the  shape  of 
police  enactments,  upon  many  of  the  Cries  of 
London.  No  more  may  the  portly  dustman 
toll  his  bell,  and  with  lusty  lungs  make  quiet 
streets  re-echo  to  his  cry  of  "  Dust-ho  ! "  The 
young  sweep's  shrill  announcement  of  his 
avocation  is  against  the  law  ;  and  the  sweep 
himself — first  mute,  perforce — has  now  ceded 
his  place  to  the  Bamoneur  voluntarily,  and 
has  vanished  altogether.  Of  the  Cries 
which  the  New  Police  Act  has  not  included 
in  its  ban,  many  have  come  to  disuse,  and 
must  be  numbered  now  with  old  fashions 
and  old-fashioned  people.  The  Cries  are 
dead,  and  the  criers,  too.  The  "  small-coal- 
man," and  the  vender  of  saloop  ;  the  mer- 
chant who  so  loudly  declared  in  our  boyhood, 
that  if  he  had  as  much  money  as  he  could 
tell,  he  would  not  cry  young  lambs  to  sell ; 
the  dealer  in  sweet-stuff,  who  sang  in  so  fine 
a  barytone  voice,  and  with  so  unctuous  an 
emphasis,  the  one  unvarying  refrain,  "  My 
brandy-balls  !  my  brandy-balls  !  My  slap-up, 
slap-up  brandy-balls  !  "  the  seller  of  rotten- 
stone  and  emery,  who,  by  way  of  rider  to  the 
announcement  of  his  wares,  added  strong 
adjurations  ;  the  reduced  gentlewoman,  who 
cried  "  cats'-meat ! "  in  so  subdued  a  tone  (she 
flourished  before  my  time,  and  I  only  regard 
her  in  a  traditional  light)  ; — all  these  are 
gone.  There  was  a  work  published  towards  the 
close  of  the  last  century,  full  of  copperplate 
pictures  of  the  various  London  criers,  with 
notices  of  their  "  Cries."  Look  through  the 
book  now,  and  you  will  find  few  not  obsolete. 
We  have  grown  luxurious,  and  cry,  "  Pine 
apples,  a  penny  a  slice  !  " — moral,  and  have 
superseded  the  tossing  pieman,  who  cried, 
"  Toss  or  buy !  up  and  win  'em  !  "  by  a 
gaudy  "hot-pie  dep6t,"  with  plate-glass 
windows  and  mahogany  fixtures.  We  have 
grown  fastidious,  and  have  deserted  "  'Taters, 
all  hot !  "  for  the  "  Irish  fruit  warehouse  ; " 
the  voice  of  him  who  cried,  "  One  a  penny, 
two  a  penny,  hot  cross-buns  ! "  is  hushed. 
Lord  help  us  !  where  are  we  going  to  ?  The 
cry  of  "  kearots  "  and  "  sparrowgrass  "  will 
go  next,  I  suppose ;  "  cats'-meat "  will  no 
longer  be  allowed  to  be  cried  ;  "  milk  ho  ! " 
is  doomed  ;  the  cries  of  "  butcher  !  "  and 


"  baker  ! "  will  be  rendered  illegal,  and  con- 
trary to  the  statute  in  those  cases  made  and 
provided. 

But  as  I  write,  floats  on  the  ambient  air, 
adown  the  quiet  street  in  which  I  live,  softly 
through  the  open  window,  gently  to  my 
pleased  ears,  a  very  familiar  and  welcome 
cry.  I  have  always  heard  that  cry,  and 
always  shall,  I  hope.  It  was  cried  in  London 
streets  years  before  I  was  born,  and  will  be 
cried  years  after  I  am  dead.  It  never  varies, 
never  diminishes  in  volume  or  sonorous 
melody,  this  cry  ;  for,  as  the  world  wags,  and 
they  that  dwell  in  it  live  and  die,  they  must 
be  clothed — and,  amidst  the  wear  and  tear  of 
life,  their  clothes  are  worn  and  torn,  too  ; — so 
we  shall  always  have  old  clothes  to  buy  or 
sell  ;  and  for  many  a  year,  down  many  a 
quiet  street,  through  many  an  open  window, 
shall  float  that  old  familiar  cry — "  Old  Clo' !  " 

My  first  recollections  of  Old  Clo'  are  en- 
twined with  the  remembrance  of  a  threat, 
very  awful  and  terrifying  to  me  then,  of  being 
imprisoned  in  the  bag  of  an  old  clothesman, 
and  forthwith  conveyed  away.  My  threatener 
was  a  nurse-maid,  who,  if  I  remember  right, 
left  our  service  in  consequence  of  the  myste- 
rious disappearance  of  a  new  silk  dress,  which 
she  solemnly  averred  my  mother  to  "  have 
worn  clean  out ; "  and  the  clothesman  was  a 
dreadful  old  man,  with  a  long,  tangled,  grey- 
reddish  beard,  a  hawk  nose,  which,  like  the 
rebuke  of  the  nautical  damsel  at  Wapping 
Old  Stairs,  was  never  without  a  tear,  and  a  bag 
of  alarming  size.  I  am  not  ashamed  of  saying, 
now,  that  I  perfectly  believed  this  clothesman 
(a  harmless  Israelite,  no  doubt,)  to  be  capable 
of  effecting  my  capture  and  abduction  on 
the  commission  of  any  juvenile  indiscretion 
whatsoever ;  and  that  he,  and  "  the  sweep," 
a  mysterious  bogey  I  was  often  menaced 
with,  but  never  saw  ;  a  black  dog,  addicted  to 
sitting  on  the  shoulders  of  naughty  children  ; 
and  a  "  big,  black  man,"  supposed  to  be  re- 
sident in  the  back  kitchen,  whence  he  made 
periodical  irruptions  for  the  purpose  of  de- 
vouring insubordinate  juveniles,  formed  in 
their  glomerate  natures  the  incarnation,  to 
my  youthful  and  confused  mind,  of  a  certain 
personage  who  shall  be  nameless,  but  who 
has  been  likened  to  a  roaring  lion. 

Strangely  enough,  this  old  clothesman  of 
mine  (he  was  dreadfully  old  when  I  first 


VOL.  v. 


108 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


knew  him)  doesn't  seem  to  get  any  older,  and 
cries  "  Clo'  !  "  to  this  day  with  undiminished 
voice  and  bag.  I  am  not  afraid  of  him  now, 
and  have  even  held  conversations  with  him 
touching  the  statistics  and  profits  of  his  trade. 
But  I  dream  about  him  sometimes,  and  never 
look  at  that  very  large  bag  of  his  without  a 
certain  sort  of  awed  and  hushed  curiosity. 
Very  curious  are  early  impressions  in  their 
ineffaceability.  We  can  remember  the  father 
or  the  sister  who  died  when  we  were  babes 
almost,  with  minute  distinctness  ;  and  yet 
forget  what  happened  the  day  before  yester- 
day. How  well  we  can  remember  the  history 
of  Jack  Horner,  and  the  adventures  of  the 
other  Jack,  who  rose  in  life  through  the 
instrumentality  of  a  bean-stalk ;  and  yet, 
how  often  we  forget  the  matter  of  the  first 
leader  in  the  Morning  Bellower,  before  we 
have  got  half  through  the  second  one  ! 

The  subject  of  left-off  garments  has  always 
been  an  interesting  one  to  me,  for  it  is  fertile 
in  the  vagabond-picturesque,  a  quality  I  much 
affect.  Yet  are  there  many  mysteries  con- 
nected with  the  old  clothes  question  ;  which, 
though  I  have  studied  it  somewhat  profoundly, 
I  am  as  yet  unable  to  fathom.  To  what  I  do 
know,  however,  the  reader  is  perfectly 
•welcome. 

The  statistics  of  ancient  habiliments  have 
already  been  fully  and  admirably  touched 
upon,  in  "  another  place,"  as  honourable 
Members  say.  The  aspect  of  Rag  Fair,  Cloth 
Fair,  Petticoat  Lane,  and  Holywell  Street, 
have,  moreover,  been  described  over  and  over 
again  ;  so  that  my  lay  will  be,  perhaps,  only 
an  old  song  to  a  questionably  new  tune,  after 
all.  But  there  is  nothing  new  under  the  sun 
to  speak  of,  and  to  be  entirely  original 
would  be,  too,  as  out  of  the  fashion,  as  it  is  out 
of  my  power  to  be  so. 

Imprimis,  of  old  clothesmen.  Why  should 
the  Hebrew  race  appear  to  possess  a  monopoly 
in  the  purchase  and  sale  of  dilapidated 
costume  ?  Why  should  their  voices,  and 
theirs  alone,  be  employed  in  the  constant 
iteration  of  the  talismanic  monosyllables  "  Old 
Clo'  1 "  Is  it  because  Judas  carried  the  bag 
that  all  the  children  of  Israel  are  to  trudge 
through  London  streets  from  morn  till  eve 
with  sack  on  shoulder  1  In  Glasgow,  they 
say,  the  Irish  have  commenced  the  clothes 
trade,  and  have  absolutely  pushed  the  Jew 
clothesmen  from  their  stools.  I  can  scarcely 
believe  so  astounding  an  assertion.  I  could 
as  soon  imagine  an  Israelitish  life-guardsman 
as  a  Hibernian  old  clothesmau.  I  can't — can 
you  —  can  anybody  —  imagine  the  strident, 
guttural  "  Ogh  Clo' "  of  the  Hebrew,  the  mot 
d'ordre,  the  shibboleth,  the  password  of  his 
race,  transposed  into  the  mellifluous  butter- 
milky  notes  of  the  sister  isle  1 

My  old  clothesmen  are  all  of  the  "people." 
Numerous  are  they,  persevering,  all-observant, 
astute,  sagacious,  voluble  yet  discreet,  prudent 
yet  speculative.  They  avoid  crowded  main 
streets,  and  prefer  shadier  and  quieter  tho- 


roughfares. These  do  they  perambulate  indefa- 
tigably  at  all  seasons,  in  all  weathers.  Lives 
there  the  man  who  ever  saw  an  old  clothes- 
man  with  an  umbrella  ?  I  mean  using  it  for 
the  purpose  an  umbrella  is  generally  put  to. 
He  may  have,  and  very  probably  has,  half-a- 
dozen  in  his  bag,  or  somewhere  about  him, 
but  never  was  he  known  to  elevate  one  above 
his  head. 

I  am  sorry  to  gird  at  an  established  idea,  but 
duty  compels  me  to  do  so.  Artists  generally 
represent  the  old  clothesman  with  three,  and 
sometimes  four,  hats  superposed  one  above 
the  other.  Now,  though  I  have  seen  him 
with  many  hats  in  his  hands  or  elsewhere,  I 
never  yet  saw  him  with  more  than  one  hat  on  his 
head  ;  and  I  have  been  assured  by  a  respect- 
able member  of  the  fraternity,  with  whom  I 
lately  transacted  business,  that  the  three-hat 
tradition  has  no  foundation  whatever  ;  in 
fact,  that  it  is  a  mere  device  of  the  enemy,  as 
shallow  a  libel  as  the  ballad  of  "  Hugh  of 
Lincoln,"  or  the  assertion  that  Jews  cannot 
expectorate,  but  must,  nolens  volens,  slobber. 
The  three-hatted  clothesman,  if  he  ever 
existed,  is  obsolete  ;  but  I  incline  to  consider 
him  a  myth,  an  aesthetic  pre-Raphaelite  ab- 
straction, like  the'  Sphinx,  or  the  woman 
caressing  her  Chirnsera. 

The  old  old  clothesman  is,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  becoming  every  day  a  swan  of  blacker  hue. 
Young  Israel  has  taken  the  field,  and  Old 
Jewry — old,  bearded,  gabardined,  bent-backed 
Jewry  is  nearly  extinct.  It  may  be,  perhaps, 
that  after  a  certain  age  he  abandons  the  bag, 
and  laying  in  a  large  stock  of  crockery-ware, 
and  vouchers  for  enormous  sums,  retires  to  the 
East,  where  he  awaits  the  goods  which  the 
gods  of  diplomacy  provide  him. 

Very  rarely  now  is  the  gabardine — that 
long,  loose,  shapeless  garment,  the  same  on 
which  Antonio  spat — to  be  seen  in  London 
streets.  I  recollect  the  time  when  nearly  all 
the  old  clothesmen  wore  it,  and  I  am  certain 
my  clothesman — the  bogey  of  my  childhood — 
was  wont  to  be  habited  therein.  Young  Israel 
wears  cut-away  coats,  and  chains,  and  rings  ; 
has  eschewed  the  beard  for  the  curl  known  as 
aggravator,  the  chin  tuft,  and  the  luxuriant 
fringe  of  whisker  ;  carries  the  bag  jauntily, 
not  wearily  and  cumbrously,  as  Old  Jewry 
did.  But  the  inside  is  the  same,  the  sagacity, 
the  perseverance,  the  bargaining — oh  !  the 
keen  bargaining  is  as  keen  as  ever. 

Then  there  is  the  bagless  clothesman — the 
apparently  bagless  one  at  least — the  marchand 
sans  sac.  You  may  be  in  the  street,  and  meet 
a  gentleman  attired  in  the  first  style  of  fashion, 
walking  easily  along,  twirling  his  cane,  and 
thinking,  it  would  seem,  of  nothing  at  all. 
Passing  him,  you  catch  his  eye  ;  you  find  out 
that  he  has  not  got  that  piercing  black  eye 
and  that  acutely  aquiline  nose  for  nothing. 
He  sidles  up  to  you,  and  in  an  insinuating  sotto 
wee,  something  between  a  stage  "  aside  "  and 
an  invitation  to  "buy  a  little  ciawg"  from  a 
Regent-street  fancier,  asks  you  the  momen- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


OLD  CLOTHES! 


95 


tous  question,  "  Have  you  anything  to  shell, 
sir?" 

The  interrogatory  may  have  been  put  in 
Kensington,  and  you  may  live  at  Mile-end  ; 
but  the  bagless  clothesman  will  not  be  deterred 
by  any  question  of  distance  from  accompany- 
ing you.  He  would  walk  by  your  side  from 
Indus  to  the  Pole,  with  that  peculiar  sidling, 
shuffling  gait  of  his,  on  the  bare  chance  of  the 
reversion  of  a  single  pair  of  pantaloons.  And, 
should  you  so  far  yield  to  his  seductive  en- 
treaties as  to  summon  him  to  your  domicile, 
he  will  produce,  with  magical  rapidity,  from 
some  unknown  receptacle,  a  BAG — when,  or 
where,  or  whence,  or  how  obtained,  it  is  not 
within  the  compass  of  human  ken  to  know. 

A  marvellous  article  is  that  bag.  It  will 
hold  everything  and  anything  :  always  stuffed 
to  repletion,  it  will  hold  more.  The  last  straw, 
it  has  been  aphoristically  observed,  breaks  the 
camel's  back  ;  but  trusses  of  trousers,  stacks 
of  paletots,  ricks  of  waistcoats,  thrust  into 
this  much-enduring  bag,  seem  not  to  tax  its 
powers  of  endurance  to  anything  above  a 
moderate  degree.  As  to  breaking  the  bag's 
back,  it  is  far  more  likely  that  it  would  dis- 
locate the  dorsal  vertebrae  of  any  novice  bold 
•enough  to  carry  it  than  its  own. 

A  friend  of  mine  met  with  a  bagless 
clothesman  on  the  Queen's  highway,  arid  in 
his  habit  as  he  lived.  Being  about  to  leave 
London,  he  acknowledged  the  soft  impeach- 
ment of  having  a  few  old  clothes  to  dispose 
of,  and  of  which  he  thought  he  might  as 
well  make  a  few  shillings.  Trousers,  waist- 
coats, and  coats  were  produced,  and  passed  in 
review,  and  then  my  friend  yielded  to  a 
Machiavelic  suggestion  of  the  clothesman  re- 
lative to  old  boots.  Remembering  the  existence 
of  a  dilapidated  pair  of  Wellingtons  under  the 
parlour  sofa,  he  descended  to  fetch  them, 
leaving — infelix  puerf — the  clothesman  alone. 
He  reascended :  the  usual  chaffering,  bicker- 
ing, and  eventual  bargain-driving  took  place. 
The  money  agreed  on  was  paid,  and  the 
clothesman  departed.  But — oh  duplicity  of 
clothesmankind ! — the  nefarious  Israelite  had 
stuffed  into  his  bag  the  only  pair  of  evening 
dress  continuations  my  friend  possessed. 
There  was  likewise  a  blue  satin  handker- 
chief with  a  white  spot — what  is  popularly,  I 
believe,  known  as  a  bird's-eye  fogle — which 
was  missing^  and  though,  of  course,  /  would 
not  insinuate  anything  to  the  disadvantage  of 
the  carriers  of  the  bag,  the  disappearance 
will  be  allowed  to  be  strange.  Mrs.  Guinm, 
however,  my  friend's  landlady,  (who  has 
sheltered  so  many  medical  students  beneath 
her  roof  that  she  may  almost  be  considered 
a  member  of  the  profession,  and  who  reads 
the  "  Lancet  "  on  Sunday  afternoons  with 
quite  a  relish),  Mrs.  Gumrn  now  stoutly 
avers  that  he  did  annex  them ;  declaring,  in 
addition,  her  firm  belief  that  he  appropriated 
at  the  same  time,  and  stowed  away  in  his  bag, 
a  feather-bed  of  considerable  siz*3,  and  a  minia- 
ture portrait  of  the  Otaheitan  chief  who  was 


supposed  to  have  eaten  a  portion  of  Cap- 
tain Cook  :  which  portrait  was  pi-esented  to 
her  by  the  Rev.  Fugue  Trumpetstop,  an  ear- 
nest man,  and  now  minister  of  finance  to 
King  Kamehameha  XXXIII.  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands.  I  think  that  if  there  had  been  a 
chest  of  drawers  or  a  four-post  bed  missing, 
the  dealer  in  decayed  apparel  would  have  been 
suspected  as  the  spoliator. 

Carrying  the  bag,  and  crying  "  oghclo  ! " 
seems  a  sort  of  novitiate,  or  apprenticeship, 
which  all  Hebrews  are  subjected  to.  They 
can  flesh  their  maiden  swords  in  the  streets, 
without  its  being  at  all  considered  derogatory. 
I  please  myself  with  the  theory,  sometimes, 
that  of  the  millionnaires  I  see  rolling  by  in 
carriages  ;  read  of  as  giving  magnificent  balls 
and  suppers  ;  hear  of  as  the  pillars  of  com- 
merce and  the  girders  of  public  credit ;  many 
have  in  their  youth  passed  through  the  dusky 
probation  of  the  bag.  Keen  chaffering  about 
ragged  paletdts  and  threadbare  trousers  pre- 
pared them,  finished  them,  gave  them  a 
sharper  edge  for  the  negotiation  of  the  little 
bill  and  the  sale  of  the  undoubted  specimens 
of  the  old  masters.  And  from  these  to 
millions  there  were  but  few  steps.  There  is 
a  dear  old  dirty,  frowsy,  picturesque,  muddy, 
ill-paved,  worse-lighted,  immensely  rich  old 
street  in  Frankfort,  called  the  "  Judenstrasse," 
a  sort  of  compound  of  the  worst  parts  of  Duke's 
Place  and  St.  Mary  Axe,  and  the  best  parts 
of  Petticoat  Lane,  and  Church  Lane,  St.  Giles's. 
Here  dwell  tlie  Jews  of  Frankfort — as  dirty, 
as  frowsy,  and  as  wealthy  as  their  abiding- 
place.  Departing  at  morn,  and  returning  at 
eve,  with  the  never- failing  bag,  you  may  see 
the  young  Israelites  ;  sitting  at  the  doors, 
smoking  their  pipes  in  tranquillity,  are  the 
patriarchs  ;  gossiping  at  the^windows  are  the 
daughters  of  Judah,  in  robes  of  rainbow-hued 
silks  or  satins,  but  with  under-garments  of 
equivocal  whiteness  ;  sprawling  in  the  gutters 
amidst  old  clothes,  pots,  pans,  household 
furniture,  and  offal,  are  the  bright-eyed 
little  children.  I  like  much  to  walk  in  the 
Judenstrasse  (after  a  good  dinner  at  the 
Hfitel  de  Russie),  smoking  the  pipe  of  peace 
and  Hungarian  tobacco  ;  glancing  now  at  the 
old  clothes,  now  at  the  clothesmeu  ;  now  at 
the  little  babies  in  the  kennel — peeping  cun- 
ningly at  the  heavy  iron-stanchioned  doors 
and  the  windows,  protected  at  night  (and  for 
reasons,  the  rogues!)  with  iron-bound  shutters. 
I  conjecture  huw  many  colossal  fortunes  have 
been  made  out  of  that  shabby,  grubby,  ill- 
smelling  old  street.  How  many  latent  Roths- 
childs there  may  be  in  its  back  attics  ;  IIOAV 
many  Sampayos  yet  to  come  are  sprawling 
in  its  kennels  !  The  discipline  of  the  bag  is 
well  observed  in  the  Judenstrasse,  and  pros- 
pers as  it  does  everywhere  else. 

And  this  only  brings  me  back  to  my  start- 
ing point,  and  makes  me  perplexed,  confused, 
bothered.  Why  should  the  Jews  deal  in  old 
clothes'?  Not  only  in  London  or  Frankfort: 
who  has  not  heard  the  nasal  chant  of  the 


96 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Comlucteil  by 


Marchand  cThalits  in  Paris,  crying  "Vieux 
habits,  vieux  galons  /"  Who  has  not  seen 
him  bartering  with  the  grisette  for  the  sale 
of  her  last  Carnival's  Debardeur  dress  ?  Who 
has  not  seen  him  slouching  along,  with  a  por- 
tion of  the  said  Debardenr  dress,  in  the  shape 
of  a  pair  of  black  velvet  trousers,  hanging 
over  his  arm  ;  a  pair  of  gold  epaulettes  stick- 
ing out  of  his  coat-pocket ;  a  cavalry  sabre 
tucked  under  his  arm,  and  an  advocate's  robe 
protruding  from  his  as  usual  crammed  bag  ? 
Who  have  not  heard  of  the  Gibraltar  old 
clothesmen,or  of  the  fights  on  board  the  Levant 
steamers  between  the  Greeks  and  the  Jews,  on 
disputed  questions,  relative  to  the  value  of  cast- 
oft'  caftans  and  burnouses  ?  I  knew  a  young 
Turk  once  at  Marseilles,  who  wore  patent- 
leather  boots,  and  perfumed  himself  indefa- 
tigably,  but  was  not  quite  civilised  for  all 
that ;  for  I  remember  making  him  a  present 
of  a  large  bottle  of  West  India  pickles,  which, 
desiring  him  to  taste,  he  ate,  from  the  first 
Capsicum  to  the  last  Chilli ;  from  the  first  to  the 
last  drop  of  the  red-hot  pickling  vinegar,  which 
he  drank,  all  without  one  morsel  of  bread  or 
meat  ;  smacking  his  lips  meanwhile,  and 
^saying  "Mi  piace,  questo  bastimento  !  "  his  usual 
expression  when  pleased.  I  remember  asking 
him,  when  we  were  better  acquainted,  and  he 
had  acquired  a  more  extended  knowledge  of 
the  European  languages,  what  were  the 
characteristics  of  the  Jews  in  Constantinople  1 
"  They  are  dogs,"  he  said,  simply,  "  and  wear 
yellow  handkerchiefs,  and  go  about  the  streets  of 
Stamboul  selling  old  clothes."  If  in  Turkey, 
why  not  hi  Persia,  in  Abyssinia,  in  Grim 
Tartary — anywhere  1  There  is  something 
more  in  it  than  is  dreamt  of  in  my  philosophy. 
For  aught  I  know,  though  I  believe  it  without 
knowledge,  the  Jews  of  Honan  in  China,  or 
the  black  Jews  of  India,  may  deal  in  cast- 
off  wearing  apparel.  Every  Jew,  inillion- 
naire  as  he  may  become  afterwards,  seems  to 
begin  with  the  bag.  A  fabulously  rich 
Israelite  of  whom  I  know  something,  was  once 
solicited  for  some  favour  by  a  poorer  mem- 
ber of  his  tribe.  He  declined  acceding  to 
the  applicant's  reqiiest.  "  Ah  !  "  said  his 
petitioner,  spitefully  (he  was  an  ill-favoured 
old  man,  in  a  snuff-coloured  coat,  and  a 
handkerchief  tied  round  his  head  under  hjs 
hat),  "  you're  a  very  great;  man,  no  doubt, 
now  ;  but  I  recollect  the  time  when  you  used  to  \ 
sell  pocket-handkerchiefs  in  the  public-houses  /" 
And  so,  no  doubt,  he  had. 

From  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  there 
is  but  one  step  ;  and  from  old  clothesmen  to 
old  clothes  there  is  but  half  a  one.  Let  us 
consider  old  clothes. 

Under  which  head,  I  beg  to  be  understood, 
I  include  old  hats,  old  boots,  old  linen,  old 
anything,  in  fact,  in  which  man  delighteth  to 
array  himself.  With  the  ladies  (bless  them. !) 
I  will  not  pretend,  just  now,  to  meddle  ;  they 
have  their  own  distinctive  old  clothes  dealers 
—their reoendeuses  a  la  toilette.t\\e\r  proprietors 
of  shops  where  ladies'  wardrobes  are  pur- 


chased. There  are  Eleusiuian  mysteries  con- 
nected with  this  branch  of  the  clothes  trade  ; 
dark  stories  of  duchesses'  white  satin  dresses, 
and  dowager  countesses'  crimson- velvet  robes, 
about  which  I  must  have  more  certain  infor- 
mation ere  I  discourse  thereon.  To  the 
uninitiated,  the  "  Ladies'  Wardrobe  "  is,  as 
no  doubt  it  is  proper  it  should  be,  a  mystery 
— a  glimmering  haze  of  dusky  little  shops  in 
back  streets,  pink  silk  stockings,  white  satin 
shoes,  soiled  ostrich  feathers,  ladies'  maids, 
and  ladies  themselves,  shawled  and  muffled, 
and  with  a  cab  waiting  at  the  corner  of  the 
street.  Fubsy  women  in  printed  gowns  and 
aprons  are  dimly  visible  through  the  haze, 
sometimes  ;  and  the  tallyman  has  something, 
mysteriously,  to  do  with  the  matter.  I  will 
inquire  into  it. 

But  of  the  old  clothes  appertaining  to  the 
masculine  gender.  If  you  want  to  see  old 
clothes,  and  old  clothesmeu  in  their  glory,  go 
to  Cloth  Fair,  or  the  Clothes  Exchange.  You 
will  have  to  pay  a  small  toll  on  entrance 
towards  the  support  of  the  market,  but  that 
is  nothing.  I  should  not  so  particularly 
advise  you  to  take  care  of  your  pockets  on 
this  occasion  ;  but  I  should  most  decidedly 
caution  you  to  take  care  of  the  clothes  of 
which  those  pockets  form  a  part  ;  for  it  is  by 
no  means  improbable  that  half-a-dozen  Jews 
will  fall  on  you  at  once,  and  tug  fiercely  at 
your  garments  ;  not  with  any  bellicose 
intention,  but  simply  with  the  understanding 
that  you  must  have  something  to  sell;  and 
that,  carrying  no  bag.,  and  being  somewhat 
eccentric,  you  are  actuated  by  a  desire  to  sell 
what  you  stand  upright  in. 

During  the  whole  of  the  time  the  market 
lasts,  one  incessant  series  of  pacific  fights  takes 
place.  Eapidly,  in  twos  and  threes,  and  some- 
times by  dozens  and  half-dozens,  swarm  in 
the  clothesmen  who  have  been  perambulating 
the  streets  since  early  morn.  In  a  trice,  on 
these  erst  buyers,  now  sellers,  fall  new  buyers. 
What  have  they  got  to  shell  ?  For  Moses' 
sake,  vat  have  they  got  to  shell  ?  For  all  the 
Prophets'  sake,  give  them  the  refusal !  Oh  ! 
versh  the  bagsh  1  Oh  !  vat  ish  there  in  it  1 
Oh  !  vat  you  vant  1  Oh  !  vat  you  give  1 
The  gigantic  bag  is  forcibly  removed  from  the 
shoulders  of  the  resisting  clothesman  ;  it  and 
he  are  tugged,  hauled,  hustled,  jostled,  about. 
At  last,  he  selects  the  merchant  with  whom 
he  is  desirous  of  doing  business",  and  on  that 
merchant's  shopboard  the  multifarious  con- 
tents of  the  wondrous  bag  will  be  vomited 
forth.  Lord  help  us  !  will  it  never  have  done 
disgorging  garments  ?  More  coats,  more 
waistcoats,  more  continuations  ;  a  shower  of 
hats  ;  any  quantities  of  pairs  of  boots,  silk 
handkerchiefs,  umbrellas,  boys'  caps,  pattens ; 
and,  sir,  I  am  not  exaggerating  when  I  state, 
that  this  marvellous  sack  may,  and  has  been 
very  often  known  to,  contain,  and  subsequently 
disgorge,  such  miscellaneous  trifles  as  a  few 
pounds  of  dripping,  a  birdcage,  a  live  poodle, 
a  theodolite,  and  an  or-inolu  clock.  All  is  fish 


Charles  Dickens.] 


OLD  CLOTHES  ! 


97 


that  comes  to  the  clothesman's  net — all  clothes 
that  come  to  his  bag.  He  would  buy  your 
head  if  it  were  loose. 

On  every  merchant's  shopboard  similar 
heaps  of  hydra-natured  garments  are  tum- 
bling out  of  similar  sacks.  Then  ensues 
frantic  yelling,  screeching,  lung-tearing,  ear- 
piercing  bargain-making.  They  gibber,  they 
howl,  they  clutch  each  other  fiercely,  and 
grapple  over  a  farthing  like  wolves.  See 
yonder  yellow-visaged  old  mercator,  with 
salt  rheum  in  his  eye,  and  a  beard  like  the 
beard  of  an  insolvent  goat,  grown  careless  of 
his  personal  appearance.  He  is  from  Am- 
sterdam, and  can  speak  no  English;  yet  he 
gibbers,  and  clutches,  and  grapples  with  the 
keenest  of  his  British  brethren.  He  holds 
up  his  fingers  to  denote  how  much  he  will 
give,  and  no  more.  For  Moses'  sake,  another 
finger  !  S'help  me,  you  're  robbing  me  ! 
S'help  me,  it's  yoursh  !  And  the  mercator 
has  the  best  of  the  bargain,  for  your  Jew, 
when  a  seller,  is  as  loth  to  refuse  money  as 
he  is,  when  a  buyer,  to  part  with  it. 

Now  the  air  is  darkened  with  legs  and 
arms  of  garments  held  up  to  be  inspected  as 
to  their  condition.  The  buyer  pokes,  and 
peers  into,  and  detects  naplessness,  and  spies 
out  patches,  and  is  aware  of  rents,  and  smells 
out  black  and  blue  reviver,  and  noses  darns 
and  discovers  torn  linings  ;  the  seller,  mean- 
while, watching  every  movement  with  lynx- 
eyed  inquietude.  A  lull  takes  place — a  very 
temporary  lull,  while  this  inspection  is  going 
on  ;  but  only  wait  an  instant,  and  you  shall 
hear  the  howling,  screeching,  and  see  the 
clutching  and  grappling  commence  de  novo. 
The  air  feels  hot,  and  there  is  a  fetid,  squalid 
odour  of  *rags.  Jew  boys  stand  in  the  midst 
of  the  market  calling  sweet-stuff  and  hot 
cakes  for  sale.  Hark  at  Mammon  and  Gam- 
mon yelling  at  each  other,  browbeating,  chaf- 
fering in  mutilated  English  and  bastard 
Hebrew.  They  do  make  a  great  noise,  cer- 
tainly ;  but  is  there  not  a  little  buzz,  a  trifling 
hum  of  business  in  the  area  of  the  Royal 
Exchange  just  before  the  bell  rings  ?  Does 
not  Capel  Court  resound  sometimes  to  the 
swell  of  human  voices  1  Is  not  the  imma- 
culate Auction  Mart  itself  occasionally  any- 
thing but  taciturn,  when  the  advowson  of  a 
comfortable  living  is  to  be  sold  1  We  can 
make  bargains,  and  noises  about  them,  too, 
for  other  things  besides  old  clothes. 

Look  at  that  heap  of  old  clothes — that 
Pelion  upon  Ossa  of  ostracised  garments. 
A  reflective  mind  will  find  homilies,  satires, 
aphorisms,  by  the  dozen — thought-food  by  the 
ton  weight,  in  that  pile  of  dress-offal.  There 
is  my  lord's  coat,  bespattered  by  the  golden 
mud  on  Fortune's  highway ;  threadbare  in  the 
back  with  much  bowing ;  the  embroidery  tar- 
nished, the  spangles  all  blackened  ;  a  Mon- 
mouth  Street  laced  coat.  Revivified,  coaxed, 
and  tickled  into  transitory  splendour  again,  it 
may  lend  vicarious  dignity  to  some  High  Cham- 
berlain, or  Stick-in- Waiting,  at  the  court  of 


the  Emperor  Soulouque.  There  is  a  scarlet 
uniform  coat,  heavily  embroidered,  which,  no 
doubt,  has  dazzled  many  a  nursemaid  in  its 
day.  It  will  shine  at  masquerades  now  ;  or, 
perchance,  be  worn  by  Mr.  Belton,  of  the 
Theatres  Royal ;  then  emigrate,  may  be,  and 
be  the  coat  of  office  of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  of  King  Quashiboo's  body-guard;  or, 
with  the  addition  of  a  cocked  hat  and  straps, 
form  the  coronation  costume  of  King  Quashi- 
boo  himself.  And  there  is  John  the  footman's 
coat,  with  ruder  embroidery,  but  very  like 
my  lord's  coat  for  all  that.  There,  pell-mell, 
cheek  by  jowl,  in  as  strange  juxtaposition, 
and  as  strange  equality,  as  corpses  in  a 
plague-pit,  are  the  groom's  gaiters  and  my 
Lord  Bishop's  spatterdashes;  with,  save  the 
mark !  poor  Pat's  ill-darned,  many-holed 
brogues,  his  bell -crowned  felt  hat,  his  un- 
mistakeable  blue  coat  with  the  brass  buttons, 
high  in  the  collar,  short  in  the  waist,  long  in 
the  tails,  and  ragged  all  over.  There  is  no 
distinction  of  ranks  ;  no  precedence  of  rank, 
and  rank  alone,  here.  Patrick's  brogues,  if 
they  were  only  sound  and  whole,  instead  of 
holey,  would  command  a  better  price  than  my 
lord's  torn  black  silk  small-clothes ;  yon 
groom's  gaiters  are  worth  double  the  epi- 
scopal spatterdashes  ;  and  that  rough  fustian 
jacket  would  fetch  more  than  the  tattered 
dress-coat  with  only  one  sleeve,  albeit  'twas 
made  by  Stultz,  and  was  once  worn  by  Beau 
Smith. 

Where  are  the  people,  I  wonder,  to  whom 
these  clothes  belonged  ?  Who  will  wear  them 
next  ?  Will  the  episcopal  spatterdashes  grace 
the  calves  of  a  Low  Church  greengrocer  1 
Will  John  the  footman's  coat  be  transferred 
to  Sambo  or  Mungo,  standing  on  cucumber- 
shinned  extremities  on  the  foot-board  of  a 
chariot  belonging  to  some  militia  field-marshal 
or  other  star  of  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  of 
New  York  1  Who  was  John,  and  whose  foot- 
man was  he  ?  How  many  a  weary  mile  the 
poor  Jews  have  walked  to  get  these  sweepings 
of  civilisation  together,  and  make  for  a 
moment  a  muck-heap  of  fashion  in  Cloth 
Fair — a  dunghill  of  vanity  for  chapmen  to 
huckster  over  !  All  the  lies  and  the  subter- 
fuges of  dress,  the  padded  coats  and  whale- 
boned  waistcoats,  the  trousers  that  were 
patched  in  places  where  the  skirts  hid  them, 
have  come  naked  to  this  bankruptcy.  The 
surtout  that  concealed  the  raggedness  of  the 
body-coat  beneath  ;  the  body-coat  that 
buttoned  over  the  shirtless  chest ;  the  boots 
which  were  not  Wellingtons,  as  in  their 
strapped-down  hypocrisy  they  pretended  to 
be,  but  old  Bluchers ;  all  are  discovered, 
exposed,  turned  inside  out,  here.  If  the  people 
who  wore  them  could  only  be  treated  in  the 
same  manner — what  remarkably  unpleasant 
things  we  should  hear  about  one  another,  to 
be  sure  ! 

The  Nemesis  of  Cloth  Fair  is  impartial, 
unyielding,  inexorable.  She  has  neither 
favourites  nor  partialities  :  a  dress-coat — be 


98 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


it  the  choicest  work  of  a  Nugee  or  a  Buck- 
master — is  to  her  an  abomination,  unless 
something  can  be  made  of  it.  She  regarded) 
not  a  frock-coat,  unless  there  is  enough  good 
cloth  left  in  the  skirts  to  make  boys'  caps  of; 
a  military  stripe  down  a  pair  of  trousers 
have  no  charms  in  her  eyes  ;  she  is  deaf  to 
the  voice  of  the  embroidered  vest,  unless  that 
vest  be  in  good  condition. 

There  are  three  orders  of  "  Old  Clothes,"  as 
regards  the  uses  to  which  they  may  be  ap- 
plied :  First  class,  Clothes  good  enough  to  be 
revivered,  tricked,  polished,  teased,  re-napped, 
and  sold,  either  as  superior  second-hand  gar- 
ments, in  second-hand-shop  streets,  or  pawned 
for  as  much  as  they  will  fetch,  and  more  than 
they  are  worth.  Second  class,  Old  Clothes, 
which  are  good  enough  to  be  exported  to 
Ireland,  to  Australia,  and  the  Colonies 
generally.  Great  quantities  are  sent  to  the 
South  American  Republics ;  and  a  con- 
siderably brisk  trade  in  left-off  wearing 
apparel  is  driven  with  that  Great  Northern 
Republic  which  asserts  itself  capable  of 
inflicting  corporal  punishment  on  the  whole 
of  the  universe.  Wearing  appai-el  is  uncon- 
scionably deal'  in  the  laud  of  freedom,  and  the 
cheap  "  bucks  "  of  the  model  republic  cannot 
always  afford  bran-new  broadcloth.  Third 
class,  or  very  Old  Clothes,  include  those 
that  are  so  miserably  dilapidated,  so  utterly 
tattered  and  torn,  that  they  would  have  been, 
I  am  sure,  despised  and  rejected  even  by  the 
indifferently-dressed  man  who  married  "the 
maiden  all  forlorn."  These  tatters — "  haittons" 
the  French  call  them  —  have  a  glorious 
destiny  before  them.  Like  the  phoenix,  they 
rise  again  from  their  ashes.  Torn  to  pieces 
by  a  machine,  aptly  called  a  "  devil,"  in  grim, 
brick  factories,  northwards,  they  are  ground, 
pounded,  tortured  into  "  devil's  dust,"  or 
"  shoddy ; "  by  a  magic  process,  and  the 
admixture  of  a  little  fresh  wool,  they  burst 
into  broadcloth  again.  I  need  say  no  more. 
When  I  speak  of  broadcloth  and  "devil's 
dust,"  my  acute  readers  will  know  as  much 
about  it  as  I  do  :  plate-glass-shops,  middle- 
men, sweaters,  dungs,  cheap  clothes,  and  nasty. 
Who  shall  say  that  the  Marquis  of  Camber- 
well's  footmen — those  cocked-hatted,  bou- 
quetted,  silk-stockinged  Titans  —  may  not 
have,  in  their  gorgeous  costume,  a  consider- 
able spice  of  Patrick  the  bog-trotter's  ragged 
breeches,  and  Luke  the  Labourer's  fustian 
jacket  ? 

We  have  traditions  and  superstitions  about 
almost  everything  in  life,  from  the  hogs  in  the 
Hampstead  sewers  to  the  ghosts  in  a  shut-up 
house.  There  are  traditions  and  supersti- 
tions about  old  clothes.  Fables  of  marvellous 
sums  found  in  the  pockets  of  left-off  gar- 
ments are  current,  especially  among  the  lower 
orders.  There  was  the  Irish  gentleman  who 
found  his  waistcoat  lined  throughout  with 
bank-notes  ;  and  the  youth  who  discovered 
that  all  the  buttons  on  a  coat  he  had  bought 
in  Petticoat  Lane,  were  sovereigns  covered 


with  cloth.  Then  there  was  Mary  Jenkins* 
who,  in  the  words  of  the  Public  Advertiser 
of  February  14th,  1756,  "deals  in  old  clothes 
in  Eag  Fair,  and  sold  a  pair  of  breeches 
to  a  poor  woman  for  sevenpence  and  a  pint 
of  beer.  While  they  were  drinking  it  in  a 
public-house,  the  purchaser,  in  unripping  the 
breeches,  found,  quilted  in  the  waistband, 
eleven  guineas  in  gold — Queen  Anne's  coin, 
and  a  thirty  pound  bank-note,  dated  in  1729  ; 
which  last  she  did  not  know  the  value  of,  till 
she  had  sold  it  for  a  gallon  of  twopenny  purl." 
There  are  so  many  stories  of  this  sort  about,  in 
old  newspapers  and  in  old  gossips'  mouths,  that 
a  man,  however  credulous,  is  apt  to  suspect 
that  a  fair  majority  of  them  may  be  apocry- 
phal. There  is  a  tinge  of  superstition  in  the 
connection  of  money  or  fortune  with  clothes. 
Don't  they  put  sixpence  into  a  little  boy's 
pocket,  when  he  is  first  indued  with  braccae 
bifurcates,  the  toga  mrilis  of  youthful  Britons  ? 
Don't  we  say  that  a  halfpenny  with  a  cross 
on  it  will  keep  the  deuce  out  of  our  pockets  ? 
Don't  we  throw  old  shoes  after  a  person  for 
luck  1  and  what  is  luck  but  money  1 


A  CLOUDED  SKYE. 


IT  is  a  long  way  from  London  to  the  north 
of  Scotland ;  and,  for  many  of  us,  a  short 
sentence  would  sum  up  our  geographical 
impression  on  the  subject  of  our  northern, 
district : 

Skye — an  island  in  the  Hebrides,  celebrated 
for  its  terriers. 

There  are  many  things  which  it  is  said  are 
likely  to  take  place  "  when  the  sky  rains 
potatoes  ; "  but  it  is  since  potatoes  have  ceased 
to  appear  with  any  regularity  up  in  the 
northern  Skye,  that  it  has  become  requisite 
for  us  to  extend  our  knowledge  of  the 
Hebrides.  When,  in  the  following  remarks, 
we  speak  of  Skye  especially — that  Skye 
which  has  for  so  long  a  time  been  raining 
little  dogs  over  the  kingdom — what  we  may 
have  to  say  applies  with  nearly  equal  force  to 
other  islands  of  the  Hebrides,  excepting  one 
or  two  which  have  rather  a  Scandinavian 
than  a  Celtic  race  of  tenants.  Of  Skye 
itself,  as  an  island,  we  have  not  much  to  say. 
It  is  a  hilly,  rocky,  misty,  barren  sort  of 
place,  with  pasture-grounds  and  potato- 
fields.  You  cannot  grow  wheat  in  the  sky, 
whether  celestial  or  Scottish.  There  is  no 
telling  whether,  with  good  husbandry,  there 
might  not  come  six  grains  to  the  ear  of 
wheat  or  barley  ;  but,  as  the  case  now  stands, 
a  grain  of  wheat  sown  yields  about  two  or. 
three  grains  on  the  top  of  a  stalk.  Some- 
times it  simply  reproduces  itself,  and  is 
worth  to  the  husbandman  just  a  straw  in 
the  way  of  profit.  The  Gaelic  inhabitants, 
like  all  good  mountaineers,  are  very  fond  of 
their  own  rocks  and  mists ;  they  are,  by 
ancestry  and  predilection,  shepherds,  prefer 
rude  to  civilised  agriculture,  and  no  agri- 
culture at  all  they  like  the  best.  It  is  manly 


Charles  DicUeus.] 


A  CLOUDED  SKYE. 


99 


to  fish,  manly  to  keep  cattle,  or  tend  flocks 
of  sheep.  It  is  necessary  to  plant  potatoes 
and  some  odds  and  ends  for  household 
purposes  ;  but  it  is  slavish  work  to  dig,  to 
carry  burdens  of  manure  from  place  to  place, 
to  drive  a  plough — slavish  and  troublesome. 
So  they  believe,  not  because  they  are  idle  ; 
they  enjoy  toil  that  suits  better  to  their 
taste.  Nations  have  predilections.  John 
Bull  prefers  porter  to  6au  sucree ;  the  Gael 
loves  flocks  better  than  furrows. 

Once  upon  a  time,  and  it  is  now  a  time 
that  has  become  rather  remote,  the  people  of 
the  Hebrides  were  tolerably  prosperous.  The 
land  was  divided  into  crofts,  each  of  which 
was  under  the  joint  care  of  several  families. 
The  system  of  joint  occupation  having  been 
generally  abandoned,  these  crofts  were  fairly 
parcelled  out  among  their  occupiers  ;  so  that 
there  was  left  to  each  family  its  own  little 
tract  of  rented  land  in  sole  possession.  This 
innovation  was  necessarily  disastrous ;  but 
political  economy  has  taught  them  nothing 
about  division  of  labour  ;  each  crofter 
builds  for  himself  the  house  he  lives  in, 
and  furnishes  it  after  his  own  heart ;  for  he  is 
his  own  upholsterer.  His  mansion  is  rather 
spacious  than  convenient  ;  spacious  enough 
to  contain  the  cow,  the  few  sheep  or  other 
creatures,  which  used  to  be  well-known  as 
members  of  his  family.  Now  they  are  rare 
visitors  :  they  generally,  also,  come  to  make 
a  very  short  stay.  We  are  not  talking,  how- 
ever, about  the  present,  but  about  the  past. 
The  crofter  was  a  tolerably  comfortable 
fellow  :  he  built  a  pretty  spacious  dwelling, 
and  hospitably  entertains  one  or  more  beasts 
under  its  roof;  lie  had  certain  tools  and 
implements  of  some  trade — husbandry  for 
one,  and  fishing  fur  another,  we  should  say, 
if  we  were  called  upon  to  specify.  There 
was  a  Skye  full  of  potatoes  then.  Cholera 
morbus  had  not  found  a  partner  in  its  dances 
among  the  mealy  beauties  of  the  vegetable 
kingdom.  The  crofter  had  abundant  right 
of  grazing  upon  hill-side  land  ;  he  had  a  boat 
by  means  of  which  he  could  get  many  a  row 
among  the  herrings,  and  make  sales  of  what 
he  caught.  The  crofter  was  also  rascal 
enough  to  make  whiskey  in  defiance  of 
revenue  laws,  and  the  illicit  stills  quietly 
helped  to  still  the  cravings  of  his  pocket. 
Finally,  kelp  was,  what  it  is  not  now,  a  great 
article  of  commerce,  and  the  crofters,  as  a 
commercial  people,  made  their  profit  by  its 
manufacture.  But  the  trade  and  commerce 
of  the  Hebrides  have  been  knocked  down  by 
a  long  series  of  blows. 

The  crofters  used  to  be  so  very  comfortable 
that  they  could  sit  upon  their  stools  and  spread 
their  legs  abroad  with  a  luxurious  sense  of 
lordly  superfluities,  giving  a  benediction  upon 
marriage  to  their  sous  or  daughters,  and  a 
portion  of  their  land  as  heritage  or  dowry. 
The  young  couple  scampered  after  stones,  and 
helped  eacli  other  to  erect  a  nest  upon  the 
space  allotted  to  them,  primitive  as  doves 


themselves  in  fetching  sticks  and  straws  to 
make  a  place  where  they  might  coo  together. 
As  long  as  there  was  an  inch  to  spare,  there 
was  an  inch  to  give  away  to  children  wanting 
it.  Children  and  all  clung  to  the  soil.  It 
was  very  touching,  very  natural,  very  demon- 
strative of  the  warm  feelings  of  humanity. 
But  the  warm  feelings  of  humanity,  in 
common  with  all  virtues,  demand  in  their 
possessors  self-control.  The  earth  cannot 
afford  to  let  the  heavens  blaze  eternal  sun- 
shine. Clouds  are  dampers,  and  political 
economy  is  a  damper.  But  damp  is  a  handy 
servant,  necessary  to  the  housekeeping  of 
nature.  The  people  of  the  Hebrides  wanted 
political  economy  when  they  were  choking 
one  another  for  the  want  of  room,  from 
motives  of  unlimited  affection. 

Crofts,  therefore,  were  subdivided.  Stand- 
ing in  one  name  on  the  rent-roll,  they  often 
were  occupied  by  two,  three,  or  four  families. 
"  While  I  have  a  potato,  I  will  share  it  with, 
you,"  says  the  warm-hearted  Celt.  While  he 
has  a  potato-field,  he  shares  it  with  his  family. 
Perhaps  if  he  were  allowed  to  go  on  till  he 
left  himself  no  more  than  space  for  one  potato, 
he  would  make  arrangements  for  the  sharing 
of  that  when  it  had  ripened,  in  complete  jus- 
tification of  his  phrase,  "  While  I  have  a 
potato,  I  will  share  it  with  my  friend." 

More  educated  people,  landlords  who  had 
seen  a  little  of  the  working  of  this  system 
elsewhere,  and  knew  that  wet  blankets  and 
cold  water  cure  were  necessary  remedies, 
then,  prohibited  the  building  of  an  additional 
house  on  any  croft.  "  It  does  not  matter,  my 
dear,"  then  said  the  Highland  father  to  his 
son  ;  "  marry,  and  take  your  share  of  land  ; — as 
for  the  house,  why,  you  shall  live  with  me." 
Matters  were  not  mended.  Then,  when  at- 
tempts here  and  there  were  made  to  check 
this  practice  also,  it  was  so  revolting  to  the 
feelings  of  all  parties  to  part  parent  and  child, 
to  interfere  with  home  arrangements  made 
under  the  shelter  of  the  paternal  roof, 
that  it  became  necessary  to  give  up  the 
contest.  The  evil  was  submitted  to,  and  still 
exists. 

While  as  a  domestic  people  they  were 
stabbing  one  another  with  love  from  within  ; 
as  a  commercial  people  their  prosperity,  just 
as  unwittingly,  was  stabbed  at  from  without. 
The  reduction  of  the  duty  on  foreign  alkali, 
in  1823,  gradually  put  an  end  to  the  demand 
for  kelp.  It  was  discovered  that  a  cheaper 
alkali  might  be  got  out  of  common  salt.  This 
was  an  agreeable  fact  for  the  world  in  general ; 
but  a  disastrous  fact  for  the  poor  people  who 
were  striving  to  pick  up  a  living  on  the 
Hebrides.  Kelp  is  now  only  made  in  order 
to  extract  from  it  its  iodine,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose sea-weeds  are  used  which  grow  in  deep 
water,  and  are  only  to  be  picked  up  in  the 
form  of  drift-weed,  after  storms.  The  kelp 
tl  us  got,  will  hardly  repay,  when  sold,  the 
cost  of  manufacture.  Fiscal  changes,  and  in- 
creased repressive  energy,  have  almost  put  an 


100 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


end  to  the  illicit  stills.  Poverty — a  sad  cattle- 
lifter — has  driven  off  a  large  number  of  cows  and 
sheep,  and  has  robbed  numbers  of  their  boats. 
The  herring  fishery  has  declined.  Finally, 
since  1846,  potatoes,  the  main  food  grown  on 
the  island,  have  been  subject  to  that  general 
break-up  of  the  constitution,  from  which 
effects  have  followed  that  will  occupy  a  most 
important  page  in  the  world's  history,  of 
which  only  posterity  will  duly  recognise  the 
true  significance.  Poverty,  therefore,  has  in- 
creased with  great  rapidity  among  the  people 
of  the  Hebrides,  many  of  whom  hungrily 
pick  cockles  from  the  shore  for  a  subsistence. 
Poverty  has  grown,  and  population  has  grown 
with  it.  In  much  less  than  the  last  hundred 
years  the  population  of  the  poorest  islands  in 
the  Hebrides  has  doubled. 

Can  there  be  any  help  for  misery  like  this  ? 
Has  any  been  attempted  ? 

Certainly  there  has.  In  many  islands  the 
great  owners  have  spent  more  than  the  whole 
income  of  their  local  property  in  efforts  to 
relieve  the  people.  All  kinds  of  farm  teach- 
ing have  been  tried  in  sundry  places,  but  the 
people  really  seem  to  have  best  thriven  when 
left  most  to  their  own  resources.  The  poor 
have  a  reserve  guard  of  ways  and  means, 
which  they  bring  to  the  rescue  as  a  forlorn 
hope,  and  which  they  leave  in(  ambush  when 
they  ai'e  receiving  external  aid  ;  and  it  is 
really  true  that  this  reserve  guard,  when  they 
are  compelled  to  use  manoeuvres,  and  to  bring 
all  forces  into  play,  drives  them  to  plans  and 
labours  which  produce  for  them,  as  a  com- 
munity, far  more  relief  than  can  be  artificially 
administered  upon  the  most  gigantic  scheme 
of  charity.  True  charity  enables  men  to  help 
themselves;  unties  the  knots  by  which  their 
limbs  are  bound,  but  carefully  abstains  from 
dictating  the  movement  of  the  liberated  hands. 
"We  often  err,  when  we  desire  to  teach  the 
poor  to  do  good  to  themselves,  by  labouring 
to  make  them  act  a  play  of  our  composing,  in 
the  manner  of  the  puppets.  Certain  absurd 
rudiments  of  knowledge,  in  all  civilised  society, 
men  have  a  right  to  demand  that  their  neigh- 
bours should  receive.  States,  that  do  not 
profess  to  be  quite  savage,  have  a  right  to 
demand — for  the  preservation  of  their  own 
health,  if  not  out  of  any  higher  motive — that 
no  citizen  shall  be  without  that  modicum  of 
education  by  which  he  is  raised  above  the 
brute,  and  made  less  apt  to  prey  upon  his 
fellows.  Without  prescribing  forms  of  dress, 
the  law  will  suffer  no  man  to  go  absolutely 
naked  ;  without  prescribing  forms  of  opinion, 
the  law  should  suffer  no  man  to  be  abso- 
lutely ignorant.  But  when  we  seek  the 
physical  well-being  of  the  poor,  we  must  be 
careful  how  we  reject  their  experience  of 
life,  and  teach  them  to  walk  according  to 
our  theories. 

The  experience  of  life  in  Skye  at  present  is, 
as  we  have  said,  somewhat  bitter.  The  island 
contains  four  thousand  three  hundred  and 
thirty-five  families.  Of  these,  no  less  than  one 


thousand  eight  hundred  and  eighty-eight  are 
small  crofters,  holding  rarely  enough  land  for 
their  maintenance.  Of  the  remaining  families, 
one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  sixty-five 
belong  to  mere  cottars,  having  no  land  to 
support  them,  and  relying  for  subsistence  on 
their  labour.  But  there  is  in  Skye,  itself,  no 
market  for  labour.  When  these  cottars  can 
procure  the  necessary  seed,  they  hire  potato 
ground  of  neighbouring  crofters,  who  next 
year  receive  the  benefit  of  the  manure  put 
with  the  potato  crop.  The  people  of  Skye 
are  all  familiar,  from  their  infancy,  with  sheep 
and  cattle  ;  they  can  build  their  own  houses, 
roof  and  thatch  them ;  they  can  make  nets, 
cut  peats,  and  wait  upon  themselves.  As 
emigrants  upon  a  virgin  soil,  they  would 
require  but  little  help ;  no  men  could  have 
been  better  educated  to  a  system  of  rude  self- 
dependence.  With  aid  of  the  herring  fishery, 
the  Isle  of  Skye  is  able  to  support  its  own 
population  for  about  seven  months  in  the  year, 
If  the  natives  would  not  live  seven  months 
with  food  and  five  without — supposing  that 
arrangement  possible — they  are  compelled  to 
go  abroad  for  means  of  making  up  the  differ- 
ence. They  travel,  therefore,  in  the  summer, 
to  the  mainland.  They  busy  themselves 
in  the  south  of  Scotland  upon  railroads, 
drains,  and  harvest  fields ;  but  when  winter 
returns,  they  all  go  back  to  their  dear 
homes,  and  take  their  earnings  in  among 
the  mists.  Upon  these  earnings,  and  what 
store  they  may  possess,  they  live  in  idleness 
during  the  winter.  Often,  the  earnings  of 
the  absentee  will  suffice  only  when  he  returns, 
to  pay  for  the  meal  eaten  by  his  family  while 
he  was  absent.  In  that  case,  he  looks  to  God 
to  help  him  through  the  winter.  He  receives 
parish  help,  and  he  has  received  help  from  the 
Highland  Destitution  Eund,  formed  after  the 
potato  failure.  Dependence  upon  charity  has 
hurt  his  character,  and  has  applied  no  relief 
whatever  to  his  ills.  In  a  recent  number  of 
the  "  Quarterly  Review "  it  is  proved,  by 
figures,  that  every  penny  of  the  money  taken 
thus  in  charity,  has  gone  to  increase  the  con- 
sumpjtion  of  whiskey.  The  additional  quantity 
of  whiskey  taken  has  been  equivalent  to  the 
additional  sum  spent  in  relief.  That  gin- 
drinking  and  whiskey-drinking  grow  as  dis- 
tress grows,  is  a  very  old  fact,  and  depends 
upon  causes  which  are  no  reproach  whatever 
to  the  people.  A  physician  and  a  moralist 
would  form  a  right  committee  to  draw  up  the 
report  explaining  them  :  but  the  present 
instance  seems  to  prove  that  figures  are  not 
always  facts.  The  "  Quarterly  "  is  not  respon- 
sible for  any  error,  but  the  Inland  Board  of 
Revenue  owns  to  the  commission  of  a  slight 
mistake.  In  the  Portree  division  of  the  Isle 
of  Skye,  in  the  returns  alluded  to,  the  con- 
sumption of  whiskey  was  inadvertently  put 
down,  by  some  clerk  who  may  have  been  in 
love,  at  four  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
ninety-six  gallons,  instead  of  three  hundred 
and  ten. 


Charles  llickens.] 


TOWN  AND  GOWN. 


101 


Can  tins  Isle  of  Skye,  so  altered  since  the 
days  of  old  prosperity,  suffer  another  change, 
and  pass  from  worldly  evil  back  again  to 
worldly  good  1  Perhaps  it  can  ;  but  if  it  can, 
the  process,  at  the  best,  will  be  extremely 
tedious.  To  many  of  the  natives  in  our  own 
immediate  day,  nothing  presents  a  look  of 
hope  ;  for  them,  an  altered  sky,  a  transfer  to 
Australia,  is  the  one  alternative  of  good.  Of 
course,  the  pastures  of  Australia  offer  to  these 
pastoral  Highlanders  the  scene  of  life  to 
which — we  might  say  to  which  only — they 
are  accurately  fitted.  The  labour  market  of 
Australia  can  absorb  twenty-five  thousand  a- 
year  of  able-bodied  men,  and  give  them 
honest,  independent  livelihood.  There  was  a 
time  when  the  poor  people  of  Skye  distrusted 
every  hint  of  emigration,  and  would  rather 
starve  in  their  own  mists  tJian  let  themselves 
be  shipped  away  in  cold  blood,  as  they  would 
have  phrased  it.  Truth,  however,  has  made 
a  way  among  them  ;  they  begin  to  find  that 
very  warm  and  generous  blood  stirs  under 
the  advice  to  all  men  who  are  absolutely 
destitute,  which  would  send  them  where 
there  are  men  waiting  to  pay  them  for  their 
labours  with  abundant  bread.  So  there  are 
at  this  moment  in  Skye  more  than  four  hun- 
dred families,  representing  about  two  thou- 
sand souls,  asking  for  help  to  get  them  to 
Australia. 

This  help  they  are  asking  at  the  hands  of 
the  Skye  Emigration  Society.  That  is  an 
association  composed  of  persons  resident  in 
Skye,  and  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
people  ;  men  who  have  seen  them  during  the 
last  five  years  of  their  intense  suffering,  which 
has  not  found  an  outlet  in  one  case  of  violence 
or  tumult,  and  which  has  occasioned  no  more 
thefts  than  are  committed  in  the  most  pros- 
perous districts  of  this  country.  The  object 
of  this  society,  which  seems  to  be  excellently 
conducted,  is  "  to  procure  help  for  those  who 
wish  to  emigrate,  but  have  not  the  means  of 
doing  so,  and  to  afford  information,  encourage- 
ment, and  assistance  to  all  to  whom  emigra- 
tion would  be  a  relief  from  want  and  misery." 
It  circulates  information  among  the  people, 
and  communicates  freely  with  them,  chiefly 
by  means  of  fortnightly  colloquial  meetings 
held  at  Portree.  It  communicates  thus  with 
the  people  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  hand  with  the  Emigration  Commis- 
sioners. JFrom  the  latter  it  has  obtained 
some  few  judiciotis  modifications  of  their 
rules,  by  which  they  are  more  suited  to  the 
habits  of  the  peculiar  population  which  it  is 
desired  to  aid. 

The  Government  Commissioners  take  charge 
of  emigrants,  and  provide  what  is,  in  fact, 
almost  a  free  passage  to  Australia,  where 
they  are  received  by  an  agent,  lodged)  fed 
and  assisted  in  obtaining  suitable  employ- 
ment. To  obtain  this  privilege,  it  is  required 
that  emigrants  should  be  of  suitable  con- 
dition, circumstances  and  character,  and  that 
if  on  these  accounts  admissible,  they  pay 


certain  deposits  varying  in  scale  from  one  to 
eleven  pounds,  and  provide  for  themselves  a 
specified  amount  of  clothing.  Now  the  object 
of  the  Skye  Emigration  Society,  when  it  has 
taught  some  of  the  people  what  they  should 
desire,  is  to  assist  them  in  attaiument  of  their 
object.  Of  the  four  hundred  families  now 
wishing  to  emigrate,  some  have  a  cow,  some 
sheep  or  articles  of  furniture,  but  none  of 
them  are  rich  enough  to  pay  deposits  and  to 
purchase  clothing  to  the  due  amount.  The 
Society  proposes  to  make  up  the  deficiency  in 
the  funds  of  each,  not  as  a  gift,  but  as  a  loan. 
The  emigrants,  as  they  repay  the  money 
borrowed,  are  to  have  a  right  to  name  to  the 
Society  friends,  in  aid  of  whose  emigration 
they  would  have  it  to  be  invested  ;  and  so  it 
is  desired  that  each  pound  having  helped  one 
man  should  come  back  to  help  another,  and 
so  go  and  come,  dwindling,  of  course,  in  the 
process,  on  account  of  losses  and  expenses, 
but  still  helping  many  before  its  whole  work 
is  done.  Thus  it  may  fairly  be  calculated 
that  each  pound  added  to  the  funds  of  the 
society,  carries  at  least  one  man  from  starva- 
tion to  an  altered  sky. 

The  Isle  of  Skye  has  no  manufactures,  very 
little  trade,  is  a  Imndred  miles  distant  from 
its  county  town,  and  farther  distant  still 
from  any  other  town  of  note.  This  island 
differs  from  most  of  its  neighbours  of  the 
Hebrides  in  wanting  rich  proprietors.  Nearly 
the  ^whole  of  its  land  is  in  trust  for  the  behoof 
of  creditors  ;  detaining  creditors  are  not  con- 
cerned in  local  efforts  of  benevolence,  and 
upon  impoverished  landlords  no  call  for  sub- 
scriptions can  be  fairly  made.  The  poor 
would-be  emigrants  can  get,  therefore,  in 
Skye  itself  only  a  moderate  amount  of  cash 
attention.  Their  friends  are  now  looking 
abroad,  and  we  trust  heartily  that  they  will 
catch  the  eye  of  any  individual  who  may  be 
bringing  his  philanthropy,  or  heir,  home  to 
England  from  a  residence  at  Timbuctoo,  and 
may  be  glad  to  let  it  rest  and  breathe  a  little 
by  the  way  upon  a  distant  island  of  the 
Hebrides. 


TOWN   AND    GOWN. 


THE  gowned  members  of  the  University  of 
Bulferry  love  much  to  make  themselves  con- 
temptible in  showing  how  much  they  can  despise 
the  Town  ;  the  tradesmen  of  the  town  of  J3ul- 
ferry  spite  the  thing  they  love — the  Gown. 
Were  the  gown -wearers  Chloes,  and  the 
townsmen  Corydons,  Corydons  could  not 
pursue  Chloes  with  more  flattering  attention. 
Chloe  is  proud,  but  she  would  be  sorry  _to 
miss  Corydon,  and  she  can  coquet  with  him 
prettily.  To  be  sure,  they  are  a  pair  necessary 
to  each  other  ;  only  now  and  then  they  have 
their  little  tiffs,  and  of  these  the  glorious 
High  Street  of  Bulferry  is  commonly  the 
scene.  Town  and  Gown  are  the  black  and 
white  chequers  on  a  chess-board;  they  must 
differ,  but  they  must  abide  by  one  another, 


102 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Conducted  by 


and  are  necessary  to  each  other,  none  the 
less. 

Here  is  the  Right  Hon.  Sporule  Fungus, 
•who  has  not  long  come  up  to  St.  Tommasio. 
His  tutor  toadies  him ;  he  is  a  hero  to  his 
private  "  coach  "  and  to  his  whole  round  of 
University  acquaintance  ;  including  Flash- 
ington,  whose  fag  he  has  been  at  a  public 
school.  What  does  the  town  say  to  this 
grandee  in  the  gown  1  Ask  Bruin,  the 
tobacconist,  in  St.  Tommasio  Lane.  "  For  my 
part,  sir,"  he  will  tell  you,  "  I  asked  him  to 
take  champagne  one  evening,  and  gave  myself 
some  trouble  to  get  a  lord  to  meet  him,  and 
two  gentlemen-commoners.  His  noble  father 
could  not  have  laid  before  the  distinguished 
youth  a  better  dessert  than  I  provided."  Will 
Bruin  charge  the  champagne  as  cigars,  and 
call  his  desserts  Latakia,  when  after  a  long 
interval  he  shall  send  in  to  Fungus  his 
small  account  ?  Why  does  Bruin  always  call 
a  large  account  a  small  one,  and  leave  it  so 
long  in  his  books  as  a  matter  of  no  conse- 
quence 1 — and  why  is  it  that  when  "  he  has  a 
large  bill  to  make  up "  he  afflicts  with  his 
desire  for  money  those  who  are  not  rich,  and 
who  owe  him  but  trifling  sums  ?  He  would 
not  send  a  bill  in  to  Fungus,  even  if  the 
Right  Honourable  young  man  were  to  request 
him  so  to  do. 

Before  the  young  Mai-quis  of  Ballyseedy, 
tailors,  tobacconists,  and  cooks  once  lay  pro- 
strate. Would  he  condescend  to  bless  them 
with  his  patronage  ]  He  would ;  he  did.  But 
never  did  he  bless  them  with  a  sixpence.  It 
having  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  could 
smash  the  Apollo  Belvedere  in  the  middle  of 
"  quad,"  he  thought  he  would,  and  he  did.  His 
absence  from  the  college  was  requested  ;  and 
when  he  went  he  left  no  keepsakes  behind 
him  for  the  tradesmen  written  upon  cheque- 
book leaves. 

But  Town  and  Gown  are  more  in  one 
another's  eyes  than  debtor  and  creditor. 
Don't  let  us  be  sordid  in  our  view  of  things. 
Town  loves  Gown  for  itself ;  Corydon  is  not  a 
mercenary  lover,  though,  to  be  sure,  if  Chloe 
has  a  little  property,  so  much  the  better.  A 
quiet  man  in  fast  society  drops  his  lexicon 
to  look  to  the  St.  Leger,  and  gives  up  his 
Paley  for  pale  ale ;  a  quiet  town  in  gown 
society,  desires  to  put  upon  its  mind,  if  it 
may  not  wear  upon  its  body,  the  familiar 
habit. 

When  Files,  the  builder,  was  to  be  seen 
patiently  restoring  the  stone  steps  which  had 
been  undermined  and  re-constructed,  as  a 
trophy,  by  the  wits  of  Deeptide  Square,  St. 
Tommasio,  all  said  he  was  a  steady,  worthy 
man,  and  rejoiced  that  he  had  stored  two 
thousand  pounds,  at  which  he  could  draw 
with  the  full  strength  of  a  capitalist.  But 
Files  was  an  infected  man.  He  got  his  son 
into  a  gown  ;  and  William  Files,  Junior,  Esq., 
with  six  light-coloured  hairs  growing  from  a 
wart  on  one  cheek,  to  represent  his  whiskers, 
Was  to  be  seen  following  the  "  drag  "  upon  a 


thorough-bred,  galloping  at  full  speed 
through  a  large  portion  of  his  father's  money. 
The  son  of  old  Phaeton,  the  watchmaker,  lost 
his  balance  at  a  Dangerfield  Ball,  and  from 
that  time  went  so  disgracefully  wrong  that 
his  works  brought  shame  upon  the  house  he 
came  from. 

A  fine  opening  occurs  to  the  son  of  a 
respectable  townsman,  a  plump,  cheerful, 
singing-faced  boy — he  gets  a  chorister's  place. 
He  is  sought  for  his  music  ;  he  is  plunged 
into  University  society  and  University  sherry. 
Honour  comes  to  the  father  from  his  child's 
visits  to  "  Sir  Dickinson  Cloudsley's  rooms." 
The  boy's  mind  is  expanded  to  life  ;  that  is  to 
say,  Bell's  Life.  The  child's  voice  breaks  ; 
the  singing  ceases,  the  good  society  is  at  an 
end.  The  chorister,  however,  has  by  this 
time  donned  a  gown  and  trencher,  having 
picked  up  a  Bible  clerkship,  or  taken  the 
odious  title  of  a  servitor  ;  he  gets  from  his 
old  cronies  stately  nods,  or  rare  and  formal 
invitations  to  breakfast.  Then  he  forms  a 
new  set  of  his  own,  chiefly  among  freshmen, 
who  soon  learn  to  live  at  twice  the  rate  of 
their  allowances,  perfectly  forgetful  of  what 
mother,  or  what  sister, may  tenderly  be  parting 
with  her  little  luxuries,  that  there  may  be  no 
want  felt  by  the  boy,  or  brother,  who  has 
gone  "where  he  has  so  fine  a  field  for  the 
exercise  of  his  superior  abilities." 

Other  relations  yet  subsist  between  the 
Corydon  and  Chloe  of  the  Town  and  Gown. 
Rose  Dapper,  the  tailor's  daughter,  looks  out 
of  window  for  the  coming  of  the  gentleman 
commoner ;  her  Bertram  Nightingale,  who 
talked  to  her  about  his  troth,  and  whose  five 
times  renewed  and  six  times  dishonoured 
bill  her  father  keeps  locked  up  quiet  in 
his  cash-box,  at  the  intercession  of  this 
Rose.  The  Nightingale  don't  love  the  Rose. 
The  Morning  Toilet  has  this  week  announced 
the  marriage  of  the  Nightingale  with  the 
Honourable  Lady  Thorn,  the  accomplished 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Blackberry,  as  being 
on  the  tapis.  Rose  Dapper  ought  not  to  be 
sitting  at  her  window  so  forlorn.  The  Town 
ought  never  to  have  listened  in  such  matters 
to  the  Gown. 

Mary  Smith,  the  surgeon's  pretty  daughter, 
has  had  six  Gowns  fluttering  upon  her  breath, 
and  would  have  beatified  with  a  smile  any 
one  "man"  out  of  a  group  of  twenty,  who 
sighed  over  her  in  twenty  rooms.  She 
beatified  none  of  them  ;  like  a  wise  girl  she 
waited  for  young  Vellum,  the  attorney,  and 
young  Vellum  duly  came,  and  she  is  Mrs. 
Vellum,  an  extremely  comfortable  matron. 
The  damsel  at  the  glove-shop,  who  flirts,  and 
sells  to  "  the  men "  odd  purses  and  babies' 
socks,  knows  what  she  is  about — she  is  not 
under  a  delusion  ;  she  has  accepted  the  white 
hand  of  a  waiter  at  the  Comet.  There  are, 
however,  worse  relations  between  Town  and 
Gown.  Fatal  as  red  coats,  are  the  gowns 
to  servant  maids — called,  technically,"  slay- 
vies."  Beyond  the  town  its  influence  extends. 


Charles  Uir.ken*.] 


TOWN  AND  GOWN. 


103 


Has  not  the  Bishop  of  Eddyston  attributed 
much  of  the  immorality  of  neighbouring 
parishes  to  the  vicinity  of  the  University  of 
Bui  ferry  ? 

Then  again,  to  go  from  sad  to  silly,  there 
are  ladies  whom  the  mighty  spirit  of  the 
University  has  transformed  into  Anglican 
Sisters.  These  have  a  mother  at  their  head 
who  never  has  been  married,  and  is  mother 
only  to  her  sisters  ;  and  it  would  be  well  if 
real  mothers  of  the  every  day  sort  who  enter 
the  firm  were  children  to  themselves,  and 
could  be  their  own  husbands  for  a  while  ;  so 
they  would  soon  learn  how  disagreeable  it  is 
to  make  altar-cloths  instead  of  slippers,  and 
to  go  to  chapel  at  breakfast  time,  having, 
besides,  all  day  long  a  mission  in  the  world, 
instead  of  occupation  in  their  household. 
Mrs.  Lupton  went  that  way  ;  she  eschewed 
silk  dresses,  and  wore  a  funeral-pall  cut  into 
a  domino.  Lupton  took  to  frequenting 
"men's  rooms,''  and  the  language  in  which 
he  alluded  to  the  establishment  of  Anglican 
Sisters  was  of  an  extremely  sinful  cha- 
racter. 

In  their  own  way  the  scouts  and  bed- 
makers  partake  the  imitative  spirit.  I  picked 
up  an  address-card  one  day,  neatly  in- 
scribed with  the  name  of  Mr.  Stephen  Potts, 
St.  Holmes,  and  scrawled  over  in  due  form 
with  the  familiar  summons,  "  Come  and  take 
a  glass  of  wine  this  evening  at  half-past  six. 

Puddles,  Esq."  There  was  no  Potts 

of  St.  Holmes,  and  I  much  doubted  the  exist- 
ence of  an  esquire  in  the  University  named 
— Puddles.  That  happened  on  the  first  day  in 
a  terra.  Next  week,  however,  when  the 
"  men"  were  "  up,"  I  chanced  to  breakfast 
with  "  the  crack  set"  in  St.  Holmes,  and  heard 
the  cry  of  "  Potts  !  "— "  Potts  !  "— "  Potts  !  " 
from  all  parts  of  the  staircase.  The  mystery 
was  solved.  Mr.  S.  Potts,  scout,  of  St.  Holmes, 
had  been  giving  "  a  wine"  in  the  rooms  of  his 
young  master,  where  the  display  of  the  said 
3roung  master's  plate  had  been  imposing. 
Plate-warmer,  the  cook  of  Brainmilk  Hall,  had 
sung  "  The  Merry  Maids  of  England  ;"  Eocks, 
violoncello  to  the  town-band,  had  presided  at 
the  piano  ;  the  party  of  the  scout  had  only 
differed  from  the  parties  of  the  master 
inasmuch  as  the  people  had  enjoyed  them- 
selves more  thoroughly/ and  had  drunk  a  better 
quality  of  wine. 

Once  when  I  paid  a  day's  visit  to  Bui  ferry 
in  vacation,  I  met  my  last  grey  suit  walking 
with  a  lady.  My  scout  was  inside  it.  I  let 
the  matter — that  is,  the  suit  of  clothes — pass 
unnoticed.  One  would  not  wish  to  make  even 
a  scout  look  small  before  the  eyes  of  his 
betrothed. 

Town  courts  and  apes  Gown  ;  but  Gown — 
does  that  never,  on  the  other  hand,  court 
Town  with  a  like  want  of  fitness  1  I  think,  yes, 
it  does,  when  I  see  Lord  Stablewit  and  the 
Eight  Honourable  Peony  Button  talking,  as 
only  brethren  in  soul  are  apt  to  talk,  to 
Folliet  the  livery  stable-keeper,  or  drinking 


the  champagne  of  Bruin  the  tobacconist. 
Yet  Lord  Stablewit  has  a  stern  eye  for 
the  "  scribs"  of  his  own  college,  and  the 
Honourable  Peony  Button  ranks  a  curate 
lower  than  an  ostler.  He  thinks  better 
things  of  his  tutor  because  he  hunts,  and 
once  did  him  the  honour  to  borrow  a  couple  of 
sovereigns,  which  he  repaid  the  next  morning 
during  lecture. 

I  must  acquit  the  Don-gowns  of  any  accu- 
sation of  familiarity  with  the  Town  party. 
Only  to  think  of  a  party — a  ball — at  which 
the  daughters  of  a  Dean  are  to  appear  !  A 
committee  of  lords  and  gentlemen  commoners 
is  formed.  A  dreary  entertainment  is  com- 
piled at  the  Comet.  The  townspeople  who 
go  are  uncomfortable  ;  they  have  bought  a 
ticket  for  the  receipt  of  supercilious  treat- 
ment. Miss  Theodosia,,  eldest  daughter  of  the 
Eeverend  Canon  Venter,  vicar  of  Adeps-on- 
the-Eib,  worth  seventeen  hundred  pounds  a 
year  and  very  little  else,  is  happy.  She  has 
got  three  words  out  of  Lord  Stablewit,  heir- 
apparent  to  the  most  gorgeous  things.  Two 
canons'  daughters,  both  hunting  the  tuft  of 
one  and  the  same  Lord  Blank,  are  looking 
very  Lady  Blanks  because  his  lordship  takes 
no  notice  of  them.  He  is  dancing  with  a 
rosy-cheeked  young  lady  whom  they  "  do  not 
know,"  and  is  assiduously  seeking  the  good 
graces  of  that  young  lady's  vulgar  mamma. 
The  canons'  daughters,  however,  will  both 
talk  to-morrow  of  the  delightful  evening  they 
spent,  and  will  mention  lords  with  whom  they 
danced. 

The  dear,  musty  old  dons  !  How  one  likes 
to  get  out  of  their  oppressively  dry  company  ! 
Eeverting  to  the  scapegraces,  I  wonder 
whether  they  could  not  now  and  then  be 
somewhat  less  oppressively  high-spirited ; 
whether  they  need  whistle,  or  smoke  cigars, 
or  imitate  the  noises  of  the  Surrey  gallery,  at 
places  to  which  people  of  the  town  of  Bulferry 
resoi-t  for  entertainment.  True,  such  ad- 
ditions to  the  public  entertainments  of  the 
town  are  volunteered  only  by  a  small  section 
of  gowned  performers  ;  but  there  are  enough 
of  these  to  make  a  tolerable  bear-garden,  and 
on  their  account  many  people  have  declined 
to  offer  good  performances  or  exhibitions 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  University  of 
Bulferry. 

One  indisputable  fact  I  am  happy  to 
record  in  conclusion.  In  works  of  charity 
and  kindness  to  the  poor,  Town  and  Gown 
vie  with  one  another.  When  Sawbench,  the 
poor  carpenter,  had  his  house  burnt  down, 
collegians  and  cads  pumped  with  equal  vigour 
to  subdue  the  blaze  ;  and  water  failing  on  the 
house,  half  sovereigns  were  poured  upon  the 
man.  The  readiness  with  which  these  flowed 
out  of  the  pockets  of  the  undergraduates, 
told  plainly  enough — what  many  other  things 
will  tell — that  the  young  blood  is  good  blood 
at  Bulferry.  But  there  is  a  collection  of 
stagnant  stuff  by  which  its  movement  is  per- 
verted very  much  ;  there  is  an  old  standing 


104 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


collection  of  matter — centuries  old — and  the' 
health  of  Bulferry  requires  that  this  should 
be  lanced  frequently,  and  subjected  to  pres- 


FBOM  GOLD  TO  GRAY. 

GOLDEN  curls,  profusely  shed 
O'er  the  lovely  childish  head, — 
Sunshine,  caught  from  summer  skies, 
Surely  here  entangled  lies  : 
Tossing  to  the  light  winds  free, 
Radiant  clusters,  what  are  ye  ? 

Types  of  Time  that  ripples  now 
In  bright  wavelets  o'er  the  brow, — 
Of  the  hopes  and  feelings  blest 
Dancing  in  the  guileless  breast, 
Beautiful  in  their  unrest : 
Sparkling  joys  and  willing  faith 
Rising  to  Love's  lightest  breath  ; — 
Of  the  future,  seeming  fair, 
That  may  darken  with  the  hair. 

What  are  ye,  dark  waving  bands 
That,  beneath  the  maiden's  hands, 
Sweep  around  her  gracefuj.  head  ? 
Fold  o'er  fold  of  changeful  shade 
Touch  the  cheek's  contrasted  bloom 
With  the  poetry  of  gloom. 

Offerings  for  a  lover's  eye ; 
Emblems  of  Love's  witchery, 
Round  her  heart  that  richly  lies, — 
Shadows,  while  it  beautifies  ; 
Keepsakes  Love  delights  to  give. 
Did  each  friend  one  tress  receive, 
Every  shining  tress  were  lost, 
For  the  maiden  hath  a  host. 
Ay  !  but  trouble,  stories  say, 
Locks  as"  rich  hath  worn  away. 
What  of  this  ?     But  friendt  grew  spare 
As  the  scant  and  falling  hair ! 

Wherefore  send  your  pallid  ray, 
Streaks  of  cold,  untimely  gray, 
Through  the  locks  whose  bumish'd  hue 
Hath  but  seen  of  years  a  few  ? 
Autumn  leaves  on  summer  trees 
Were  less  sorrowful  than  these. 

Portions  of  life's  travel-soil ; 
Footprints  left  by  Grief  and  Toil ; 
Relics,  too,  of  watchings  late, 
When  one  curl  was  too  much  weight 
On  the  hot  brows,  bending  o'er 
Some  grave  book  of  ancient  lore. 
'Tis  the  mourning  Nature  wears 
For  the  hopes  of  younger  years  ; 
And  the  scorching  breath  of  care 
Thus  can  fade  the  brightest  hair. 

Hail  to  thee,  thou  glistening  snow  ! 
Full  of  placid  beauty,  flow 
O'er  the  furrowed  brows  that  bear 
Life's  long  story,  written  fair. 
'Tis  the  white  foam,  cast  aside 
After  Time's  receding  tide. 

Yea,  and  pleasant  types  are  ye 
Of  each  moonlight  memory  ; 


Shining  from  his  far-off  prime 
To  the  old  man's  evening  time. 
More — ye  are  reflections  shed 
From  the  heaven  above  his  head  ; 
Pale,  but  still  assuring  ray, 
Of  his  nearly  risen  day. 
Mortal !  may  thy  hoary  hair 
E'en  such  glorious  meaning  bear, 
That  its  silver  threads  may  be 
Messengers  of  light  to  thee  ! 


CHIPS. 


A  GREAT  CATCH. 

A  COENISH  correspondent,  alluding  to  the 
statement,  at  page  598,  of  our  fourth  volume, 
that  last  summer,  in  Mount's  Bay,  as  many 
pilchards  were  enclosed  at  one  time,  in  one 
net,  as  fetched  twelve  thousand  pounds,  de- 
clares, that  "  The  Seine,  or  Catch,  alluded  to 
was  'shot'  at  St.  Ives,  and  not  in  Mount's  Bay. 
The  number  of  pilchards  supposed  to  have 
been  enclosed  in  the  net  was  sixteen  million, 
five  hundred  thousand  ;  or  five  thousand,  five 
hundred  hogsheads,  weighing  eleven  hundred 
tons.  The  probable  value  was  eleven  thousand 
pounds,  reckoning  them  at  the  usual  price  of 
two  pounds' per  hogshead,  before  deducting 
expense  of  curing." 

Yet,  despite  such  wonderful  resources  of 
the  sea  (which  were  detailed  more  fully  in 
previous  articles  in  this  miscellany*),  hun- 
dreds of  persons — according  to  the  last  Keport 
of  the  Registrar-General  of  Deaths,  &c. — die 
yeaiiy  in  England  and  Wales  for  the  want 
of  food  ;  while  in  Ireland,  death  from  starva- 
tion is  much  more  frequent.  At  the  same 
time,  tons  of  wholesome  food  is  perpetually 
swimming  about,  within  reach  of  starving 
people,  and  yet  they  do  not  catch  it. 


A  PRIMITIVE  PEOPLE. 

THE  history  of  Transylvania  is,  perhaps, 
one  of  the  wildest  and  most  romantic  that 
ever  told  the  story  of  a  nation.  It  describes 
a  people  perfectly  primitive  and  pastoral,  and 
living  under  institutions  as  patriarchal  as 
those  existing  at  the  time  of  Lot  or  Abra- 
ham. Transylvania,  long  annexed  to  the 
Austrian  monarchy,  was  in  old  times  looked 
upon  as  the  rightful  prize  of  the  strong  hand  ; 
and  was,  by  turns,  seized  and  plundered  by 
Turks,  Austrains,  and  Hungarians.  For  a 
short  time  it  chose  its  own  princes,  who 
aspired  to  be  kings  of  Hungary.  Their  pre- 
sumption met  with  the  penalty  of  utter 
annihilation. 

To  understand  these  peasants  properly,  the 
reader  may,  perhaps,  be  allowed  to  compare 
them  to  the  Highland  clansmen  of  Scotland 
at  the  same  period.  Ear  before  any  authentic 
records,  a  people  have  dwelt  in  Transylvania, 
who  knew  nothing  beyond  the  deep  valleys 

*  Vol.   i.,   p.  217,  "A  Popular  Delusion;"  and  vol.  in, 
p.  4'21,  "  Fish  Dinners.'' 


Charles  Uickens.] 


A.  PRIMITIVE  PEOPLE. 


105 


in  which  they  lived  ;  they  held  no  intercourse 
with  the  rest  of  the  world,  or  even  with  their 
neighbours,  the  other  inhabitants  of  the 
country ;  and  they  formed  as  many  little 

j     separate    republics    as    there  were    valleys. 

!  Each  clan  had,  and  even  still  has,  its  chief, 
who  generally  fills,  also,  the  functions  of 
judge  and  priest.  In  the  morning  and  the 
evening  they  have  public  prayers  ;  but, 
although,  like  their  lords,  they  belong  to 
the  reformed  religion,  they  have  no  one 
among  them  specially  entrusted  with  the 
cure  of  souls.  When  they  many  their 
daughters,  they  make  great  ceremony  and 
feasting,  to  which  all  comers  are  welcome. 
On  these  occasions,  too,  they  sometimes  pay 
a  visit  to  the  lord  of  the  valley,  that  he  may 
share  in  their  simple  rejoicing  ;  but,  at  other 
times,  they  are  shy  of  strangers,  and  few  of 
them  wander  far  beyond  their  native  place. 
The  agent,  or  the  lord  himself,  usually  visits 
them  once  a-year  ;  or,  perhaps,  more  frequently 
the  patriarch  of  the  tribe  goes  to  the  lord 
and  tells  him  of  the  number  of  his  cattle, 
and  of  their  increase,  of  what  must  be 
sold  and  what  must  be  kept.  Certain  of 
the  peasants  leave  the  depths  of  their  valley 
towards  the  end  of  summer,  and  drive 
their  flocks  and  herds  into  Wallachia,  along 
the  banks  of  the  mighty  Danube.  Here 
are  found  immense  forests ;  and  here,  in 
spite  of  winter,  the  sheep  may  glean  fresh 
and  plentiful  pasturage.  The  owners  of 
the  woods  are  paid,  in  return,  a  certain 
sum  yearly.  In  the  Spring,  merchants  and 
cattle-dealers  come  down  from  Constan- 
tinople, who  buy  their  sheep  and  goats  ; 
and  it  is  to  this  sale  that  the  lords  of  Tran- 
sylvania look  |or  the  greatest  part  of  their 
incomes. 

Immediately  after  the  shepherds  have 
effected  a  sale,  they  despatch  a  messenger  to 
their  lord,  who,  in  his  turn,  sends  a  trusty 
servant  to  receive  the  money.  There  are  no 
bankers,  no  bills,  no  checks,  no  first  and 
second  of  exchange,  no  post-office  orders  ; 
the  purchases  are  paid  for  in  solid  and  very 
dirty  silver,  and  it  is  carried  through  floods, 
rain,  wind,  and  weather,  to  the  lord,  with 
pastoral  honesty  and  simplicity.  All  takes 
place  with  a  good  faith  and  punctuality,  and 
an  earnestness  of  purpose  very  touching  to 
witness. 

Besides  this  source  of  revenue,  no  sooner 
have  the  flocks  and  herds  returned  to  the 
valley,  than  the  lord  sends  in  waggons  to 
return  laden  with  cheese,  the  produce  oi 
the  year.  These  cheeses  are  some  of  them 
formed  like  loaves  ;  and  some,  the  most  de- 
licate, are  pressed  into  the  skins  of  young 
lambs,  carefully  prepared  for  the  purpose 
by  some  primitive  art.  The  third,  and 
remaining  portion,  of  a  Transylvaniaii  gentle- 
man's income  is  derived  from  wool,  which 
is  as  faithfully  and  punctually  delivered 
to  him  as  his  cheeses,  or  the  cash  for  his 
flocks. 


There  is  neither  corn  nor  wine  in  these 
valleys,  and  the  dwellers  in  them  live  chiefly 
on  a  kind  of  thin  paste  and  a  fermented 
drink,  in  both  of  which  the  rnilk  of  sheep 
forms  a  very  important  ingredient.  Some- 
;imes  they  regale  themselves  with  a  lamb  or 
a  kid  ;  but  this  is  a  rare  festival.  They  make 
iheir  own  garments  from  the  wool  of  their 
flocks,  which  they  fashion  into  coarse  thick 
loths,  mighty  against  snow,  and  rain,  and  sun, 
and  wind,  but  not  pretty.  Their  caps,  too,  are 
made  of  wool  ;  and,  with  long,  shaggy  tufts 
hanging  to  them,  look  like  weird,  uncouth 
wigs.  Their  women  and  children  are  clothed 
in  the  same  way,  and  all  live  together  in  caves 
cut  in  the  mountain  side,  or  formed  by  nature 
in  the  solid  rocks. 

I  paid  some  of  these  people  a  visit,  and  found, 
in  one  of  these  cavern  houses,  an  Englishman's 
hat  and  umbrella.  These  things  interested 
me,  because  their  possessors  had  a  legend 
that  they  had  been  received  from  a  demon, 
and  I  could  not  help  fancying  it  more  likely 
that  they  had  belonged  to  some  luckless 
wight,  who  might  have  wandered  thither,  and 
been  lost.  Into  the  hat  they  had  forced  a 
cheese  ;  but  I  fancied  I  detected  a  sort  of 
superstitious  reverence  for  the  umbrella,  and 
they  evidently  looked  upon  its  mechanism 
with  great  wonder  and  respect.  They  asked 
eagerly  for  information  upon  the  mysterious 
subject,  and,  after  I  had  explained  it  (which  I 
am  now  almost  sorry  I  did),  I  fancy  they  looked 
upon  me  as  we,  in  England,  looked  upon  people 
who  had  a  tendency  for  explaining  things 
in  the  middle  ages — as  an  unbeliever,  a 
student  in  dark  arts,  a  magician,  in  league 
with  the  Evil  One.  But  I  had  an  object  to 
answer,  and  I  entered  into  negotiations  for 
getting  the  cheese  out  of  the  hat,  and  offered, 
what  Mr.  Trapbois  calls  a  "  con-side-ra-tion," 
to  be  allowed  to  examine  both  hat  and 
umbrella  nearer,  to  see  if  I  could  find  any 
mark,  or  initials,  giving  a  clue  to  their  for- 
mer owner.  For  a  long  time  my  efforts  were 
useless  ;  the  cheese  in  the  hat  was  intended 
for  the  lord,  and  they  were  afraid  of  offend- 
ing the  umbrella  by  allowing  me  to  take 
any  liberty  with  it ;  but  a  good-tempei', 
and  a  cheery  way,  gets  on  wonderfully  with 
simple  folk,  and  at  length  they  listened  to 
my  wish,  but  refused  my  gift.  I  could 
not,  however,  find  anything  to  reward  my 
search. 

On  returning  to  Vienna  the  mystery  was 
cleared  up.  It  appears,  that  an  English 
traveller,  making  a  tour  in  those  parts  on 
foot,  had  been  overtaken  by  a  gaunt  man  in 
a  strange  costume.  The  uncouth  figure 
addressed  him  in  an  unknown  tongue ;  and 
all  presence  of  mind,  for  a  moment,  deserted 
him.  Without  pausing  to  reflect  if  the  greet- 
ing were  friendly  or  hostile,  he  thought  to 
conciliate  his  gigantic  acquaintance  (having 
no  money  about  him)  by  offering  the  only 
things  he  could  dispose  of ;  so,  taking  off 
his  hat,  and  resigning  his  umbrella  with  it 


106 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducts d  by 


into  the  bands  stretched  out  in  wonder  to 
receive  them,  the  English  traveller  took  to 
his  heels. 


WHAT  THERE  IS  IN  A  BUTTON. 


IT  is  a  serious  thing  to  attempt  to  learn 
about  buttons  at  Birmingham.  What  buttons 
are  we  thinking  of?  we  are  asked,  if  we 
venture  an  inquiry.  Do  we  want  to  see  gilt, 
or  silvered  buttons  ?  or  electro-plated  ?  or 
silk,  or  Florentine  buttons  1  or  mother-of- 
pearl,  or  steel,  or  wood,  or  bone,  or  horn 
buttons  ?  All  these  are  made  here.  Before 
we  have  made  up  our  minds  what  to  see  first, 
we  hear  somebody  say  that  button-dies  are 
among  the  highest  objects  of  the  die-sinkers, 
and  medallists'  art.  This  not  only  suddenly 
raises  our  estimate  of  buttons,  but  decides  us 
to  follow  the  production  of  the  button  from 
the  earliest  stage, — if  Messrs.  Allen  and  Moore 
will  kindly  permit  us  to  see  what  their  artists 
and  workmen  are  doing.  This  is  not  the  first 
time  that  we  have  had  a  hankering  after  this 
spectacle.  When  we  saw  electro-plating — 
when  we  saw  the  making  of  pencil-cases  and 
trinkets —  we  observed  and  handled  many 
steel  dies,  and  wondered  how  they  were  made. 
Now  we  are  to  learn. 

It  was  not  a  little  surprising  to  see,  in  other 
manufactories,  ranges  of  shelves,  or  pigeon- 
holes, covering  whole  sides  of  rooms,  filled 
with  dies,  worth  from  ten  shillings  to  twenty- 
four  shillings  each.  It  was  rather  sad,  too, 
to  be  told  that  a  large  proportion  of  these 
might  never  again  be  of  any  use — the  fashion 
of  a  few  weeks,  or  even  days,  having  passed 
away.  Much  more  surprising  is  the  sight  of 
the  dies  arranged  along  the  shelves  of  the 
makers  of  this  curious  article.  Messrs.  Allen 
and  Moore  have  made  three  thousand  dies 
within  the  last  three  years :  and  upon  each 
one,  what  thought  has  been  spent  —  what 
ingenuity — what  knowledge  —  what  taste — 
what  skill  of  eye  and  hand  !  A  single  die 
will  occupy  one  man  a  mouth,  with  all  his 
faculties  in  exercise  ;  while  another,  with  more 
natural  aptitude,  or  courage,  or  experience, 
will  do  the  same  thing  in  two  or  three  days. 
To  think  of  one  thousand  in  a  year,  pro- 
duced with  this  effort  and  ability,  and  then 
to  remember  that  button  dies  are  among 
the  highest  productions  of  the  art,  cannot 
but  elevate  our  respect  for  buttons  very 
remarkably. 

First,  what  is  this  steel  die,  which  is  so 
much  heard  of,  and  so  seldom  seen,  except  by 
those  who  go  to  seek  it  1  It  is  a  block  of 
metal,  round  or  square,  as  may  happen,  about 
four  or  five  inches  in  height,  and  rather 
smaller  at  the  top  than  the  bottom.  It  con- 
sists of  a  piece  of  soft  steel  in  the  centre,  sur- 
rounded by  iron,  to  prevent  its  cracking  by 
expansion,  under  the  treatment  it  is  to  be 
subjected  to.  The  bar  of  iron  is  wound  round 
the  steel  when  hot,  and  welded  to  it ;  and 
thus  it  comes  from  the  forge,  rough  and 


dirty.  The  steel  surface  at  the  top  is  then 
polished  ;  and  if  it  is  intended  for  a  medal,  it 
is  turned  in  the  lathe.  The  artist  sketches 
his  subject  upon  it,,  from  the  drawing  before 
him,  with  a  pencil.  When  he  has  satisfied 
himself  with  his  drawing,  he  begins  to  en- 
grave. He  rests  his  graver  (a  sharp  point  of 
steel)  across  another  graver,  and  cuts  away — 
very  gently  ;  for  it  is  always  easy  to  cut  away 
more,  but  impossible  to  restore  the  minutest 
chip  when  the  stroke  has  gone  too  deep.  He 
keeps  beside  him  a  lump  of  red  clay,  which  he 
now  and  then  lays  upon  his  work,  knocking  it 
down  smartly  through  a  frame,  which  keeps  it 
in  shape  ;  and  thus  he  has  presented  to  him 
his  work  in  relief,  and  can  judge  of  its  effect 
so  far.  Little  brushes  in  frames  are  also  at 
hand,  wherewith  to  brush  away  particles  of 
steel,  oil,  and  all  dirt.  When  the  engraving 
is  done,  the  most  anxious  process  of  all 
succeeds.  The  steel  must  be  hardened.  All 
has  been  done  that  could  be  done  to  prevent 
fracture  by  the  original  surrounding  of  the 
steel  with  iron  ;  but  cracks  will  happen  some- 
times, and  they  spoil  the  work  completely. 
The  block  is  heated  to  a  crimson  heat — not  to 
"  a  scaly  heat,"  but  a  more  moderate  degree  ; 
and  then  a  dash  of  cold  water  hardens  the 
steel.  This  dash  of  cold  water  is  the  nervous 
part  of  the  business.  In  medals  representing 
heads,  there  is  usually  only  a  narrow  line  left 
between  the  top  of  the  concave  head  and  the 
edge  of  the  steel  ;  and  this  is  where  the  frac- 
ture is  to  be  first  looked  for.  When  the  Jenny 
Lind  medal  was  to  be  struck  at  this  house, 
no  less  than  four  dies  were  spoiled  in  succes- 
sion. It  was  vexatious  ;  but  the  artists  went 
to  work  again,  and  succeeded.  The  Queen's 
head  is  less  mischievous  than  Jenny  Lind's, 
as  the  shallow  work  about  the  top  of  the 
crown  intervenes  between  the  deeper  con- 
cavity and  the  rim.  If  the  steel  stands  the 
hardening,  the  die  is  ready  for  use,  except 
only  that  the  plain  surface  must  be  well 
polished  before  the  medal  or  button  is  struck. 
Before  we  go  to  the  medal  press,  we  must 
look  round  this  room  a  little.  Banged  on 
shelves,  and  suspended  from  nails,  are  casts 
of  limbs,  of  whole  figures,  of  draperies,  of 
foliage,  —  of  everything  that  is  prett}7.  This 
art  comes  next  to  that  of  the  sculptor ;  and  it 
requires  much  of  the  same  training.  When 
partially-draped  figures  are  to  be  represented, 
the  artist  engraves  the  naked  figure  first,  and 
the  drapery  afterwards  ;  and  to  do  this  well, 
he  must  have  the  sculptor's  knowledge  of 
anatomy.  He  must  be  familiar  with  the  best 
works  of  art,  because  something  of  a  classical 
air  is  required  in  such  an  article  as  a  medal. 
Tiie  personifications  of  virtues,  arts,  sciences, 
— of  all  abstract  conceptions  which  can  thus 
be  presented, — must  be  of  the  old  classical 
types,  or  in  close  harmony  with  them.  And 
then,  how  much  else  is  required  !  Think  of 
the  skill  in  perspective  required  to  engrave 
the  Crystal  Palace  in  the  space  of  two  or 
three  inches !  Think  of  the  architectural 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  THERE  IS  IN  A  BUTTON. 


107 


drawing  that  an  artist  must  be  capable  oi 
who  engraves  public  buildings  by  the  score 
—  endowed  grammar-schools,  old  castles 
noblemen's  seats,  market  houses,  and  so  forth  ! 
Think  of  the  skill  in  animal  drawing  required 
for  the  whole  series  of  sporting  buttons — 
from  the  red  deer  to  the  snipe  !  Think  oi 
the  varieties  of  horses  and  dogs,  besides  the 
game  !  For  crest  buttons,  the  lions  and 
other  animals  are  odd  and  untrue  enough  ; 
but,  out  of  the  range  of  heraldry,  all  must  be 
perfect  pictures.  And  then,  the  word  "  pic- 
tures" reminds  us  of  the  exquisite  copies  of 
paintings  which  the  die-sinker  makes.  Here 
is  the  "  Christus  Consolator"  of  Scheffer  re- 
produced, with  admirable  spirit  and  fidelity, 
within  a  space  so  small,  that  no  justice  can 
be  done  to  the  work  unless  it  is  viewed 
through  a  magnifying  glass. 

So  much  for  the  execution.  We  have  also 
not  a  little  curiosity  about  the  designing. 
The  greater  number  of  the  designs  are  sent 
hither  to  be  executed  ;  —  coats  of  arms ; 
livery  buttons  ;  club  buttons  ;  service  but- 
tons ; — buttons  for  this  or  that  hunt ;  foreign 
buttons  —  the  Spanish  one  sort,  the  French 
another.  Sometimes  a  suggestion  comes,  or 
a  rough  sketch,  which  the  artist  has  to  work 
out.  But  much  is  originated  on  the  pre- 
mises. There  is  a  venerable  man  living  at 
Birmingham,  who  has  seen  four  generations, 
and  watched  their  progress  in  art ;  and  he  it 
is,  we  are  told, — Mr.  Lines,  now  above  eighty, 
who  has  "  furnished"  (that  is,  discovered  and 
trained)  more  designers  than  anybody  else. 
It  must  be  pleasant  to  him  to  see  what  Bir- 
mingham has  arrived  at  since  lamps  were 
made  with  a  leopard's  foot  at  the  bottom, 
expanding  into  a  leaf  at  the  top,  and  so  on, 
through  a  narrow  circle  of  grotesque  absur- 
dities. Now,  one  cannot  enter  a  manufactory, 
or  pass  along  the  streets  of  this  wonderful 
town,  without  being  impressed  and  gratified 
by  the  affluence  of  beauty,  with  good  sense  at 
the  bottom  of  it,  which  everywhere  abounds  : 
and,  to  one  who  has  helped  on  the  change, 
as  Mr.  Lines  has  done,  the  gratification  ought 
to  be  something  enviable. 

The  variety  of  dies  is  amusing  enough. 
Here  is  a  prize  medal  for  the  Queen's  College 
at  Cork  :  on  one  side,  the  Queen's  head,  of 
course  ;  on  the  other,  Science — a  kneeling 
figure,  feeding  a  lamp  ;  very  pretty.  Next, 
we  see  General  Tom  Thumb  ; — his  mighty 
self  on  one  side,  and  his  carriage  on  the  other. 
This  medal  he  bought  here  at  a  penny  a- 
piece ;  and  he  sold  it  again,  with  a  kiss  into 
the  bargain,  to  an  admiring  female  world,  at 
the  low  price  of  a  shilling.  Then,  we  have 
the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  and  the  Governesses' 
Institution  ;  and  Prince  Albert,  and  the 
Crystal  Palace  ;  and,  on  the  same  shelf,  the 
late  Archbishop  of  Paris,  on  the  barricade  ; 
and,  again,  the  medal  of  the  Eisteddfod — the 
eagle  among  clouds,  above  which  rises  the 
mountain  peak :  on  the  other  side,  Cardiff 
Castle  ;  and  for  the  border,  the  leek.  But 


we  must  not  linger  among  these  dies,  or  we 
shall  fill  pages  with  accounts  of  whom  and 
what  we  saw  there  ; — the  Peels  and  the  Louis 
Napoleons  ;  the  Schillers  and  the  Tom 
Thumbs ;  the  private  school  and  public  market 
medals;  royal  families,  frae  trade,  charities, 
public  solemnities,  and  private  vanities,  out 
of  number.  We  will  mention  only  one  more 
fact  in  this  connexion.  We  saw  a  broken 
medal  press — a  press  which  was  worth  one 
hundred  pounds,  and  which  broke  under  the 
strain  of  striking  off  seventy  thousand  medals 
for  the  school-children  who  welcomed  the 
Queen  to  Manchester  last  autumn.  Yes,  there 
is  another  fact  that  we  must  give.  Many 
thousands  of  "  national  boxes  "  are  required 
for  exportation,  especially  to  Germany.  These 
boxes  contain  four  counters,  intended  for  the 
whist  table.  These  counters  are  little  medals, 
containing  the  portraits  of  the  Queen,  of 
Prince  Albert,  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  of 
the  other  royal  children.  The  Germans  de- 
cline all  invitations  to  suggest  other  subjects. 
They  prefer  these,  which  are  interesting  to 
all,  and  which  can  cause  no  jealousy  among 
the  various  states  of  Germany.  So  these 
medals  are  struck  everlastingly. 

The  medal-press  is  partly  sunk  in  the  earth, 
to  avoid  the  shock  and  vibration  which  would 
take  place  above-ground,  and  injure  the  im- 
pression from  the  die.  Its  weight  is  three 
tons  ;  the  screw  and  wheel  alone  weighing 
fifteen  hundred -weight.  The  screw  is  of  an 
extraordinary  size,  being  six  inches  in  dia- 
meter. One  die  is  fixed  to  the  block,  which 
rises  from  the  ground  ;  and  the  other  is  fas- 
tened to  the  end  of  the  screw,  which  is  to 
meet  it  from  above.  Of  course  the  medal 
must  lie  between  them.  This  medal,  called  a 
"  blank,"  is  (if  not  of  gold,  silver,  or  copper)  of 
pure  tin,  cut  out  by  one  machine,  cleaned  and 
polished  by  another,  and  now  brought  here  to 
be  stamped  by  a  third,  and  the  greatest.  This 
"  blank  "  is  laid  on  the  lower  die,  and  kept  in 
its  place,  and  preserved  from  expansion,  when 
struck,  by  the  collar,  a  stout  circle  of  metal 
which  embraces  the  die  and  blank.  As  the 
heavy  horizontal  wheel  at  the  top  revolves, 
the  screw  descends ;  so  two  or  three  men 
whirl  the  wheel  round,  with  all  their  force  ; 
down  goes  the  screw,  with  its  die  at  its  lower 
nd,  and  stamps  smartly  upon  the  blank.  A  se- 
cond stroke  is  given,  and  the  impression  is  made. 
The  edges  are  rough  ;  but  they  are  trimmed 
off  in  a  lathe,  and  then  the  medal  is  finished. 
Button  blanks  are  stamped  in  a  smaller 
machine  ;  some  on  these  premises,  but  many 
.n  the  manufactories  of  the  button-makers. 
To  those  manufactories  we  must  now  pass  on. 

When  little  children  are  shown  old  por- 
raits,  they  are  pretty  sure  to  notice  the  large 
Diittons  on  the  coats  of  our  forefathers.  Those 
juttons  were,  no  doubt,  made  at  Birmingham ; 
'or  few  were,  in  old  days,  made  anywhere  else 
111  the  kingdom.  Those  buttons  were  covered 
;>y  wouiei.),  and  by  the  slow  process  of  the 
needle.  Women  and  girls  sat  round  tables,  in 


108 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[ConducUdby 


a  cosey  way,  having  no  machinery  to  manage  ; 
and  there  "was  no  clatter,  or  grinding,  or 
stamping  of  machinery  to  prevent  their  gossip- 
ing as  much  as  they  liked.  Before  the 
workwomen  lay  moulds  of  horn  or  wood,  of 
various  shapes,  but  most  commonly  round, 
and  always  with  a  hole  in  the  middle.  These 
moulds  were  covered  with  gold  or  silver 
thread,  or  with  sewing  silk,  by  means  of  the 
needle.  One  would  like  to  know  how 
many  women  were  required  to  supply,  at  this 
rate,  the  tailors  who  clothed  the  gentlemen  of 
England  ?  At  last,  the  tailors  made  quicker 
work,  by  covering  the  moulds  with  the  mate- 
rial of  the  dress.  So  obvious  a  convenience 
and  saving  aa  this  might  have  been  expected  to 
take  its  place,  as  a  matter  of  course,  among  new 
arrangements ;  but  there  were  plenty  of  people 
who  thought  they  could  put  down  such  buttons 
by  applying  to  Parliament.  A  doleful  petition 
was  sent  up,  showing  how  needle-wrought 
buttons  had  been  again  and  again  protected 
by  Parliament,  and  requesting  the  interpo- 
sition of  the  Legislature  once  more  against  the 
tailoring  practice  of  covering  moulds  with 
the  same  material  as  the  coat  or  other  dress. 
What  would  the  petitioners  have  said,  if  they 
had  been  told  that,  in  a  century  or  so,  one 
establishment  would  use  metal  for  the  manu- 
facture of  buttons  to  the  amount  of  thirty- 
seven  tons,  six  hundred- weight,  two  quarters, 
and  one  pound  weight  in  one  year  !  Yet  this 
is  actually  the  state  of  things  now  in  Bir- 
mingham. And  this  is  exclusive  of  the  sort 
of  button  which,  a  few  years  ago,  we  should 
have  called  the  commonest — the  familiar  gilt 
button,  flat  and  plain. 

As  for  the  variety  of  kinds,  William  Hutton 
wrote  about  it  as  being  great  in  his  day  ;  but 
it  was  nothing  to  what  it  is  now.  He  says, 
"  We  well  remember  the  long  coats  of  our 
grandfathers,  covered  with  half  a  gross  of 
high-tops  ;  and  the  cloaks  of  our  grand- 
mothers, ornamented  with  a  horn  button, 
nearly  the  size  of  a  crown-piece,  a  watch,  or 
John-apple,  curiously  wrought,  as  having 
passed  through  the  Birmingham  press.  Though 
the  common  round  button  keeps  in  with  the 
pace  of  the  day,  yet  we  sometimes  find  the 
oval,  the  square,  the  pea,  the  pyramid,  flash 
into  existence.  In  some  branches  of  traffic 
the  wearer  calls  loudly  for  new  fashions  ;  but 
in  this,  fashions  tread  upon  each  other,  and 
crowd  upon  the  wearer."  We  do  not  see  the 
square  at  present ;  but  the  others,  with  a  long 
list  of  new  devices,  are  still  familiar  to  us. 

Some  grandmother,  who  reads  this,  may 
remember  the  days  when  she  bought  horn 
button  moulds  by  the  string,  to  be  covered  at 
home.  Some  middle-aged  ladies  may  re- 
member the  anxieties  of  the  first  attempts  to 
cover  such  moulds — one  of  the  most  im- 
portant lessons  given  to  the  infant  needle- 
woman. Plow  many  stitches  went  to  the 
business  of  covering  one  mould  !  what  coaxing 
to  stretch  the  cover  smooth  !  what  danger  of 
ravelling  out  at  one  point  or  another  !  what 


ruin  if  the  thread  broke  !  what  deep  stitches 
were  necessary  to  make  all  secure  !  And 
now,  by  two  turns  of  a  handle,  the  covering  is 
done  to  such  perfection,  that  the  button  will 
last  twice  as  long  as  of  old,  and  dozens  can  be 
covered  in  a  minute  by  one  woman.  The  one 
house  we  have  mentioned  sends  out  two 
thousand  gross  of  shirt  buttons  per  week ; 
the  gross  consisting  of  twelve  dozens. 

"  But  what  of  metal  ] "  the  reader  may 
ask.  "  Have  shirt  buttons  anything  to  do 
with  metal  ?  except,  indeed,  the  wire  rim  of 
those  shirt  buttons  which  are  covered  with 
thread  and  which  wear  out  in  no  time  ? 
When  you  talk  of  thirty-seven  tons  of  metal, 
do  you  include  wire  ]  "  No,  we  do  not.  We 
speak  of  sheet  iron,  and  copper,  and  brass, 
used  to  make  shirt-buttons,  and  silk,  and 
satin,  and  acorn,  and  sugar-loaf,  and  waistcoat 
buttons,  and  many  more,  besides  those  which 
show  themselves  to  be  metal. 

Here  are  long  rooms,  large  rooms,  many 
rooms,  devoted  to  the  making  an  article  so 
small  as  to  be  a  very  name  for  nothingness. 
"  I  don't  care  a  button,"  we  say :  but,  little 
as  a  button  may  be  worth  to  us,  one  single 
specimen  may  be  worth  to  the  manufacturer 
long  days  ot  toil  and  nights  of  care,  and  the 
gain  or  loss  of  thousands  of  pounds.  We 
can  the  better  believe  it  for  having  gone 
through  those  rooms.  There  we  see  range 
beyond  range  of  machines — the  punching, 
drilling,  stamping  machines,  the  polishing 
wheels,  and  all  the  bright  and  compact,  and 
never-tiring  apparatus  which  is  so  familiar  a 
spectacle  in  Birmingham  work-rooms.  We 
see  hundreds  of  women,  scores  of  children, 
and  a  few  men  ;  and  piles  of  the  most  de- 
sultory material  that  can  be  found  any- 
where, one  would  think — metal  plates, 
coarse  brown  pasteboard,  Irish  linen,  silk 
fringes,  and  figured  silks  of  many  colours  and 
patterns. 

First,  rows  of  women  sit,  each  at  her 
machine,  with  its  handle  in  her  right  hand, 
and  a  sheet  of  thin  iron,  brass,  or  copper,  in 
the  other.  Shifting  the  sheet,  she  punches 
out  circles  many  times  faster  than  the  cook 
cuts  out  shapes  from  a  sheet  of  pastry.  The 
number  cut  out  and  pushed  aside  in  a  minute 
is  beyond  belief  to  those  who  have  not  seen 
it  done.  By  the  same  method,  the  rough 
pasteboard  is  cut ;  and  linen  (double,  coarse 
and  fine)  for  shirt  buttons ;  and  silk  and 
satin  ; — in  short,  all  the  round  parts  of  all 
buttons.  The  remains  are  sold — to  the 
foundries,  and  the  ragman,  and  the  paper- 
makers.  Very  young  children  gather  up  the 
cut  circles.  Little  boys,  "just  out  of  the 
cradle,"  range  the  pasteboard  circles,  and 
pack  them  close,  on  edge,  in  boxes  or  trays  ; 
and  girls,  as  young,  arrange  on  a  table  the 
linen  circles,  small  and  larger.  Meantime,' 
the  machines  are  busily  at  work.  Some  are 
punching  oat  the  middle  of  the  round  bits  of 
iron,  or  copper,  or  pasteboard,  to  allow  the 
cloth  or  linen  within  to  protrude,  so  as  to  be 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  THEEE  IS  IN  A  BUTTON. 


10D 


laid  hold  of  by  the  needle  which  is  to  sew  on 
the  button.  This  makes  the  back  or  under- 
part  of  the  button.  Another  machine  wraps 
the  metal  top  of  the  button  in  cloth,  turns 
down  the  edges,  fixes  in  the  pasteboard 
mould,  and  the  prepared  back,  and  closes  all 
the  rims,  so  as  to  complete  the  putting  together 
of  the  five  parts  that  compose  the  common 
Florentine  button  which  may  be  seen  on  any 
gentleman's  coat.  It  is  truly  a  wonderful 
and  beautiful  apparatus ;  but  its  operation 
cannot  Avell  be  described  to  those  who  have 
not  seen  it.  Black  satin  waistcoat  buttons, 
and  flat  and  conical  buttons  covered  with 
figured  silks,  are  composed  of  similar  parts, 
and  stuck  together,  with  all  edges  turned  in, 
by  the  same  curious  process.  Shirt-buttons 
are  nearly  of  the  same  make  ;  but,  instead  of 
two  pieces  of  metal,  for  the  back  and  front, 
there  is  only  one  ;  and  that  is  a  rim,  with 
both  edges  turned  down,  so  as  to  leave  a 
hollow  for  the  reception  of  the  edges  of  all 
the  three  pieces  of  linen  which  cover  the 
button.  A  piece  of  fine  linen,  lined  with  a 
piece  very  stout  and  coarse,  covers  the  visible 
part  of  the  button,  and  goes  over  the  rim. 
A  piece  of  middling  quality  ,is  laid  on  behind: 
and,  by  the  machine,  all  the  edges  are  shut 
fast  into  the  hollow  of  the  rim — the  edges  of 
which  are,  by  the  same  movement,  closed 
down  nicely  upon  their  contents,  leaving  the 
button  so  round,  smooth,  compact,  and  com- 
plete, that  it  is  as  great  a  mystery  where  the 
edges  are  all  put  away,  as  how  the  apple 
gets  into  the  dumpling.  No  one  would  guess 
how  neat  the  inside  of  the  button  is,  that  did 
not  see  it  made.  The  rims  are  silvered  as 
carefully  as  if  they  were  for  show.  When 
struck  from  the  brass  or  copper,  and  bent, 
they  are  carried  to  the  yard,  where  an  earnest 
elderly  man,  dressed  in  an  odd  suit  of  green 
baize,  stands  at  a,  stone  table,  with  a  bucket 
of  stone  ware,  pierced  with  holes,  in  his 
hand,  and  troughs  before  him,  containing — 
the  first,  diluted  aquafortis,  and  the  others, 
water.  The  bucket,  half  full  of  button  rims, 
is  dipped  in  the  aquafortis  bath,  well  shaken 
there,  and  then  passed  through  successive 
waterings,  finishing  at  the  pump.  The  rims, 
now  clean  and  bright,  must  be  silvered. 
.They  are  shaken  and  boulted  (as  a  miller 
would  say),  covered  with  a  mysterious 
silvering  powder,  the  constitution  of  which 
we  were  not  to  inquire  into  ;  and  out  they 
come,  as  white  as  so  many  teaspoons.  Thus 
it  is,  too,  with  the  brace-buttons,  on  which 
the  machines  are  at  work  all  this  time.  Each 
has  to  be  pierced  with  four  holes  ;  necessary, 
as  we  all  know,  for  sewing  on  buttons  which 
have  to  bear  such  a  strain  as  these  have. 
This  piercing  with  four  holes  can  be  inflicted, 
by  one  woman,  on  fifteen  gross  per  hour. 
The  forming  the  little  cup  in  the  middle  of 
the  button,  where  the  holes  are,  in  order  to 
raise  the  rim  of  the  button  from  the  surface 
of  the  dress,  is  called  counter-sinking  ;  and 
that  process  has  a  machine  to  itself ;  one  of 


the  long  row  of  little  engines  which  look 
almost  alike,  but  which  discharge  various 
offices  in  this  manufacture,  at  once  so  small 
I  and  so  great.  These  buttons  go  down  to  the 
burnisher's  department  in  company  with  some 
which  make  a  prodigious  show  at  a  very 
small  cost — the  stage  ornaments  which  are 
professionally  called  "  spangles."  Let  no 
novice  suppose  that  these  are  the  little  scales 
of  excessively  thin  metal  which  are  called 
spangles  on  doll's  dresses  and  our  grand- 
mothers' embroidered  shoes.  These  stage 
spangles  are  nearly  an  inch  in  diameter,  cut  out 
in  the  middle,  and  bent  into  a  rim,  to  reflect 
light  the  better.  In  the  Hippodrome  they 
cover  the  boddices  of  princesses,  and  stud  the 
trappings  of  horses  at  a  tournament  ;  and  in 
stage  processions  they  make  up  a  great  part 
of  the  glitter.  Of  these,  twenty-five  thousand 
gross  in  a  year  are  sent  out  by  this  house 
alone  ;  a  fact  which  gives  an  overwhelming  im- 
pression of  the  amount  of  stage  decoration  which 
must  always  be  exhibiting  itself  in  England. 

In  our  opinion,  it  was  prettier  to  see  these 
"  spangles "  burnished  here  than  glittering 
on  the  stage ;  and,  certainly,  the  brace- 
buttons  we  had  been  tracing  out  would  never 
more  be  so  admired  as  when  they  were 
brightening  up  at  the  wheel.  The  burnisher 
works  his  lathe  with  a  treadle.  The  stone 
he  uses  is  a  sort  of  bloodstone,  found  in 
Derbyshire,  which  lasts  a  lifetime  in  use. 
Each  button  is  picked  up  and  applied  :  a 
pleasant  twanging,  vibrating  tune — very  like 
a  Jew's  harp — comes  from  the  flying  wheel ; 
the  button  is  dropped — polished  in  half  a, 
second  ;  and  another  is  in  its  place,  almost 
before  the  eye  can  follow.  Six  or  eight  gross 
can  thus  be  burnished  in  an  hour  by  one 
workman.  If  the  brace-buttons  are  to  have 
rims,  or  to  be  milled,  or  in  any  way  orna- 
mented, now  is  the  time  ;  and  here  are  the 
lathes  in  which  it  is  done.  The  workmen 
need  to  have  good  heads,  as  well  as  practised 
hands ;  for,  even  in  an  article  like  this, 
society  is  full  of  fancies,  and  there  may  be  a 
hundred  fashions  in  a  very  short  time  ; — a 
new  one  almost  every  week.  These  harping 
lathes,  in  a  row,  about  their  clean  and  rapid 
work,  are  perhaps  the  prettiest  part  of  the 
whole  show.  At  the  further  end  of  the 
apartment  sits  a  woman  with  heaps  of  buttons 
and  spangles,  and  piles  of  square  pieces  of 
paper  before  her.  With  nimble  fingers  she 
ranges  the  finished  articles  in  rows  of  half-a- 
dozen  or  more,  folds  in  each  row,  and  makes 
up  her  packets  as  fast,  probably,  as  human 
hands  can  do  it.  But  this  is  a  sort  of  work 
which  one  supposes  will  be  done  by  machinery 
some  day. 

Still,  all  this  while,  the  long  rows  of 
machines  on  the  counters,  above  and  below, 
and  on  either  hand,  are  at  work,  cutting, 
piercing,  stamping,  counter-sinking.  We 
must  go  and  see  more  of  their  work.  Here 
is  one  shaping  in  copper  the  nut  of  the 
acorn  :  another  is  shaping  the  cup.  Disks 


110 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  various  degrees  of  concavity,  sugar-loaves, 
and  many  other  shapes,  are  dropping  by 
thousands  from  the  machines  into  the 
troughs  below.  And  here  is  the  covering  or 
pressing  machine  again  at  work — here  cover- 
ing the  nut  of  the  acorn  with  green  satin, 
and  there  casing  the  cup  with  green 
Florentine  ;  and  finally  fitting  and  fastening 
them  together,  so  that  no  ripening  and  loosen- 
ing touch  of  time  shall,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
natural  acorn,  cause  them  to  drop  apart. 
This  exquisite  machinery  was  invented  about 
eleven  years  ago,  and  is  now  patented  by  the 
Messrs.  Elliott,  in  whose  premises  we  are 
becoming  acquainted  with  it. 

We  have  fastened  upon  the  acorn  button, 
because  it  is  the  prettiest ;  and,  just  now, 
before  everybody's  eyes,  in  shop,  street,  or 
drawing-room :  but  the  varieties  of  dress- 
button  are  endless.  Some  carry  a  fringe  ; 
and  the  fringes  come  from  Coventry.  To 
ornament  others,  the  best  skill  of  Spitalfields 
is  put  forth.  In  a  corner  of  an  up-stairs 
room  there  is  a  pile  of  rich  silks  and  other 
fabrics,  which  seem  to  be  out  of  place  in  a 
button  manufactory,  till  we  observe  that  they 
are  woven  expressly  for  the  covering  of  but- 
tons. They  have  sprigs  or  circles,  at  regular 
distances.  One  woman  passes  the  piece  under 
a  machine,  which  chalks  out  each  sprig  ;  and 
the  next  machine  stamps  out  the  chalked  bit. 
This,  again,  is  women's  and  children's  work  ; 
and  we  find,  on  inquiry,  that  of  the  three 
or  four  hundred  people  employed  on  these 
premises,  nearly  all  are  women  and  children. 
We  saw  few  men  employed,  except  in  the 
silvering  and  burnishing  departments. 

The  most  interesting  and  beautiful  kind  of 
button  of  all,  however,  depends  upon  the  skill 
of  men  employed  elsewhere — the  die-sinkers, 
of  whom  we  have  already  given  some  news. 
There  is  a  series  of  stamped  buttons,  gilt  or 
silvered,  which  one  may  go  and  see,  as  one 
would  so  many  pictures  ; — that  sort  of  badge 
called  sporting  buttons.  Members  of  a  hunt, 
or  of  any  sporting  association,  distinguish 
themselves  by  wearing  these  pretty  miniature 
pictures  ;  here,  a  covey  of  partridges,  with 
almost  every  feather  indicated  in  the  high 
finish  ; — there,  a  hound  clearing  a  hedge  ; — 
now,  a  group  of  huntsman  and  pack  ; — and 
again,  a  fishing-net  meshing  the  prey  ;  or  the 
listening  stag  or  bounding  fawn.  In  these 
small  specimens  of  art,  the  details  are  as 
curious,  the  composition  as  skilful,  the  life  of 
the  living  as  vivid,  and  the  aspect  of  the 
dead  as  faithful,  as  if  the  designer  were  busy 
on  a  wine-cup  for  a  king,  instead  of  a  button 
for  a  sporting  jacket.  Here  there  must  be  a 
dead  ground ;  there  a  touch  of  burnish  ; 
here  a  plain  ground ;  there  a  plaided  or 
radiating  one  ;  but  everywhere  the  most  per- 
fect finish  that  talent  and  care  can  give. 
There  is  surely  something  charming  in  seeing 
the  smallest  things  done  so  thoroughly,  as  if 
to  remind  the  careless,  that  whatever  is  worth 
doing  at  all,  is  worth  doing  well.  We  no 


longer  wonder  as  we  did,  that  the  button 
branch  is  one  of  the  most  advanced  in  the 
business  of  the  die-sinker  and  medallist. 

Pearl  buttons  have  their  style  of  "  orna- 
mentation" too  ;  but  the  die-sinker  and  pro- 
fessional designer  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
There  is  something  more  in  the  ornamenting 
of  pearl  buttons  than  the  delicate  work  done 
with  the  turning  tools;  —  the  circles,  and 
stars,  and  dots,  and  exquisite  milled  edges, 
with  which  o\ir  common  pearl  buttons  are 
graced.  At  the  manufactory  we  are  shown 
drawers  full  of  patterns  ;  and  among  those  in 
favour  with  working  men  are  some  with  pearl 
centres,  on  which  are  carved,  with  curious 
skill,  various  devices  ; — a  dog,  or  a  bird,  or 
some  such  pretty  thing.  These  designs  are 
notions  of  the  workmen's  own. 

The  pearl  button  manufacture  is  the  pret- 
tiest, after  all ; — the  prettiest  of  that  family 
of  production.  Perhaps  the  charm  is  in  the 
material, — the  broad  shell,  which  we  know 
to  have  been,  a  while  ago,  at  the  bottom  of 
the  Indian  seas.  The  rainbow  light,  which 
gleams  from  the  surface,  seems  to  show  to  us 
the  picture  of  where  this  shell  once  was,  and 
what  was  done  about  it.  This  is  not  from 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico — this  shell.  Many  come 
from  thence  ;  but  this  is  of  too  good  a  quality 
for  those  western  seas.  Nor  is  it  from  Ma- 
nilla, though  the  Manilla  shells  are  very 
fine.  This  comes  from  Singapore,  and  is  01 
the  best  quality.  To  get  it,  what  toil  and 
pains,  what  hopes  and  fears,  what  enter- 
prises and  calcxilations  have  been  undertaken 
and  undergone  !  What  boatsful  of  barbarians 
went  out,  amidst  the  muttering  and  chant- 
ing of  charms,  to  the  diving  for  the  shells 
for  our  handling  !  How  gently  were  they 
paddled  over  those  deep  clear  seas,  where  the 
moon  shines  with  a  golden  light,  and  sends 
her  rays  far  down  into  the  green  depths 
which  the  diver  is  about  to  intrude  upon ! 
As  the  land-breeze  came  from  stirring  the 
forest,  and  breathing  over  the  rice-grounds, 
to  waft  the  boats  out  to  sea,  the  divers  pre- 
pared for  their  plunge,  each  slinging  his  foot 
on  the  heavy  stone  which  was  to  carry  him 
down,  nine  fathoms  deep,  to  where  his  prey 
was  reposing  below.  Then  there  was  the 
plunge,  and  the  wrenching  of  the  shells  from 
the  rocks,  and  putting  them  into  the  pouch 
at  the  waist  ;  and  the  ascent,  amidst  a  vast 
pressure  of  water,  causing  the  head  to  seethe 
and  roar,  and  the  ears  to  ache,  and  the  im- 
prisoned breath  to  convulse  the  frame  ;  and 
then  there  was  the  fear  of  sharks,  and  the 
dread  spectacle  of  wriggling  and  shooting 
fishes,  and  who  knows  what  other  sights  ! 
And  then,  the  breath  hastily  snatched  ;  and 
the  fearful  plunge  to  be  made  again  !  And 
then  must  have  followed  the  sale  to  the 
Singapore  merchant ;  and  the  packing  and 
shipping  to  England  ;  and  the  laying  up  in 
London,  to  gather  an  enormous  price — the 
article  being  bought  up  by  a  few  rich  mer- 
chants— and  the  journey  to  Birmingham, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  THEKE  IS  IN  A  BUTTON. 


Ill 


where  the  finest  part  of  the  shell  is  to  be 
kept  for  buttons,  and  the  coarser  part  sent  on 
to  Sheffield,  to  make  the  handles  of  knives, 
paper-cutters,  and  the  like. 

Through  such  adventures  has  this  broad 
shell  gone,  which  we  now  hold  in  our  hand. 
In  the  middle  is  the  seamed,  imperfect  part, 
from  which  the  fish  was  torn.  From  that 
centre;  all  round  to  the  thin  edge,  is  the  fine 
part  which  is  to  be  cut  into  buttons.  From 
that  centre  back  to  the  joint  is  the  ridgy 
portion  which,  with  its  knots,  will  serve  for 
knife-handles.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  harder 
substance  known  ;  and  strong  must  be  the 
machine  that  will  cut  it.  It  is  caught  and 
held  with  an  iron  grip,  while  the  tubular  saw 
cuts  it  in  circles,  a  quarter  of  an  inch  (or 
more)  thick.  Some  of  the  circles  are  an  inch 
and  a  half  in  diameter  ;  others  as  small  as 
the  tiny  buttons  seen  on  baby-clothes.  They 
are,  one  by  one,  clutched  by  a  sort  of  pincers, 
and  held  against  a  revolving  cylinder,  to  be 
polished  with  sand  and  oil.  Then,  each  is 
fixed  on  a  lathe,  and  turned,  and  smoothed  ; 
adorned  with  concentric  rings,  or  with  stars,  or 
leaves,  or  dots ;  and  then  corded  or  milled  at  the 
edges,  with  streaks  almost  too  tine  to  be  seen 
by  the  naked  eye.  The  figures  in  the  middle 
are  to  mask  the  holes  by  which  the  button  is 
to  be  sewn  on.  In  a  small  depression,  in  the 


countries.  We  ventured  to  suggest,  while 
looking  round  at  the  pile  of  shell  fragments, 
and  the  heaps  of  white  dust  that  accumulate 
under  the  lathes,  that  it  seems  a  pity  to 
waste  all  this  refuse,  seeing  how  valuable  a 
manure  it  would  make,  if  mixed  with  bone- 
dust  or  guano.  The  reply  was,  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  crush  a  substance  so  hard  ;  that 
there  is  no  machine  which  will  reduce  these 
fragments  to  powder.  If  so,  some  solvent 
will  probably  be  soon  found,  which  will  act 
like  diluted  sulphuric  acid  upon  bones.  While 
we  were  discussing  this  matter,  and  begging 
a  pint  or  quart  of  the  powder  from  under  the 
lathes,  to  try  a  small  agricultural  experiment 
with,  a  workman  mentioned  that  when  he 
worked  at  Sheffield,  a  neighbouring  farmer 
used  to  come,  at  any  time,  and  at  any  incon- 
venience to  himself,  to  purchase  shell-powder, 
when  allowed  to  fetch  it,  declaring  it  to  be 
inestimable  as  a  manure.  In  a  place  like 
Birmingham,  where  the  sweepings  and  scra- 
pings of  the  floors  of  manufactories  are  sold 
for  the  sake  of  the  metal  dust  that  may  have 
fallen,  we  venture  to  predict  that  such  heaps 
and  masses  of  shell  fragments  as  we  saw,  will 
not  long  be  cast  away  as  useless  rubbish.  If 
one  house  alone  could  sell  two  hundred  and 
fifty  tons  of  shell-refuse  per  year,  what  a 
quantity  of  wheat  and  roots  might  be  pro- 


centre  of  the  pattern,  the  holes  are  drilled  by   duced  from  under  the  counters,  as  it  were,  of 


a  sharp  hard  point  which  pierces  the  shell. 
The  edges  of  the  holes  are  sharp,  as  housewives 
well  know.  But  for  the  cutting  of  the  thread, 
in  course  of  time,  by  these  edges,  pearl  buttons 
would  wear  for  ever.  Now  and  then,  the  thin 
pierced  bit  in  the  middle  breaks  out  ;  but, 
much  ofteuer,  the  button  is  lost  by  the  cutting 
of  the  thread.  They  last  so  long,  however, 
as  to  make  us  wonder  how  there  can  be  any 
need  of  the  vast  numbers  that  are  made. 
Birmingham  supplies  almost  the  whole  world. 
A  very  few  are  made  at  Sheffield  ;  and  that 
is  all.  In  the  United  States,  where  the  mer- 
chants can  get  almost  any  quantity  of  the 
shell,  from  their  great  trade  with  Manilla  and 
Singapore,  the  buttons  are  not  made.  The 
Americans  buy  an  incredible  quantity  from 
Birmingham.  Many  thousands  of  persons  in 
this  town  are  employed  in  the  business  ;  and 
one  house  alone  sends  out  two  thousand  gross 
per  week,  and  very  steadily ;  for  fashion  has 
little  or  nothing  to  do  with  pearl  buttons. 
The  demand  is  steady  and  increasing ;  and 
it  would  increase  much  faster  but  for  the 
restriction  in  the  quantity  of  the  material. 
The  profit  made  by  the  manufacturer  is  ex- 
tremely small — so  dear  as  the  shell  is.  The 
Singapore  shell  was  sold  not  many  years  ago 
at  sixty-five  pounds  per  ton  ;  now,  it  cannot 
be  had  under  one  hundred  and  twenty- two 
pounds,  ten  shillings,  per  ton.  The  manufac- 
turer complains  of  monopoly.  If  this  be  the 
cause  of  the  dearness,  the  evil  will,  in  the 
nature  of  things,  be  lessened  before  long. 
Time  will  show  whether  the  shells  are  be- 
coming exhausted,  like  the  furs  of  polar 


Birmingham  workshops  !  And  we  were  told 
that  such  a  quantity  would  certainly  be 
afforded.  Such  a  sale  may,  in  time,  become 
some  set-off  against  the  extreme  dearness  of 
the  imported  shell.  While  the  smallest  pearl 
button  goes  through  nine  or  ten  pairs  of 
hands  before  it  is  complete,  the  piece  from 
which  it  is  cut  may  hereafter  be  simmering 
in  some  dissolving  acid  ;  and  sinking  into  the 
ground,  and  rising  again,  soft  and  green,  as 
the  blade  of  wheat,  or  swelling  into  the  bulb 
of  the  turnip.  Will  not  some  one  try  ? 

While  this  dust  was  bubbling  out  from 
under  the  turning-tools,  and  flying  about 
before  it  settled,  we  had  misgivings  about  the 
lungs  of  the  workmen.  But  it  seems  there 
was  no  need.  The  workman  who  was  exhi- 
biting his  art  in  the  dusty  place,  told  us  he 
had  worked  thus  for  niue-and-twenty  yeai's, 
and  had  enjoyed  capital  health  ;  and  truly, 
he  looked  stout  and  comfortable  enough ; 
and  we  saw  no  signs  of  ill-health  among  the 
whole  number  employed.  The  proprietor 
cares  for  them — for  their  health,  their  under- 
standings, their  feelings,  and  their  fortunes  ; 
and  he  seems  to  be  repaid  by  the  spectacle  of 
their  welfare. 

The  white  pearl  buttons  are  not  the  only 
ones  made  of  shells  from  the  Eastern  seas. 
There  is  a  sort  called  black,  which  to  our 
eyes  looked  quite  as  pretty,  gleaming  as  it 
did  with  green  and  lilac  colours,  when  moved 
in  the  light.  This  kind  of  shell  comes  from 
the  islands  of  the  Pacific.  It  is  plentiful 
round  Tahiti,  and  Hawaii,  (as  we  now  call 
Otaheite  and  Owhyhee).  It  is  much  worn  by 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


working  men,  in  the  larger  forms  of  buttons. 
We  remember  to  have  often  seen  it ;  but 
never  to  have  asked  what  it  was. 

The  subsidiary  concerns  of  these  large 
manufactories  strike  us  by  their  importance, 
Avhen  on  the  spot,  though  we  take  no  heed  to 
them  in  our  daily  life.  When  the  housewife 
has  taken  into  use  the  last  of  a  strip  of  pearl 
buttons,  she  probably  gives  to  the  children 
the  bit  of  gay  foil  on  which  they  were  tacked, 
without  ever  thinking  where  it  came  from,  or 
how  it  happened  to  be  there.  The  importa- 
tion of  this  foil  is  a  branch  of  trade  with  love 
France.  We  cannot  compete  with  the  French 
in  the  manufacture  of  it.  When  we  saw  it 
in  bundles — gay  with  all  gaudy  hues — we 
found  it  was  an  expensive  article,  adding 
notably  to  the  cost  of  the  buttons,  though  its 
sole  use  is  to  set  off  their  translucent  quality, 
to  make  them  more  tempting  to  the  eye. 

We  saw  a  woman,  in  her  own  home,  sur- 
rounded by  her  children,  tacking  the  buttons 
on  their  stiff  paper,  for  sale.  There  was  not 
foil  in  this  case  between  the  stiff  paper  and 
the  buttons,  but  a  brilliant  blue  paper,  which 
looked  almost  as  well.  This  woman  ^sews 
forty  gross  in  a  day.  She  could  formerly,  by 
excessive  diligence,  sew  fifty  or  sixty  gross  ; 
but  forty  is  her  number  now — and  a  large 
number  it  is,  considering  that  each  button  has 
tobe  picked  up  from  the  heap  be  fore  her,  ranged 
in  its  row,  and  tacked  with  two  stitches. 

Here  we  had  better  stop,  though  we  have 
not  told  half  that  might  be  related  on  the 
subject  of  buttons.  It  is  wonderful,  is  it 
not  ?  that  on  that  small  pivot  turns  the  for- 
tune of  such  multitudes  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  in  so  many  parts  of  the  world  ;  that 
such  industry,  and  so  many  fine  faculties, 
should  be  brought  out  and  exercised  by  so 
small  a  thing  as  the  Button. 


MY  AUNT  IN  PAEIS. 


DURING  a  residence  in  Paris  last  year,  I 
found  myself  taking  considerable  interest  in 
Mademoiselle  Delphine,  the  only  daughter  of 
the  dirty  little  tailor  who  officiated  as  my 
portier.  Mademoiselle  Delphine  was  not  in 
the  literal  meaning  of  the  term  beautiful  ; 
but  she  compensated,  better  even  than  most 
Frenchwomen,  for  its  absence,  by  insensible 
charms,  and  graces  that  defy  equally  criticism 
or  classification.  I  was  sallying  forth  one 
morning  as  usual  to  transact — if  I  may  be 
allowed  the  expression — my  idleness,  when, 
after  several  fruitless  calls  upon  the  cordon,  I 
entered  the  Loge  du  Concierge.  I  found  Del- 
phine "  desolated."  as  she  informed  me,  and  in 
tears,  as  I  could  see  for  myself.  I  was  not 
long  in  eliciting  the  secret  of  her  sorrow, 
Avhich  was  communicated  to  me  in  the  strictest 
confidence  ; — she  had  a  lover — which  is  not 
unusual  in  other  countries  besides  France  ; 
and  this  lover  was  a  soldier,  which  in  France 
is  particularly  usual.  Like  many  other  gallant 
young  fellows,  this  soldier  had  a  soul  above 


five  sous  a-day,  and  lived  as  much  above  that 
moderate  income  as  kindness  and  credit  would 
permit.  His  regiment  had  been  lately  ordered 
into  the  provinces,  and  previously  to  his  de- 
parture, Delphine,  it  seems,  had  administered 
to  some  pressing  requirement  by  a  timely 
loan.  He  was  to  return  on  the  morrow,  and 
Delphine  did  not  know  how  to  meet  him, 
because — because — she  at  last  said,  reluctantly 
— because  she  had  been  compelled  to  borrow 
the  money  in  question  upon  the  security  of 
her  only  valuable  possession — a  bracelet — the 
-gift  of  the  soldier  himself.  To  meet  him 
without  wearing  his  gift,  and  in  silence,  would 
be  impossible  ;  to  confess  that  she  had  parted 
with  it,  although  it  had  been  devoted  to 
his  use,  would  seem  mean  and  mercenary  ;  or, 
what  was  immeasurably  less  to  be  endured, 
commonplace.  She  had  no  other  means  of 
redeeming  the  gift  or  accounting  for  its  loss, 
and  was  desolee  accordingly. 

This  dismal  tale  called,  of  course,  for  conso- 
lation. That  the  kind  of  consolation  I  adminis- 
tered was  speed}' and  effectual,  may  be  gathered 
from  the  immediate  disappearance  of  all  traces 
of  desolation.  Delphine  was  enchantee,  and 
expressed  herself  in  the  superlatives  which 
only  a  Frenchwoman  can  muster  on  the 
shortest  notice.  I  had  roused  her  from  deso- 
lation to  ecstasy.  She  was  enchanted  and 
enraptured.  I  was  noble  and  generous  ;  my 
bounty  would  be  forgotten  never  ! 

"  But,"  I  asked,  "  where  am  I  to  find  this 
bracelet,  which  is  so  necessary  for  the  pre- 
servation of  tranquillity  between  you  and 
your  fiance  ?  " 

"  It  is  at  my  Aunt's,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Your  Aunt !  Mercenary  old  lady  !  Surely 
she  does  not  take  in  security  when  she 
helps  lovers  and  relations  out  of  their  little 
distresses  1  " 

Delphine  smiled,  and  enlightened  my  in- 
nocence by  some  explanations,  which  I  will 
here  enlarge  upon  for  the  benefit  of  the 
reader. 

My  Aunt,  it  appears,  belongs  to  a  very 
large  family  in  Paris — a  family,  in  fact,  as 
large  as  the  entire  population  of  that  city,  and 
which  increases  year  by  year  with  the  census 
returns.  Her  relatives  are  of  every  grade; 
from  the  Montmorencies — who  are  at  the  pre- 
sent, moment  glowing  again  under  ancestral 
titles  of  at  least  six  weeks'  standing — down  to 
Monsieur  Gougon,  the  chiffonnier,  condemned 
to  "  pick  up  a  livelihood,"  with  no  other  title 
than  his  prescriptive  title — to  whatever  he 
can  find.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  however, 
that  all  of  this  numerous  family  are  on  the 
same  degree  of  intimacy  with  the  respected 
lady  :  the  Montmorencies  are  a  little  too  high, 
and  the  Gougons  scarcely  high  enough,  to  take 
much  notice  of  her.  She  is  principally  cul- 
tivated by  classes,  ranging  somewhere  between 
the  two  extremes — a  medium,  certainly,  but 
one  which  can  scarcely  be  described  as  the 
golden.  To  say  that  they  have  "  expectations" 
from  the  old  lady,  would  be  saying  little  enough, 


Chwlet  Dickens.] 


MY"  AUNT  IN  PAEIS. 


113 


considering  the  uncertain  nature  of  human 
hopes  ;  but  the  fact  is,  there  is  no  occasion  to 
say  anything  of  the  kind.  My  Aunt,  though 
she  has  a  veiy  large  capital  at  her  command, 
is  certainly  not  generous.  She  was  never 
known  to  leave  anybody  anything  in  her  will, 
nor  to  ask  them  down  into  the  country  on  a 
visit,  nor  out  to  dinner  on  a  Sunday,  nor  to 
behave  handsomely  at  Christinas -time — like 
the  amiable  aunts  of  most  persons.  All  she 
•will  do  for  her  relatives  is,  to  lend  them 
money  ;  and  then  she  takes  very  good  care  to 
be  the  gainer  by  the  transaction,  for  she  lends 
only  on  the  very  best  security — the  deposit 
of  some  article,  of  four  times  the  value  of  the 
sum  advanced.  In  a  word,  My  Aunt  in 
Paris  is  the  very  faithful  and  appropriate 
spouse  of  My  Uncle  in  London,  with  whose 
characteristics  our  readers  have  been  already 
made  familiar.  Like  My  Uncle,  she  is 
visited  by  her  relatives  only  when  they  want 
money  ;  and,  like  My  Uncle,  she  contrives 
to  make  a  very  good  living  by  lending  it  to 
them.  There  is-  this  difference,  however,  in 
what  we  may  call  the  "  constitution  "  of  this 
worthy  couple.  My  Uncle,  in  England,  spe- 
culates on  his  own  account,  and  flourishes 
or  fails,  as  the  case  may  be,  without  respon- 
sibility to  anybody  but  himself.  My  Aunt, 
in  France,  on  the  other  hand,  is  set  up  by  the 
Government,  who  takes  upon  itself  the  risk 
of  the  speculation.  « 

While  noting  the  fact  of  My  Uncle  hold- 
ing an  analogous  position  to  the  lady  in 
question,  it  is  as  well  to  state  that  My  Aunt 
is  no  fanciful  designation,  induced  by  that 
circumstance.  It  is  not  a  mere  piece  of  plea- 
santry on  the  part  of  Delphine  alone.  Ask 
the  student  of  the  Quartier  Latin — who  has 
just  accomplished  the  popular  feat  of  spending 
his  month's  allowance  in  ten  days — as  he 
marches  gaily  along  towards  the  Mont  de 
Piete  ;  his  watch  ticking  its  adieux  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket — "  Where  are  you  going  1 " 
'•'  To  My  Aunt's ! "  will  be  the  inevitable 
reply,  delivered  instinctively,  and  without  any 
determined  intention  to  be  humorous.  Cross 
the  path  of  the  grisette — who  stitches  ten 
hours  a-day  for  a  franc,  and  who  every  now 
and  then  finds  herself,  like  her  betters,  living 
beyond  her  means — as  she  trips  composedly 
(for  no  Frenchwoman,  under  any  circum- 
stances, was  ever  known  to  be  embarrassed), 
and  address  her  with  a  similar  question  : 
"  Cliez  Ma  Tante ! "  she  will  answer,  with 
a  slight  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  and  twinkle 
of  the  eye — in  recognition  of  the  playful 
nature  of  the  designation,  but  with  no  idea 
of  being  understood  literally. 

Ma  Tante,  in  fact,  is  the  great  popular  im- 
personation of  this  most  popular  institution 
Her  origin,  as  an  impersonation,  is  equally 
uncertain  with  that  of  My  Uncle.  It  is  no1 
improbable,  to  be  sure,  that  the  two  illustrious 
personages  were  the  creation  of  some  "  mac 
wag  "  of  the  Medici  family— some  needy  cade 
whose  relations  kindly  lent  him  money  at  fifty 


per  cent.  The  designations,  considered  as 
acetiae,  have  decidedly  a  mediceval  look  ; 
ind,  as  a  joke,  My  Uncle,  at  any  rate,  is  most 
certainly  middle-aged. 

I  had  engaged  to  procure  the  bracelet  for 
Delphine ;  and  half-aii-hour  after  our  conversa- 
tion found  me  on  my  way  to  our  mutual  relative. 
[  had  been  duly  supplied  with  the  necessary 
authorisation — a  large  official  form,  printed 
upon  yellow  paper — not  unlike  a  passport,  but 
ather  more  important  in  appearance,  and 
;uaranteed  authentic  by  one  of  those  imposing 
signatures  which  none  but  Frenchmen  can 
xecute,  and  not  all,  even  of  Frenchmen,  can 
read.  The  address  indicated  upon  this  por- 
;eritous  document  was  that  of  a  branch  office, 
where  I  speedily  presented  myself.  It  was 
not  a  shop,  but  strictly  an  office,  having  very 
much  the  appearance  of  a  bank — that  is  to 
say,  of  a  French  bank.  Behind  a  screen  of 
wire-work,  which  separated  the  public  from 
the  private  portion  of  the  room,  were  seated 
;h.e  officials,  grave,  dignified,  military-looking 
men,  writing  at  their  desks,  and  apparently 
in  no  hurry  to  attend  to  the  wants  of  several 
persons  who  were  patiently  waiting  to  trans- 
ict  business  with  them.  These  last  were 
principally  women,  old  and  young  ;  some 
with  mysterious  bundles  and  anxious  looks  ; 
others  of  a  better  (or  perhaps  worse)  class, 
selecting  rings  from  their  jewelled  fingers, 
:arelessly  humming  snatches  from  vaudevilles, 
and  quite  at  their  ease. 

After  taking  a  brief  survey  of  the  group.  I, 
by  good  chance,  caught  the  eye  of  one  of  the 
clerks,  or  field-marshals,  or  whatever  they 
may  happen  to  be,  who  advanced  with  a 
military  step  across  the  room.  Six  words  ou 
either  side  settled  the  business.  Monsieur 
could  have  the  article  he  desired  on  the 
morrow,  by  application  at  the  office.  The 
morrow  !  if  Delphine  was  already  desolee,  the 
morrow  would  find  her  desesperee  !  But  why 
could  not  the  bracelet  be  reclaimed  on  the 
spot  1  Because  every  article  deposited  was 
sent  to  the  central  office,  and  could  not  be 
reclaimed  without  certain  formalities  ;  but  if 
Monsieur  liked  to  go  to  the  central  office  him- 
self, the  business  could  be  arranged  in  a  few 
hours.  In  that  case,  Monsieur  would  cer- 
tainly go. 

The  most  important  formality  required, 
was  the  payment  of  the  sum  of  money  origin- 
ally advanced,  in  return  for  which,  and  my 
original  yellow  document,  I  received  another 
official  form,  even  more  imposing  and  porten- 
tous than  the  last — combining  the  solemnity 
of  a  will  with  the  importance  of  a  passport. 
This  was  signed,  countersigned,  and  pushed 
towards  me  through  the  little  gate  in  the 
wire-work,  with  an  air  which  impressed  me 
with  a  terrible  sense  of  responsibility.  I  had 
not,  indeed,  quite  recovered  my  self-possession, 
when  I  turned  suddenly  round,  to  find  a 
musket,  with  oxed  bayonet,  presented  at  me. 
I  started  back.  Had  I  done  something 
wrong  ?  Oh  no !  The  assailant,  innocent  of 


114 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


any  sort  of  attack  upon  me,  was  a  woman. 
She  inarched  into  the  place  I  had  left,  and 
placing  her  finger  on  the  trigger,  demanded 
of  the  official,  in  a  gruff,  your-money-or-your- 
life  tone  of  voice — "  Ten  francs  !" 

I  thought  the  official  decidedly  prudent, 
when  he  at  once  acquiesced  in  the  demand. 
The  Amazon  instantly  surrendered  her  arms 
at  discretion,  and  the  money  was  paid  over 
to  her,  after  she  had  duly  satisfied  the  official 
that  her  husband  was  simply  a  gunsmith,  and 
was  not  a  soldier  pawning  the  property  of 
the  State. 

Leaving  both  sides  satisfied  with  this 
honourable  capitulation,  I  made  the  best  of 
my  way  towards  the  central  office,  situated  in 
a  cross  street  somewhere  between  the  Rue  de 
Seine  and  the  Rue  du  Bac.  I  had  no  difficulty 
in  finding  it.  The  first  person  I  addressed, 
directed  me  to  a  conspicuous  building  guarded 
by  two  sentries,  surmounted  by  a  tri-colour 
ensign,  and  blazoned  with  the  famous  in- 
scription—  " Liberte,  Egalite,  Fratemiti"  — 
which  has  since  been  shewn  to  mean  so  very 
much.  Over  the  Mont  de  PitJte"  they  had  a 
certain  suggestiveness  of  the  benefit  of  which 
the  philosophic  borrower  of  1852  is  most 
tyrannically  deprived. 

French  sentries — unlike  English  ones,  do 
know  something  about  the  buildings  they 
mount  guard  over  ;  and  are  not  too  sulky  to 
communicate  their  knowledge.  Accordingly, 
I  was  not  surprised,  when,  in  answer  to  my 
inquiry,  one  of  the  sentinels  directed  me 
across  the  co\irt-yard,  to  the  left,  where  a 
large  door  stands  hospitably  open.  All  who 
enter  here  leave,  not  necessarily  hope,  but 
certainly  comfort  behind.  The  staircase  is 
of  rough  timber,  inconvenient,  precipitous, 
dirty,  and  crazy,  from  constant  use.  Above 
stairs  there  is  a  slight  change  for  the  worse. 
A  suite  of  rooms  all  opening  into  one  another, 
all  dirty,  all  close,  and  all  crowded. 

In  the  first  room  two  men  were  peering 
through  two  pigeon-holes  in  the  wall,  like 
those  of  the  money-takers  at  the  theatres  ; 
and  to  prevent  the  confusion  which  would  be 
caused  by  the  rush  of  the  miscellaneous  mob, 
a  space  is  barriered  off,  just  sufficient  to  allow 
one  person  to  pass  at  a  time — an  arrangement 
similar  to  that  at  the  pit  of  the  London 
Opera  on  a  crowded  night,  and  such  as  id 
in  use  at  the  entrance  to  nearly  all  the  French 
theatres. 

Notwithstanding  this  wise  regulation,  there 
is  a  great  deal  of  confusion,  caused  by  the 
efforts  of  everybody  (everybody  includes, 
perhaps,  a  couple  of  hundred)  to  be  first. 
Yellow  gloves  are  clutching  convulsively,  to 
check  the  ambition  of  blouses  ;  rags  and 
tatters,  in  their  turn,  are  asserting  the  prin- 
ciples of  Equality,  which  has  here  —  and 
scarcely  anywhere  else,  except  at  the  Morgue 
— a  real  practical  existence.  But,  although 
there  is  confusion  enough,  there  is  no  quar- 
relling ;  everybody  is  good-humoured,  and,  if 
he  cannot  force  his  way,  is  contented  to  bide 


his  time.  Many  a  bloused  and  bearded  ope- 
rative may  be  seen  pausing,  perhaps,  in  his 
hot  endeavours,  and  with  a  courtly  bow, 
worthy  of  the  old  Court  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth, 
making  way  for  "a  lady."  If  these  line 
courtesies  are  really  the  "  cheap  defence  of 
nations,"  France  should  be  impregnable. 

For  myself — not  having  the  hai-dihood,  in 
the  first  instance,  to  thrust  myself  into  the 
mass — I  waited  patiently,  thinking  to  let  the 
crowd  become  thinned,  and  to  transact  my 
business  at  my  leisure.  But,  after  half-an- 
hour's  pursuance  of  this  policy,  the  idea  began 
to  dawn  upon  me — as  I  watched  the  new- 
comers, increasing  in  numbers  and  diminishing 
in  patience — that,  at  this  rate,  I  stood  a 
chance  of  desolating  Delphine  four-and-twenty 
hours  more.  Seized  with  a  sudden  impulse, 
I  made  a  dash  for  it ;  dislodged  several  free 
and  independent  citizens,  with  most  deter- 
mined and  exasperating  courtesy  ;  and,  finally, 
gained  a  place  inside  the  barriers.  Here  I 
scrutinised  those  before  me,  in  their  negotia- 
tions with  the  officials ;  saw  them  stop  at  the 
first  pigeon-hole,  and  exchange  the  grand 
yellow  document  for  another  of  smaller  dimen- 
sions, after  the  former  had  undergone  a  careful 
examination ;  then  I  followed  their  move- 
ments to  the  second  pigeon-hole,  where  an 
exchange  of  the  second  paper  for  a  piece  of 
card,  bearing  a  number,  was  effected — each 
transaction  being  conducted  with  military 
precision,  and  by  a  person  assuming  all  the 
grandeur  of  a  General  of  Division,  and  the 
administrative  dignity  of  a  Lord  Chief 
Justice. 

Having  gone  through  these  formalities — 
which  included  the  payment  of  a  certain  small 
sum  (at  the  first  pigeon-hole),  as  interest  on 
the  loan — I  was  once  more  free  of  the  barrier. 
The  number  on  my  ticket  was  the  number 
of  the  article  which  I  had  to  reclaim  ;  but, 
before  presenting  it  in  the  room  devoted  to 
the  jewellery  department,  I  paused  to  observe 
the  proceedings  in  that  dedicated  to  habili- 
ments, and  miscellaneous  articles. 

In  the  latter  apartment,  behind  a  counter, 
stood  a  person,  who  called  aloud  various 
numbers  in  rotation,  as  the  corresponding 
articles  were  brought  up  to  him  from  some 
mysterious  place  at  the  back  :  "  Quarante- 
cinq  !  "  he  shouted,  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
The  person  representing  Forty-five  stepped 
modestly  forward.  She  was  a  young  girl — • 
a  grisette,  wearing  a  little  cap.  She  ap- 
proaches the  counter ;  on  presenting  her 
tbket,  she  receives  some  article  tied  up  in  a 
handkerchief,  having  all  the  appearance  of  a 
bonnet.  The  following  day  was  Sunday.  She 
was  probably  going  to  some  fete,  or  to  the 
theatre,  and  was  about  tocommitthehazardous 
impropriety  of  appearing  like  a  grand  lady,  in 
a  bonnet — an  offence  which  a  grand  lady 
never  forgives  in  a  grisette  ;  and  by  which  all 
grisettes  who  cannot  get  bonnets  will  become 
her  enemies  for  life. 

"  Quarante-six  !  "  cries  the  official,  calling 


Charles  Dickens.] 


MY  AUNT  IN  PARIS. 


115 


the  next  person  so  suddenly  as  to  cause  Forty- 
five  to  drop  her  bundle,  with  its  precious  con- 
tents. Forty-six  conies  tottering  up ;  has 
nearly  trodden  Forty-five's  bonnet  into  a 
misshapen  pancake  ;  but,  though  an  old 
man,  steps  adroitly  aside,  and  blunders  against 
the  counter  to  receive  a  pair  of  boots.  Poor 
fellow !  will  he  ever  wear  them  out  'I  As 
Quarante-six  moves  off,  Quarante-sept  takes 
his  place,  almost  before  he  is  summoned ; 
a  lively  young  gentleman,  most  probaDiy  a 
student,  who  does  not  whistle,  as  an  English- 
man would,  but  hums  the  stretta  of  Bellini's 
Chorus  of  Priests  ;  he  receives  a  paletot,  which 
he  carefully  removes  from  its  wrapper,  and  puts 
on,  amidst  the  admiring  smiles  of  the  specta- 
tors. He  is  followed  by  a  middle-aged  woman, 
who  "  retires  "  a  warming-pan — the  aspect  of 
which  domestic  utensil  draws  fresh  smiles 
from  the  bystanders.  More  persons  follow — 
men  and  women,  of  all  ages,  of  all  degrees  of 
poverty  and  of  every  scale  of  pretension  ;  the 
careworn  and  the  timid,  the  reckless  and  the 
profligate  ;  reclaiming  articles  of  every  possi- 
ble description,  of  wearing  apparel  or  house- 
hold use  ;  varying  in  value  from  some  very 
minute  number  of  francs  up  to  a  hundred  ; 
beyond  which  latter  sum  My  Aunt  has  no 
dealings. 

Meantime  the  expectants — careless,  eager, 
anxious,  hopeless,  according  to  the  respective 
numbers  which  they  hold,  and  their  conse- 
quent chances  of  satisfaction,  speedy  or  re- 
mote— are  awaiting  their  turns  ;  some  sitting 
tranquilly  on  the  benches  round  the  walls  of 
the  several  rooms,  others  talking  in  groups  ; 
some  few,  strangers  evidently  to  the  place, 
and  perhaps  to  the  necessities  which  led  them 
there,  shunning  observation  in  shy  corners, 
or  moodily  pacing  the  corridors.  In  the  next 
room,  that  devoted  to  jewellery,  and  that 
which  more  particularly  concerns  myself,  there 
are  fewer  persons,  and  those  are,  for  the  most 
part,  of  a  better  class. 

There  is  no  jostling  ;  no  calling  aloud  of  the 
numbers  :  the  persons  present  transact  their 
business  whenever  the  opportunity  arises, 
decorously,  without  haste  and  without  noise. 
Ladies  of  elegant  carriage  and  gesture — con- 
trasted with  stained  and  worn  apparel — may 
be  seen,  closely  veiled,  as  if  shrinking  from 
notice  or  recognition,  claiming  some  trinket 
of  a  fashion  long  since  out  of  date  ;  heirlooms, 
perhaps,  and  marriage  gifts,  and  pledges  of 
friendship  ;  records  of  past  scenes  and  sensa- 
tions, feelings  flown,  and  of  givers  dead. 
There  is  an  old  man  with  white  hair.  His 
great-coat  has  fallen  open  and  revealed  the 
cordon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour.  He  has 
just  concluded  his  negotiation  with  the  official 
at  the  counter,  and  bears  away  with  him  a 
little  locket,  with  a  ribbon  attached. 

A  young  lady,  clad  in  deep  mourning,  came 
next.  She  stepped  hesitatingly  up  to  the 
counter.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground, 
and  she  turned  her  face  from  the  general 
gaze.  I  could  scarcely  catch  a  glimpse  of  her 


features,  and  her  figure  was  concealed  in 
heavy  and  disguising  garments.  But  her 
motions  were  full  of  grace,  and  even  her  voice 
excited  at  once  the  respectful  attention  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  addressed  herself.  I  did 
not  hear  the  few  words  which  were  exchanged 
between  them  ;  but  I  observed  that  she  re- 
ceived a  small  morocco  case,  and,  as  she 
opened  it  for  an  instant,  that  it  contained  a 
cross,  set  with  diamonds,  the  cross  of  some 
I  foreign  order. 

How  vulgar,  compared  to  the  manner  of 
this  young  lady,  was  the  demeanour  of  the 
flippant  fashionable  who  followed  her  !  The 
ring  which  she  reclaimed,  set  dazzlingly  with 
diamonds,  she  placed  on  her  finger  with  a 
triumphant  air,  as  so  much  added  to  her 
decorations. 

Meantime  I  am  forgetting  all  about  Del- 
phine's  desolation,  and  the  bracelet  which  is 
to  be  its  cure.  Musing  and  moralising,  most 
unjustifiably,  I  twisted  and  tore  my  ticket. 
Never  mind,  it  was  still  legible,  and  the  offi- 
cial was  disengaged.  I  assumed  a  business 
air,  and  stepped  up  to  the  counter.  Two 
minutes  more,  and  my  mission  was  accom- 
plished. I  pocketed  the  bracelet,  and  descended 
into  the  street. 

Musing  on  my  way  home  upon  things  in 
general,  including  bracelets,  and  soldiers,  and 
desolated  porters'  daughters,  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  I  might  have  passed  my 
morning  less  profitably  than  in  paying  a  visit 
to  My  Aunt. 

My  visit,  however,  had  not  altogether 
satisfied  my  curiosity  respecting  the  old  lady. 
Mademoiselle  Delphine  had  told  me  some- 
thing of  her  characteristics,  and  I  had  learned 
something  more  on  my  own  account.  Ma- 
demoiselle Delphine  had  a  general  notion 
that  our  mutual  relative  was  a  very  convenient 
person  to  borrow  money  from,  and — voild 
tout  !  She  judged  of  her  simply  as  an  indi- 
vidual, and  from  personal  experience.  And 
Delphine  was  in  the  right.  She  very  pro- 
perly considered  that  she  was  not  called  upon 
to  interest  herself  in  any  matter  of  mere 
public  utility,  especially  when  her  so  doing 
involved  the  comprehension  of  anything  so 
distressing  as  statistics  ; — that  her  mission 
upon  earth  was  merely  to  look  pretty  and 
to  be  amiable. 

"  To  what  good  uses  can  we  put 

The  wild  weed-flower  that  simply  blows; 
And  is  there  any  moral  shut 

Within  the  bosom  of  the  rose  ?  " 

— except,  indeed,  as  Tennyson  goes  on  to 
say,  such  a  moral  as  people  may  find  out  for 
themselves,  according  to  their  minds  and 
moods. 

For  myself,  however,  not  being  so  anxious 
as  Delphine  to  preserve  my  bloom,  and  to 
keep  off  crows-feet,  I  did  not  scruple  to  in- 
form myself  as  to  some  facts  concerning  the 
working  of  the  system  established  by  My 
Aunt. 


116 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


In  the  first  place,  1  learned  what  I  should 
certainly  have  had  no  chance  of  learning  from 
Delphine — that  the  proiits  arising  from  the 
transactions  of  the  Mont  de  Pieto  are  de- 
voted to  the  aid  of  the  public  hospitals  of 
Paris,  which  realise  no  inconsiderable  sum 
from  this  source.  During  the  financial  year  of 
1850,  the  amount  was  four  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight  thousand  eight  hundred  francs  ;  being 
an  increase  of  nearly  sixty- two  thousand  nine 
hundred  francs  over  the  preceding  year. 

The  profits  of  the  two  years— 1849  and  1850 
— amounted  to  eight  hundred  and  seventy- 
four  thousand  francs ;  a  sum  which  con- 
stitutes a  new  fact  in  the  annals  of  the 
institution — there  being  no  previous  instance 
of  the  profits  of  two  consecutive  years 
amounting  respectively  to  four  hundred 
thousand  francs.  Indeed,  during  a  long 
period  this  amount  has  been  attained  only 
three  times— in  1823,  1829,  and  1841.  Since 
the  re- organisation  of  the  Mont  de  Piete, 
in  1806,  the  year  1850  lias — after  making 
every  compensation  —  yielded  the  largest 
amount  towards  the  benevolent  objects  to 
which  its  profits  are  devoted. 

The  capital  necessary  for  the  maintenance 
of  the  institution  is  raised  on  debentures, 
bearing  a  small  rate  of  interest.  It  appears 
that  this  capital  had  become  considerably 
reduced  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  several 
of  the  largest  holders,  whose  heirs  were  not 
willing  to  continue  the  investment.  To  repair 
this  deficiency,  it  was  found  necessary  to  raise 
the  rate  of  interest  paid  to  the  holders,  suc- 
cessively from  three  to  three- an d-a-half,  and 
subsequently  to  four  per  cent.  This  arrange- 
ment has  been  found  successful. 

Loans  from  the  Mont  de  Pi6te  may  be 
effected,  either  directly  at  the  central  office, 
at  the  succursale,  a  sort  of  addition  to  the 
central  office,  established  to  meet  the  require- 
ments of  an  overflowing  clientele — a  "  Pawn- 
brokery  of  Ease,"  in  fact — or  at  the  auxiliary 
offices.  The  business  may  be  negotiated 
personally — the  most  prevalent  custom — or 
through  the  agency  of  commissionnaires. 
During  the  period  under  review,  the  number 
of  articles  deposited  were  eight  hundred  and 
eighty-nine  thousand  four  hundred  and  thirty  ; 
upon  which,  sums  were  advanced  exceeding 
thirteen  millions  six  hundred  thousand  francs. 
Including  renewals,  however,  the  number  of 
transactions  were  upwards  of  one  million  one 
hundred,  which  increased  the  sum  total  to 
twenty  millions  and  a  half  of  francs. 

This  last  amount  exceeds  by  nearly  a  million 
and  a  half  of  francs  the  products  of  the  pre- 
ceding year  ;  and  this  increase  of  original  trans- 
actions is  accompanied  by  a  proportionate  de- 
crease in  the  number'of  renewals.  Both  of  these 
facts  are  considered  cheering  signs  by  French 
political  economists.  From  the  increase  of 
original  transactions,  they  infer  that  the  great 
bulk  of  the  population  are  in  possession  of  a 
larger  amount  of  personal  and  available  pro- 
perty ;  and,  from  the  decrease  in  renewals, 


that  they  have  better  means  at  their  command 
for  the  redemption  of  their  pledges.  There 
is,  certainly,  110  reason  to  argue  from  an  in- 
crease in  the  number  of  loans  an  increase  in 
the  necessities  of  the  people  ;  for,  anybody 
who  knows  anything  of  the  habits  of  the 
more  humble  classes  of  the  Parisians,  will 
easily  believe  that  in,  perhaps,  the  majority 
of  cases,  the  loans  are  obtained  merely 
for  purposes  of  luxury  and  amusement  ; 
that  an  ouvrier  who  should  find  himself 
without  any  effects  available  as  pledges,  would 
not,  in  all  probability,  be  deprived  of  any- 
thing so  serious  as  his  dinner;  but  of  his 
wine,  perhaps,  his  fete,  or  his  theatre.  It  is 
fair,  therefore,  to  assume  that  these  classes 
possess  more  propei'ty  than  hitherto.  With 
regard  to  the  decrease  of  renewals,  the  fact 
speaks  for  itself.  The  average  amount  of  the 
separate  sums  lent,  taking  in  the  renewals, 
was  seventeen  francs  thirty-three  centimes — 
a  slight  increase  over  the  average  of  the  pre- 
ceding year. 

My  Aunt's  balance  sheet  exhibits  encou- 
raging results,  and  these  are  attributed  to 
the  favourable  terms  on  which  the  directors, 
during  the  last  ten  months,  have  been  able  to 
maintain  their  capital.  The  rate  of  interest 
which  they  have  paid  to  the  holders  of  their 
securities  during  that  period  has  not  been  more 
than  three  per  cent. — a  fact  which  they  con- 
sider signally  indicative  of  the  degree  of 
public  confidence  enjoyed  by  the  institution. 

The  amount  lent  upon  goods  deposited  is 
thus  regulated,  in  proportion  to  their  value : — 
for  goods  that  can  be  preserved,  two-thirds  of 
their  estimated  value  areadvanced;  on  gold  and 
silver  articles,  four-fifths.  In  making  the  esti- 
mate, however,  in  the  latter  case,  workmanship 
is  not  taken  into  consideration  ;  the  positive 
weight  of  the  metal  being  the  sole  guide. 
Articles  not  redeemed  within  the  year  are 
sold,  subject,  however,  as  in  England,  to  a 
claim  for  restoration  of  the  surplus,  if  made 
within  three  years. 

My  Aunt's  constitution  partakes  more  of 
a  benevolent  nature  than  that  of  My  Uncle. 
My  Uncle  sets  up  in  business  for  his  own 
benefit.  My  Aunt  is  set  up  for  the  pur- 
pose of  benefiting  her  borrowei'S  ;  out  oc 
whose  necessities  she,  nevertheless,  contrives 
to  make  no  inconsiderable  sum,  which,  we  are 
bound  to  say,  she  does  not  spend  upon  herself. 
How  far  My  Uncle  would  find  it  practicable 
or  expedient  to  follow  her  example,  is  a 
question  open  to  discussion.  It  is  certain 
that  in  Ireland  an  institution  after  the  model 
of  that  of  My  Aunt  has  not  been  attended 
with  unmixed  success. 


Now  Beady,  Price  5s.  Gd.,  neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FOURTH    VOLUME 


HOUSEHOLD     WORDS. 

Containing  NOR.  79  to  103  inclusive,  (from  September  27, 
1851,  to  March  13,  1S5-2.) 


at  tlic  Office,  No  16,  \Velimjrtou  Slreet  Korth,  Strand.    Printed  by  BK 


BT  *  EVASS,  AVhitefriara,  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  ax  HOUSEHOLD    WORDS." — SBAKESPEAKE. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  APRIL  24,  1852. 


P-  Id. 


A  PLATED  ARTICLE. 


the    dull 


Why  not  rather  Low 
Low- Spirited    Street, 


PUTTING  up  for  the  night  in  one  of  the 
chiefest  towns  of  Staffordshire,  I  find  it  to  be 
by  no  means  a  lively  town.  In  fact  it  is  as 
dull  and  dead  a  town  as  any  one  could  desire 
not  to  see.  It  seems  as  if  its  whole  population 
might  be  imprisoned  in  its  Railway  Station. 
The  Refreshment-Room  at  that  Station  is  a 
vortex  of  dissipation  compared  with  the 
extinct  town-inn,  the  Dodo,  in 
High  Street. 

Why  High  Street  ? 
Street,    Flat     Street, 

Used-up  Street  ?  Where  are  the  people  who 
belong  to  the  High  Street  ?  Can  they  all  be 
dispersed  over  the  face  of  the  country,  seeking 
the  unfortunate  Strolling  Manager  who  de- 
camped from  the  mouldy  little  Theatre  last 
week,  in  the  beginning  of  his  season  (as  his 
play-bills  testify),  repentantly  resolved  to 
bring  him  back,  and  feed  him,  and  be  enter- 
tained ?  Or,  can  they  all  be  gathered  to  their 
fathers  in  the  two  old  churchyards  near  to 
the  High  Street  —  retirement  into  which 
churchyards  appears  to  be  a  mere  cere- 
nony,  there  is  "so  very  little  life  outside 
their  confines,  and  such  small  discernible 
difference  between  being  buried  alive  in  the 
town,  and  buried  dead  in  the  town  tombs  ? 
Over  the  way,  opposite  to  the  staring  blank 
bow  windows  of  the  Dodo,  are  a  little  iron- 
monger's shop,  a  little  tailor's  shop  (with 
a  picture  of  the  Fashions  in  the  small  window 
and  a  bandy-legged  baby  on  the  pavement 
staring  at  it) — a  watchmaker's  shop,  where 
all  the  clocks  and  watches  must  be  stopped, 
I  am  sure,  for  they  could  never  have  the 
courage  to  go,  with  the  town  in  general,  and 
the  Dodo  in  particular,  looking  at  them.  Shade 


Supper,  worked  in  Berlin  Wool,  invites  in- 
spection as  a  powerful  excitement  ! 

Where  are  the  people  who  are  bidden 
with  so  much  cry  to  this  feast  of  little 
wool  ?  Where  are  they  1  Who  are  they  ? 
They  are  not  the  bandy-legged  baby  study- 
ing the  fashions  in  the  tailor's  window. 
They  are  irot  the  two  earthy  ploughmen 
lounging  outside  the  saddler's  shop,  in  the 
stiff  square  where  the  Town  Hall  stands,  like 
a  brick  and  mortar  private  on  parade.  They 
are  not  the  landlady  of  the  Dodo  in  the 
empty  bar,  whose  eye  had  trouble  in  it  and 
no  welcome,  when  I  asked  for  dinner.  They 
are  not  the  turnkeys  of  the  Town  Jail,  looking 
out  of  the  gateway  in  their  uniforms,  as  if 
they  had  locked  up  all  the  balance  (as  my 
American  friends  would  say)  of  the  inha- 
bitants, and  could  now  rest  a  little.  They 
are  not  the  two  dusty  millers  in  the  white  mill 
down  by  the  river,  where  the  great  water- 
wheel  goes  heavily  round  and  round,  like  the 
monotonous  days  and  nights  in  this  forgotten 
place.  Then  who  are  they,  for  there  is  no 
one  else  ?  No  ;  this  deponent  maketh  oath 
and  saith  that  there  is  no  one  else,  save  and 
except  the  waiter  at  the  Dodo,  now  laying 
the  cloth.  I  have  paced  the  streets,  and 
stared  at  the  houses,  and  am  come  back  to 
the  blank  bow  window  of  the  Dodo  ;  and  the 
town  clocks  strike  seven,  and  the  reluctant 
echoes  seem  to  cry,  "  Don't  wake  us  ! "  and 
the  bandy-legged  baby  has  gone  home  to  bed. 

If  the  Dodo  were  only  a  gregarious  bird — 
if  it  had  only  some  confused  idea  of  making 
a  comfortable  nest  —  I  could  hope  to  get 
through  the  hours  between  this  and  bed- 
time, without  being  consumed  by  devouring 
melancholy.  But,  the  Dodo's  habits  are  all 
wrong.  It  provides  me  with  a  trackless 
of  Miss  Liuwood,  erst  of  Leicester  Square,  j  desert  of  sitting-room,  with  a  chair  for  every 


London,  thou  art  welcome  here,  and  thy 
retreat  is  fitly  chosen  !  I  myself  was  one  of 
the  last  visitors  to  that  awful  storehouse  of 
thy  life's  work,  where  an  anchorite  old  man 
and  woman  took  my  shilling  with  a  solemn 


till 
wonder,   and    conducting    me    to  a    gloomy  j  Doomsday.     The  Dodo  has   nothing   in   the 


day  in  the  year,  a  table  for  every  month,  and 
a  waste  of  sideboard  where  a  lonely  China  vase 
pines  in  a  corner  for  its  mate  long  departed, 
and  will  never  make  a  match  with  the  candle- 
stick in  the  opposite  corner  if  it  live 


sepulchre  of  needlework  dropping  to  pieces 
with  dust  and  age  and  shrouded  in  twilight 
at  high  noon,  left  me  there,  chilled,  frightened, 
and  alone.  And  now,  in  ghostly  letters  on 
all  the  dead  walls  of  this  dead  town,  I  read 


larder.  Even  now,  I  behold  the  Boots  re- 
turning with  my  sole  in  a  piece  of  paper;  and 
with  that  portion  of  my  dinner,  the  Boots, 
perceiving  me  at  the  blank  bow  window, 
slaps  his  leg  as  he  comes  across  the  road, 


thy  honored    name,   and  find  that  thy  Last   pretending  it  is  something  else.     The  Dodo 


vo;,.  v. 


109 


118 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


excludes  the  outer  air.  When  I  mount  up  to 
my  bed-room,  a  smell  of  closeness  and  flue 
gets  lazily  up  my  nose  like  sleepy  snuff.  The 
loose  little  bits  of  carpet  writhe  under  my 
tread,  and  take  wormy  shapes.  I  don't  know 
the  ridiculous  man  in  the  looking-glass,  be- 
yond having  met  him  once  or  twice  in  a  dish- 
cover — and  I  can  never  shave  him  to-morrow 
morning  !  The  Dodo  is  narrow-minded  as  to 
towels  ;  expects  me  to  wash  on  a  freemason's 
apron  without  the  trimming  ;  when  I  ask  for 
soap,  gives  me  a  stony-hearted  something 
white,  with  no  more  lather  in  it  than  the 
Elgin  marbles.  The  Dodo  has  seen  better 
days,  and  possesses  interminable  stables  at 
the  back — silent,  grass-grown,  broken-win- 
dowed, horseless. 

This  mournful  bird  can  fry  a  sole,  however, 
which  is  much.  Can  cook  a  steak,  too,  which 
is  more.  I  wonder  where  it  gets  its  Sherry  ! 
If  I  were  to  send  my  pint  of  wine  to  some 
famous  chemist  to  be  analysed,  what  would  it 
turn  out  to  be  made  of  ?  It  tastes  of  pepper, 
sugar,  bitter  almonds,  vinegar,  warm  knives, 
any  flat  drink,  and  a  little  brandy.  Would 
it  unman  a  Spanish  exile  by  reminding  him  of 
his  native  land  at  all  ]  I  think  not.  If  there 
really  be  any  townspeople  out  of  the  church- 
yards, and  if  a  caravan  of  them  ever  do  dine, 
with  a  bottle  of  wine  per  man,  in  this  desert 
of  the  Dodo,  it  must  make  good  for  the  doctor 
next  day  ! 

Where  was  the  waiter  born  ?  How  did  he 
come  here  1  Has  he  any  hope  of  getting  away 
from  here  ?  Does  he  ever  receive  a  letter,  or 
take  a  ride  upon  the  railway,  or  see  anything 
but  the  Dodo  '?  Perhaps  he  has  seen  the 
Berlin  Wool.  He  appears  to  have  a  silent 
sorrow  on  him,  and  it  may  be  that.  He  clears 
the  table  ;  draws  the  dingy  curtains  of  the 
great  bow  window,  which  so  unwillingly 
consent  to  meet,  that  they  must  be  pinned 
together  ;  leaves  me  by  the  fire  with  my  pint 
decanter,  and  a  little  thin  funnel-shaped  wine- 
glass, and  a  plate  of  pale  biscuits — in  them- 
selves engendering  desperation. 

No  book,  no  newspaper  !  I  left  the  Arabian 
Nights  in  the  railway  carriage,  and  have 
nothing  to  read  but  Bradshaw,  and  "  that  way 
madness  lies."  Remembering  what  prisoners 
and  shipwrecked  mariners  have  done  to  exer- 
cise their  minds  in  solitude,  I  repeat  the 
multiplication  table,  the  pence  table,  and  the 
shilling  table:  which  are  all  the  tables  I 
happen  to  know.  What  if  I  write  something  ? 
The  Dodo  keeps  no  pens  but  steel  pens  ;  and 
those  I  always  stick  through  the  paper,  and 
can  turn  to  no  other  account. 

What  am  I  to  do  ?  Even  if  I  could  have 
the  bandy-legged  baby  knocked  up  and 
brought  here,  1  could  offer  him  nothing  but 
sherry,  and  that  would  be  the  death  of  him. 
He  would  never  hold  up  his  head  again  if  he 
touched  it.  I  can't  go  to  bed,  because  I  have 
conceived  a  mortal  hatred  for  my  bedroom  ; 
and  I  can't  go  away  because  there  is  no  train 
for  my  place  of  destination  until  morning.  To 


burn  the  biscuits  will  be  but  a  fleeting  joy  ; 
still  it  is  a  temporary  relief,  and  here  they  go 
on  the  fire  !  Shall  I  break  the  plate  ?  First 
let  me  look  at  the  back,  and  see  who  made 
it.  COPELAND. 

Copelaud  !  Stop  a  moment.  Was  it  yes- 
terday I  visited  Copeland's  works,  and  saw 
them  making  plates  ?  In  the  confusion  of 
travelling  about,  it  might  be  yesterday  or  it 
might  be  yesterday  month  ;  but  I  think  it  was 
yesterday.  I  appeal  to  the  plate.  The  plate 
says,  decidedly,  yesterday.  I  find  the  plate, 
as  I  look  at  it,  growing  into  a  companion. 

Don't  you  remember  (says  the  plate)  how 
you  steamed  away,  yesterday  morning,  in  the 
bright  sun  and  the  east  wind,  along  the 
valley  of  the  sparkling  Trent  ?  Don't  you 
recollect  the  many  kilns  you  flew  past,  looking 
like  the  bowls  of  gigantic  tobacco  pipes,  cut 
short  off  from  the  stem  and  turned  upside 
down  ?  And  the  fires — and  the  smoke — and 
the  roads  made  with  bits  of  crockery,  as  if  all 
the  plates  and  dishes  in  the  civilised  world 
had  been  Macadamized,  expressly  for  the 
laming  of  all  the  horses  ?  Of  course  I  do  ! 

And  don't  you  remember  (says  the  plate) 
how  you  alighted  at  Stoke — a  picturesque 
heap  of  houses,  kilns,  smoke,  wharfs,  canals, 
and  river,  lying  (as  was  most  appropriate) 
in  a  basin — and  how,  after  climbing  up  the 
sides  of  the  basin  to  look  at  the  prospect,  you 
trundled  down  again  at  a  walking-match 
pace,  and  straight  proceeded  to  my  lather's, 
Copeland's,  where  the  whole  of  my  family, 
high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  are  turned  out 
upon  the  world  from  our  nursery  and  seminary, 
covering  some  fourteen  acres  of  ground  1  And 
don't  you  remember  what  we  spring  from  : — • 
heaps  of  lumps  of  clay,  partially  prepared 
and  cleaned  in  Devonshire  and  Dorsetshire, 
whence  said  clay  principally'  comes — and  hills 
of  flint,  without  which  we  should  want  our 
ringing  sound,  and  should  never  be  musical  1 
And  as  to  the  flint,  don't  you  recollect  that  it 
is  first  burnt  in  kilns,  and  is  then  laid  under 
the  four  iron  feet  of  a  demon  slave,  subject  to 
violent  stamping  fits,  who,  when  they  come 
on,  stamps  away  insanely  with  his  four  iron, 
legs,  and  would  crush  all  the  flint  in  the  Isle 
of  Thanet  to  powder,  without  leaving  off  ? 
And  as  to  the  clay,  don't  you  recollect  how  it 
is  put  into  mills  or  teazers,  and  is  sliced,  and 
dug,  and  cut  at,  by  endless  knives,  clogged 
and  sticky,  but  persistent — and  is  pressed  out 
of  that  machine  through  a  square  trough, 
whose  form  it  takes — and  is  cut  off  in  square 
lumps  and  thrown  into  a  vat,  and  there 
mixed  with  water,  and  beaten  to  a  pulp  by 
paddle-wheels — and  is  then  run  into  a  rough 
house,  all  rugged  beams  and  ladders  splashed 
with  white, — superintended  by  Grindoff  the 
Miller  in  his  working  clothes,  all  splashed 
with  white, — where  it  passes  through  no  end 
of  machinery-moved  sieves  all  splashed  with 
white,  arranged  in  an  ascending  scale  of  fine- 
ness (some  so  fine,  that  three  hundred  silk 
threads  cross  each  other  in  a  single  square 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  PLATED  ARTICLE. 


119 


inch  of  their  surface),  and  all  in  a  violent 
state  of  ague  with  their  teeth  for  ever  chatter- 
ing, and  their  bodies  for  ever  shivering  ? 
And  as  to  the  flint  again,  isn't  it  mashed  and 
mollified  and  troubled  and  soothed,  exactly 
as  rags  are  in  a  paper-mill,  until  it  is  reduced 
to  a  pap  so  fine  that  it  contains  no  atom  of 
"  grit"  perceptible  to  the  nicest  taste  1  And 
as  to  the  flint  and  the  clay  together,  are  they 
not,  after  all  this,  mixed  in  the  proportion  of 
five  of  clay  to  one  of  flint,  and  isn't  the  com- 
pound— known  as  "  slip  " — run  into  oblong 
troughs,  where  its  superfluous  moisture  may 
evaporate ;  and  finally,  isn't  it  slapped  and 
banged  and  beaten  and  patted  and  kneaded 
and  wedged  and  knocked  about  like  butter, 
until  it  becomes  a  beautiful  grey  dough,  ready 
for  the  potter's  use  ? 

In  regard  of  the  potter,  popularly  so  called 
(says  the  plate),  you  don't  mean,  to  say  you 
have  forgotten  that  a  workman  called  a 
Thrower  is  the  man  under  whose  hand 
this  grey  dough  takes  the  shapes  of  the 
simpler  household  vessels  as  quickly  as  the 
eye  can  follow  ?  You  don't  mean  to  say  you 
cannot  call  him  up  before  you,  sitting,  with 
his  attendant  woman,  at  his  potter's  wheel — 
a  disc  about  the  size  of  a  dinner  plate,  re- 
volving on  two  drums  slowly  or  quickly  as  he 
wills — who  made  you  a  complete  breakfast 
set  for  a  bachelor,  as  a  good-humoured  little 
off-hand  joke  1  You  remember  how  he  took 
up  as  much  dough  as  he  wanted,  and,  throw- 
ing it  on  his  wheel,  in  a  moment  fashioned  it 
into  a  teacup — caught  up  more  clay  and  made 
a  saucer — a  larger  dab  and  whirled  it  into  a 
teapot — winked  at  a  smaller  dab  and  con- 
verted it  into  the  lid  of  the  teapot,  accurately 
fitting  by  the  measurement  of  his  eye  alone — 
coaxed  a  middle-sized  dab  for  two  seconds, 
broke  it,  turned  it  over  at  the  rim,  and  made 
a  milkpot — laughed,  and  turned  out  a  slop- 
basin — coughed,  and  provided  for  the  sugar  1 
Neither,  I  think,  are  you  oblivious  of  the 
newer  mode  of  making  various  articles,  but 
especially  basins,  according  to  which  improve- 
ment a  mould  revolves  instead  of  a  disc  ?  For 
you  rrnist  remember  (says  the  plate)  how  you 
saw  the  mould  of  a  little  basin  spinning 
round  and  round,  and  how  the  workman 
smoothed  and  pressed  a  handful  of  dough  upon 
it,  and  how  with  an  instrument  called  a  profile 
(a  piece  of  wood,  representing  the  profile 
of  a  basin's  foot)  he  cleverly  scraped  and 
carved  the  ring  which  makes  the  base  of  any 
such  basin,  and  then  took  the  basin  off  the  lathe 
like  a  doughey  skull-cap,  to  be  dried,  and 
afterwards  (in  what  is  called  a  green  state)  to 
be  put  into  a  second  lathe,  there  to  be  finished 
and  burnished  with  a  steel  burnisher  1  And 
as  to  moulding  in  general  (says  the  plate),  it 
can't  be  necessary  for  me  to  remind  you  that 
all  ornamental  articles,  and  indeed  all  articles 
not  quite  circular,  are  made  in  moulds.  For 
you  must  remember  how  you  saw  the  vege- 
table dishes,  for  example,  being  made  in 
moulds  ;  and  how  the  handles  of  teacups,  and 


the  spouts  of  teapots,  and  the  feet  of  tureens, 
and  so  forth,  are  all  made  in  little  separate 
moulds,  and  are  each  stuck  on  to  the  body 
corporate,  of  which  it  is  destined,  to  form  a 
part,  with  a  stuff  called  "  slag,"  as  quickly  as 
you  can  recollect  it.  Further,  you  learnt — 
you  know  you  did — in  the  same  Arisit,  how  the 
beautiful  sculptures  in  the  delicate  new 
material  called  Paiian,  are  all  constructed  in 
moulds ;  how,  into  that  material,  animal 
bones  are  ground  up,  because  the  phosphate  of 
lime  contained  in  bones  makes  it  translucent ; 
how  everything  is  moulded,  before  going  into 
the  fire,  one-fourth  larger  than  it  is  intended  to 
come  out  of  the  fire,  because  it  shrinks  in  that 
proportion  in  the  intense  heat ;  how,  when 
a  figure  shrinks  unequally,  it  is  spoiled — 
emerging  from  the  furnace  a  mis-shapen  birth : 
a  big  head  and  a  little  body,  or  a  little  head 
and  a  big  body,  or  a  Quasimodo  with  long 
arms  and  short  legs,  or  a  Miss  Biffin  with 
neither  legs  nor  arms  worth  mentioning  ! 

And  as  to  the  Kilns,  in  which  the  firing 
takes  place,  and  in  which  some  of  the  more 
precious  articles  are  burnt  repeatedly,  in 
various  stages  of  their  process  towards  com- 
pletion,— as  to  the  Kilns  (says  the  plate, 
warming  with  the  recollection),  if  you  don't 
remember  THEM  with  a  horrible  interest,  what 
did  you  ever  go  to  Copeland's  for  ?  When 
you  stood  inside  of  one  of  those  inverted  bowls 
of  a  Pre- Adamite  tobacco-pipe,  looking  up  at 
the  blue  sky  through  the  open  top  far  off,  as 
you  might  have  looked  up  from  a  well,  sunk 
under  the  centre  of  the  pavement  of  the 
Pantheon  at  Home,  had  you  the  least  idea 
where  you  were  ?  And  when  you'  found 
yourself  surrounded,  in  that  dome-shaped 
cavern,  by  innumerable  columns  of  an  un- 
earthly order  of  architecture,  supporting 
nothing,  and  squeezed  close  together  as  if  a 
Pre-Adamite  Samson  had  taken  a  vast  Hall 
in  his  arms  and  crushed  it  into  the  smallest 
possible  space,  had  you  the  least  idea  what 
they  were  1  No  (says  the  plate),  of  course 
not !  And  when  you  found  that  each  of  those 
pillars  was  a  pile  of  ingeniously  made  vessels 
of  coarse  clay — called  Saggers — looking,  when 
separate,  like  raised- pies  for  the  table  of  the 
mighty  Giant  Blunderbore,  and  now  all  full  of 
various  articles  of  pottery  ranged  in  them 
in  baking  order,  the  bottom  of  each  vessel 
serving  for  the  cover  of  the  one  below,  and 
the  whole  Kiln  rapidly  filling  with  these, 
tier  upon  tier,  until  the  last  workman  should 
have  barely  room  to  crawl  out,  before  the 
closing  of  the  jagged  aperture  in  the  wall  and 
the  kindling  of  the  gradual  fire ;  did  you  not 
stand  amazed  to  think  that  all  the  year  round 
these  dread  chambers  are  heating,  white  hot — 
and  cooling — and  filling — and  emptying — and 
being  bricked  up — and  broken  open — humanly 
speaking,  for  ever  and  ever  1  To  be  sure  you 
did  !  And  standing  in  one  of  those  Kilns 
nearly  full,  and  seeing  a  free  crow  shoot 
across  the  aperture  a-top,  and  learning  how 
the  fire  would  wax  hotter  and  hotter  by  slow 


120 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


degrees,  and  would  cool  similarly  through  a 
space  of  from  forty  to  sixty  hours,  did  no 
remembrance  of  the  days  when  human  clay 
was  burnt,  oppress  you  ?  Yes,  I  think  so  ! 
I  suspect  that  some  fancy  of  a  liery  haze  and 
a  shortening  breath,  and  a  growing  heat,  and 
a  gasping  prayer  ;  and  a  figure  in  black  inter- 
posing between  you  and  the  sky  (as  figures  in 
black  are  very  apt  to  do),  and  looking  down, 
before  it  grew  too  hot  to  look  and  live,  upon 
the  Heretic  in  his  edifying  agony — I  say  I 
suspect  (says  the  Plate)  that  some  such  fancy 
was  pretty  strong  upon  you  when  yoii  went 
out  into  the  air,  and  blessed  God  for  the 
bright  spring  day  and  the  degenerate  times ! 

After  that,  I  needn't  remind  you  what  a 
relief1  it  was  to  see  the  simplest  process  of 
ornamenting  this  "  biscuit "  (as  it  is  called 
when  baked)  with  brown  circles  and  blue 
trees — converting  it  in  to  the  common  crockery- 
ware  that  is  exported  to  Africa,  and  used  in 
cottages  at  home.  For  (says  the  Plate)  I  am 
Avell  persuaded  that  you  bear  in  mind  how 


Then  (says  the  plate),  was  not  the  paper  washed 
away  with  a  sponge,  and  didn't  there  appear, 
set  off  upon  the  plate,  this  identical  piece  of 
Pre-Raphaelite  blue  distemper  which  you 
now  behold  ?  Not  to  be  denied  !  I  had  seen 
all  this — and  more.  I  had  been  shown,  at 
CopelandV,  patterns  of  beautiful  design,  in 
faultless  perspective,  which  are  causing  the 
ugly  old  willow  to  wither  out  of  public 
favour  ;  and  which,  being  quite  as  cheap,  in- 
sinuate good  wholesome  natural  art  into  the 
humblest  households.  When  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Sprat  have  satisfied  their  material  tastes  by 
that  equal  division  of  fat  and  lean  which  has 
made  their  menage  immortal ;  and  have,  after 
the  elegant  tradition,  "licked  the  platter 
clean,"  they  can — thanks  to  modern  artists 
in  clay — feast  their  intellectual  tastes  upon 
excellent  delineations  of  natural  objects. 

This  reflection  prompts  me  to  transfer  my 
attention  from  the  blue  plate  to  the  forlorn 
but  cheerfully  painted  vase  on  the  sideboard. 
And  surely  (says  the  plate)  you  have  not  for- 


those   particular  jugs   and   mugs  were  once  I  gotten  how  the  outlines   of  such   groups  of 


more  set  upon  a  lathe  and  put  in  motion ;  and 
how  a  man  blew  the  brown  color  (having  a 
strong  natural  affinity  with  the  material  in 
that  condition)  on  them  from  a  blow-pipe  as 
they  twirled  ;  and  how  his  daughter,  with  a 
common  brush,  dropped  blotches  of  blue  upon 
them  in  the  right  places  ;  and  how,  tilting  the 
blotches  iipside  down,  she  made  them  run 
into  rude  images  of  trees,  and  there  an  end. 

And  didn't  you  see  (says  the  plate)  planted 
upon  my  own  brother  that  astounding  blue 
willow,  with  knobbed  and  gnarled  trunk,  and 
foliage  of  blue  ostrich  feathers,  which  gives 


flowers  as  you  see  there,  are  printed,  just  as  I 
was  printed,  and  are  afterwards  shaded  and 
filled  in  with  metallic  colours  by  women  and 
girls  ?  As  to  the  aristocracy  of  our  order, 
made  of  the  finer  clay — porcelain  peers  and 
peeresses ; — the  slabs,  and  panels,  and  table 
tops,  and  tazze  ;  the  endless  nobility  and 
gentry  of  dessert,  breakfast,  and  tea  services  ; 
the  gemmed  perfume-bottles,  and  scarlet  and 
gold  salvers  ;  you  saw  that  they  were  painted 
by  artists,  with  metallic  colours  laid  on  with 
camel-hair  pencils,  and  afterwards  burnt  in. 
And  talking  of  burning  in  (says  the 


our  family  the  title  of  "willow  pattern  ?"  And  I  plate),   didn't    you  find   that   every   subject, 


didn't  you  observe,  transferred  upon  him  at 
the  same  time,  that  blue  bridge  which  spans 
nothing,  growing  out  from  the  roots  of  the 
willow ;  and  the  three  blue  Chinese  going  over  it 
into  a  blue  temple,  which  has  a  fine  crop  of  blue 


from  the  willow-pattern  to  the  landscape 
after  Turner — having  been  framed  upon  clay 
or  porcelain  biscuit — has  to  be  glazed  ?  Of 
course,  you  saw  the  glaze — composed  of  various 
vitreous  materials — laid  over  every  article  ; 


bushes  sprouting  out  of  the  roof ;  and  a  blue  :  and  of  course  you  witnessed  the  close  imprison- 


boat  sailing  above  them,  the  mast  of  which  is 
burglariously  sticking  itself  into  the  founda- 
tions of  a  blue  villa,  suspended  sky-high,  sur- 
mounted by  a  lump  of  blue  rock,  sky-higher, 
and  a  couple  of  billing  blue  birds,  skydiighest 


inent  of  each  piece  in  saggers  upon  the  separate 
system  rigidly  enforced  by  means  of  fine- 
pointed  earthenware  stilts  placed  between 
the  articles  to  prevent  the  slightest  communi- 
cation or  contact.  We  had  in  my  time — and  I 


-together  with  the  rest  of  that  amusing  blue  |  suppose  it  is  the  same  now — fourteen  hours 
landscape,   which   lias,    in   deference  to   our !  firing  to  fix  the  glaze  and  to  make  it  "  run" 


revered  ancestors  of  the  Cerulean  Empire,  and 
in  defiance  of  every  known  law  of  perspec- 
tive, adorned  millions  of  our  family  ever  since 
the  days  of  platters  ?  Didn't  you  inspect  the 
copper-plate  on  which  my  pattern  was 
deeply  engraved  1  Didn't  you  perceive  an 
impression  of  it  taken  in  cobalt  colour  at  a 
cylindrical  press,  upon  a  leaf  of  thin  paper, 
streaming  from  a  plunge-bath  of  soap  and 
water  ?  Wasn't  the  paper  impression  daintily 
spread,  by  a  light-fingered  damsel  (you  know 
you  admired  her  !),  over  the  surface  of  the 
plate,  and  the  back  of  the  paper  rubbed  prodi- 
giously hard — with  a  long  tight  roll  of  flannel, 
tied  up  like  a  round  of  hung  beef — without  so 


all  over  us  equally,  so  as  to  put  a  good  shiny 
and  unticratchable  surface  upon  us.  Doubt- 
less, you  observed  that  one  sort  of  glaze — • 
called  printing-body — is  burnt  into  the  better 
sort  of  ware  before  it  is  printed.  Upon  this 
you  saw  some  of  the  finest  steel  engravings 
transferred,  to  be  fixed  by  an  after  glazing 
— didn't  you  ?  Why,  of  course  you  did  ! 

Of  course  I  did.  I  had  seen  and  enjoyed 
everything  that  the  plate  recalled  to  me,  and 
had  beheld  with  admiration  how  the  rotatory 
motion  which  keeps  this  ball  of  ours  in  its 
place  in  the  great  scheme,  with  all  its  busy 
mites  upon  it,  was  necessary  throughout  the 
process,  and  could  only  be  dispensed  with  in 


much  as  ruffling  the  paper,  wet  as  it  was  ?  |  the  fire.   So,  listening  to  the  plate's  reminders, 


Ctiarlen  Dickens.] 


MARGARET  FULLER 


and  musing  upon  them,  I  got  through  the 
evening  after  all,  and  went  to  bed.  I  made 
but  one  sleep  of  it — for  which  I  have  no 
doubt  I  ain  also  indebted  to  the  plate — and 
left  the  lonely  Dodo  in  the  morning,  quite  at 
peace  with  it,  before  the  bandy-legged  baby 
was  up. 

MAEGAEET  FULLER 


IN  the  year  1810,  in  the  town  of  Cambridge- 
port,  Massachusetts,  a  child  was  born  to  a 
pair  named  Fuller,  whom  they  christened 
Margaret.  The  father  was  a  lawyer — a  shrewd, 
severe  man  ;  "  a  character,"  as  the  daughter 
says,  "  quite  of  the  common  sort."  He  was? 
however,  a  classical  scholar,  with  a  taste  for 
the  poets  of  Queen  Anne's  time  ;  though,  even 
in  literature,  a  man  of  business.  Margaret, 
he  determined,  should  be  a  youthful  prodigy. 
At  six  years  old  she  could  read  Latin  ;  and 
she  afterwards  became  thoroughly  proficient 
in  that  tongue,  as  well  as  in  the  Greek.  Hexa- 
meters had  neither  mystery  nor  terrors  for 
her  ;  and  the  oldest  "  Dux "  iu  the  West- 
minster School  would  have,  probably,  found 
her  a  match  for  him  with  such  missiles.  Her 
lather,  when  dealing  with  her,  was  all  method 
and  precision  ;  but  she  describes  her  own 
character  as  having  been  "  fervent,  and  dis- 
posed to  infatuation  and  self-forgetfulness." 
All  this,  however,  failed  to  give  her  a  distaste 
for  study.  At  eight  years  old,  she  found  a 
copy  of  Shakspeare,  and  greedily  devoured  it ; 
twice  incurring  her  father's  anger  for  being 
found  reading  it  on  a  Sunday. 

At  the  age  of  thirteen,  Margaret  Fuller 
was  so  advanced  in  mental  development,  that 
she  took  her  place  in  society  as  a  full-grown 
Avoman.  At  fifteen,  she  gave  the  following 
account  of  her  manner  of  passing  the  day  : — 
'•  I  rise  a  little  before  five,  walk  an  hour,  and 
then  practise  on  the  piano  till  seven  ;  when 
we  breakfast.  Next,  I  read  French — Sis- 
rnondi's  '  Literature  of  the  South  of  Europe  ' 
— till  eight ;  then  two  or  three  lectures  in 
'  iJrown's  Philosophy.'  From  half-past  nine 
till  twelve  I  study  Greek  ;  when  I  recite, 
and  practise  again  till  dinner,  at  two.  Some- 
times, if  the  conversation  is  very  agreeable, 
1  lounge  for  half-an-hour  over  the  dessert, 
though  rarely  so  lavish  of  time.  Then,  when 
I  can,  I  read  two  hours  in  Italian.  At  six,  I 
walk  or  take  a  drive.  Before  going  to  bed, 
I  play  or  sing  for  half-an-hour  or  so  ;  and, 
about  eleven,  retire,  to  write  a  little  while  in 
my  journal,  exercises  on  what  I  have  read,  or 
a  series  of  characteristics,  which  I  am  filling 
up,  according  to  advice."  She  was  already 
famous  for  her  conversation.  She  satirised 
her  own  sex,  and  they  kept  aloof  from  her. 
At  nineteen,  there  was  scarcely  a  book  of 
note,  in  the  Spanish,  French,  or  Italian  lan- 
guages, which  she  had  not  read  and  thoroughly 
mastered.  She  soon  after  studied  German, 
and  devoured  all  its  writers  in  prose,  poetry, 
and  metaphysics. 


Kant  and  Novalis  were  among  her  favorites ; 
if  we  may  judge  from  her  journal,  which 
contains  plentiful  records  of  her  "inner 
life,"  "spiritual  struggles,"  "self- wrestlings," 
'•'  appointed  tasks,"  and  "  other  things  caviare 
to  the'  general."  The  "  Boston  School," 
or  "  Frogpondians "  (as  they  are  called  in 
the  American  dialect),  of  which  Mr.  Emer- 
son is  the  chief,  took  her  to  itself;  and 
she  acquired  the  art  of  making  a  pro- 
found thought  look  profounder,  by  only  half 
expressing  it. 

The  person  of  Margaret  Fuller  is  described 
as  being  rather  under  the  middle  height,  ex- 
tremely plain,  with  a  trick  of  opening  and 
shutting  her  eyelids,  and  a  nasal  tone  of  voice, 
which  repelled.  Mr.  Emerson  was  decidedly 
repelled.  He  said  to  himself,  "  We  shall 
never  get  far."  But  she  quizzed  him,  and 
nattered  him,  and  disputed  with  him,  until 
he  admitted  that  it  was  impossible  to  hold 
out  against  such  an  urgent  assault.  He  was 
speedily  drawn  into  the  circle  of  her  friends ; 
whom,  with  meek  resignation,  he  says,  "  she 
wore  like  a  necklace."  Meanwhile,  her  in- 
dustry in  study  was  immense. 

In  1843,  she  was  editor  of  the  "  Dial,"  an 
American  Quarterly  Eeview.  In  1844  she 
removed  to  New  York,  and  endeavoured  to 
arouse  the  ladies  of  that  city  with  lectures  to 
them,  exclusively,  on  "  The  Family,"  "  The 
School,"  "  Society,"  and  "  Literature."  She  af- 
terwards published"  Women  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century,"  in  which  she  demanded  for  her  sex 
the  fullest  recognition  of  social  and  political 
equality.  One  of  her  male  friends  innocently 
remarks,  however,  that,  while  she  demanded 
absolute  equality  for  Avomen,  she  exacted  a 
deference  from  men  to  women,  entirely  incon- 
sistent with  that  requirement.  Poor,  unsus- 
pecting, male  friend  !  As  time  wore  on,  he 
acknowledges  himself  drawn  irresistibly  into 
the  general  current  ;  or,  to  use  the  other 
gentleman's  metaphor,  strung  upon  her  neck- 
lace. 

Heralded  by  her  reputation  as  a  scholar 
and  talker,  and  continually  before  the  public, 
as  a  writer,  in  New  York  she  became  the 
centre  of  attraction.  All  persons  were  curious 
to  see  her  ;  but  her  admirers  state  that  most 
seemed  repelled,  by  what  looked  like  conceit, 
pedantry,  and  a  harsh  spirit  of  criticism ; 
while,  on  her  part,  she  seemed  to  regard 
those  around  her  as  frivolous,  superficial,  and 
conventional. 

In  1846,  Margaret  Fuller  came  to  England, 
and  quizzed  English  society  and  English 
writers.  In  Paris,  she  visited  the  famous 
Madame  Dudevant,  otherwise  George  Sand, 
and  found  her  smoking  the  little  cigarette,  of 
which  all  the  world  lias  heard.  She  states 
that  she  never  liked  a  woman  better  than 
the  female  George,  and  gives  some  reasons 
for  her  affection,  which  would  seem  to  few 
people  reasons  for  liking  anybody.  At 
Boulogne,  she  said,  "  All  women  should  love 
that  city  ;  for  there  the  intelligence  of  women 


122 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


had  been  cherished."  Both  in  France  and 
Italy,  she  saw  most  of  the  noted  men,  literary 
and  scientific,  and  discoursed  with  them, 
freely,  in  their  own  tongue.  In  Rome,  she 
wrote,  with  outrageous  modesty,  "  Among 
the  'famous  women,  I  find  none  with  so 
comprehensive  a  head,  or  such  fine  instincts, 
as  I." 

"We  can  afford  to  see  the  little  weaknesses 
in  Margaret  Fuller's  character.  As  we  draw 
near  the  end  of  her  brief  career,  we  find  them 
cast  into  the  proper  shade  by  her  untiring 
energy  and  undoubted  genius.  Very  touching 
is  the  account  she  has  written  of  her  youth — 
her  childish  reflexions  when  the  shadow  of 
death  first  darkened  their  household — and 
that  singularly  early  application  to  study, 
and  severe  discipline,  which  contributed  to 
form  a  character  so  peculiar.  She  was  in 
Rome  in  the  midst  of  the  revolutionary  scenes 
of  1848 — during  the  murder  of  Count  Rossi, 
and  expulsion  of  the  Pope,  and  while  cries 
of  "  Morte  ai  Cardinal! !  "  "  Morte  ai  Je- 
suiti ! "  were  loudest  and  most  earnest.  From 
the  window  of  her  loggia  she  witnessed  the 
famous  sortie  of  Garibaldi,  when  the  French 
were  driven  back  with  the  loss  of  a  thousand 
men.  It  was  on  a  Sunday.  The  French  threw 
rockets  into  the  city,  one  of  which  burst  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  hospital,  just  as  she 
arrived  there,  to  fulfil  her  duties  as  Regola- 
trice,  or  attendant  upon  the  wounded ;  for 
which  office  she  had  volunteered  her  services. 
She  went  daily  to  the  hospital,  and  though 
she  suffered — for  she  had  no  idea,  before,  how 
terrible  were  gunshot  wounds  and  wound- 
fever — she  found  a  pleasure  in  her  task. 
Many  of  the  sufferers,  especially  among  the 
Lombards,  were  among  the  flower  of  the 
Italian  youth.  As  they  began  to  get  better, 
she  carried  them  books  and  flowers,  and  they 
read  and  talked  together. 

During  the  siege  of  three  months,  she  re- 
mained shut  up  in  the  city  ;  for  she  had  now 
other  ties  to  bind  her  to  Rome.  An  Italian 
nobleman,  the  Marquis  D'Ossoli,  had  met  her 
by  chance  in  the  Church  of  St.  Peter's,  in  the 
spring  of  1847  :  an  accident  brought  them 
into  conversation.  Margaret  had  become 
separated  from  her  friends  in  the  Church ; 
and  the  Marquis,  seeing  her  to  be  a  foreigner, 
volunteered  to  assist  in  her  search.  Her 
friends  were  gone,  no  vehicle  was  at  hand, 
and  she  was  compelled  to  walk  with  her 
stranger  friend  a  long  distance.  Their  words 
were  few,  though  enough  to  create  a  desire 
for  further  acquaintance.  They  parted  at 
the  door,  and  Margaret  related  the  adventure 
to  her  friends.  The  chance  meeting  at 
Vespers  in  St.  Peter's  paved  the  way  for 
many  interviews ;  and,  finally,  Ossoli  offered 
her  his  hand  ;  but  Margaret  refused  it,  and 
departed,  soon  after,  for  Venice.  Upon  her 
return  to  Rome,  however,  their  acquaintance 
was  renewed.  The  family  of  Ossoli  were 
strictly  conservative,  and  the  lover  had  been 
educated  in  their  principles ;  but,  for  Mar- 


garet's sake,  he  espoused  the  cause  of  Roman 
liberty.  From  this  time  they  became  the  closest 
friends,  often  making  little  excursions  out  of 
Rome  together.  Carrying  with  them  some 
roasted  chestnuts,  they  got  bread  and  wine, 
and  dined,  in  pastoral  fashion,  at  some  rustic 
inn — coming  back  sometimes  in  time  to  see 
the  sun  going  down  behind  the  towers  of  the 
city.  They  were  soon  afterwards  married 
secretly.  D'Ossoli  became  one  of  the  most 
active  defenders  of  Rome,  occupying  with  his 
men  a  dangerous  place  upon  the  walls. 
Margaret  continued  her  consolations  to  the 
wounded ;  attending  daily  at  the  hospitals 
for  seven  or  eight  hours — often  the  entire  night 
— until  she  herself  lay  on  a  bed  of  sickness, 
and  was  thought  to  be  near  her  death.  Yet 
she  never  flinched  :  "  Though  sometimes,"  she 
says,  "  I  found  myself  inferior  in  courage  and 
fortitude  to  the  occasion.  I  knew  not  how  to 
bear  the  havoc  and  anguish  incident  to  the 
struggle  for  these  principles.  I  rejoiced  that 
it  lay  not  with  me  to  cut  down  the  trees,  to 
destroy  the  Elysian  garden,  for  the  defence  of 
the  city  ;  I  do  not  know  that  I  could  have 
done  it.  And  the  sight  of  these  far  nobler 

frowths,  the  beautiful  young  men,  mown, 
own  in  their  stately  prime,  became  too  much 
for  me.  I  forgot  the  great  ideas — to  sym- 
pathise with  the  poor  mothers.  You  say  I 
have  sustained  them.  Often  have  they,  sus- 
tained my  courage :  one,  kissing  the  pieces  of 
bone  that  were  so  painfully  extracted  from 
his  arm,  hung  them  round  his  neck — me- 
mentoes that  he  also  has  done  and  borne 
something  for  his  country  and  the  hopes  of 
humanity.  One  fair  young  man,  who  is  made 
a  cripple  for  life,  clasped  my  hand  as  he  saw 
me  crying  over  the  spasms  I  could  not 
relieve — and  faintly  cried,  '  Viva  V 'Italia  !  ' ' 
During  the  most  dangerous  times  of  the 
bombardment,  Margaret  was  constantly  to 
and  fro  in  the  streets  of  the  city,  visiting 
friends,  collecting  information,  and  some- 
times interposing  in  quarrels  between  the 
people  and  the  soldiery,  and  calming  the 
most  infuriated. 

Impoverished  by  political  events,  Margaret 
and  her  husband  fled  from  Rome,  on  the 
entrance  of  the  French,  to  Rieti,  in  the 
Apennines,  where  their  child  had  been  de- 
posited for  safety  previously  to  the  siege. 
The  winter  she  spent  peacefully  in  Florence, 
with  her  husband  and  child. 

Disheartened  by  the  aspect  of  political 
affairs  in  Europe,  Margaret  now  wished  to 
return  to  America.  Considerations  of  economy 
determined  them,  in  spite  of  misgivings,  to 
take  a  passage  in  a  merchantman  from 
Leghorn.  Many  omens  seemed  to  dissuade 
her  from  her  purpose — for  she  was  anxious 
for  her  child's  sake  ;  but  they  set  sail. 
They  were  swept  tranquilly  over  the  smooth 
waters  of  the  Mediterranean  ;  but,  before 
they  reached  Gibraltar,  the  captain  of  their 
vessel  was  taken  ill,  and  died.  The  authori- 
ties at  that  port  refused  permission  for 


Charles  Dickens.] 


MAKGAEET  .FULLER. 


123 


any  one  to  land,  and  directed  that  the 
burial  should  be  made  at  sea.  At  sunset, 
the  body  of  the  captain,  wrapped  in  the 
flag  of  his  nation,  was  let  down  into  the  deep 
water. 

The  second  day  after,  their  child  was 
stricken  with  the  complaint  of  the  captain  ; 
but  recovered.  Margaret  gave  the  last 
touches  to  her  work  on  Italy.  Slowly,  yet 
peacefully,  passed  the  long  summer  days,  and 
the  mellow,  moonlit  nights  ;  slowly,  and  with 
even  flight,  their  vessel,  under  gentle  airs 
from  the  tropics,  bears  them  safely  onward. 
Four  thousand  miles  of  ocean  lay  behind ; 
they  were  nearly  home  ;  but  stormy  weather 
came  on,  and  grew  into  a  hurricane.  About 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  vessel  struck 
on  a  spot  called  Fire  Island  Beach.  No 
human  power  could  save  her  ;  the  sea  swept 
over  the  vessel,  and  she  lay  at  the  mercy  of 
the  ocean.  At  daylight  the  shore  was  dis- 
cernible at  a  distance  of  only  a  few  hundred 
yards — a  lonely  waste  of  sand-hills,  as  far  as 
could  be  seen,  through  the  spray  and  driving 
rain.  Men  had  been  early  observed,  gazing 
at  the  wreck ;  later,  a  wagon  was  drawn 
up  upon  the  beach.  There  was  no  sign 
of  a  life-boat,  however,  or  any  attempt  at 
rescue  ;  and  it  was  determined  that  some 
one  should  try  to  land,  by  swimming  ;  and, 
if  possible,  obtain  aid.  Although  it  seemed 
almost  sure  death  to  trust  one's  self  to  the 
surf,  a  sailor  with  a  life-preserver  jumped 
overboard,  and  was  seen  to  reach  the  shore  ; 
a  second  followed  in  safety ;  but  a  pas- 
senger who  ventured  sank,  either  struck 
by  some  piece  of  the  wreck,  or  nnable  to 
combat  with  the  waves.  Another  hour 
passed  ;  but  though  many  persons  were 
busy  on  the  shore,  gathering  into  carts 
whatever  spoil  was  stranded,  no  life-boat 
appeared.  After  much  deliberation,  it  was 
agreed  that  the  passengers  should  attempt  to 
land,  each  seated  upon  a  plank,  and  grasping 
handles  of  rope,  while  a  sailor  swam  behind. 
The  first  passenger — a  woman — was  brought 
ashore,  half-drowned,  by  the  intrepidity  of 
a  sailor. 

When  Margaret's  turn  came,  she  steadily 
refused  to  be  separated  from  her  husband 
and  child.  On  a  raft  with  them,  she  would 
have  boldly  encountered  the  surf ;  but  alone 
she  would  not  go.  While  she  was  yet 
declining  all  persuasions,  word  was  given 
upon  the  deck  that  the  life-boat  had  finally 
appeared.  For  a  moment  the  news  lighted 
up  again  a  flickering  hope.  But,  to  the  ex- 
perienced eyes  of  the  sailors  it  soon  became 
evident  that  there  was  no  attempt  to  launch 
or  to  man  her.  The  last  chance  of  aid 
from  shore  was  then  utterly  gone.  They 
must  rely  on  their  own  strength,  or  perish. 
But,  already  the  tide  had  turned,  and  it 
was  plain  that  the  wreck  could  not  hold 
together  through  another  flood.  In  this 
emergency,  the  commanding  officer,  who  until 
now  had  remained  at  his  post,  once  more 


appealed  to  Margaret  to  try  to  escape — urging 
that  the  ship  would  inevitably  break  up  ; 
that  it  was  mere  suicide  to  remain  longer  ; 
that  he  did  not  feel  free  to  sacrifice  the  lives 
of  the  crew  ;  finally,  that  he  would  himself 
take  the  child,  and  that  sailors  should  go  with 
herself  and  her  husband.  But,  as  before,  she 
declared  that  she  would  not  be  parted  from 
her  husband  and  child.  The  order  was 
then  given  to  "save  themselves,"  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  crew  jumped  over, 
leaving  Margaret,  her  husband,  and  child 
behind.  Several  of  the  swimmers  reached 
the  shore  alive ;  although  severely  bruised 
and  wounded. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  gale  swelled  once 
more  to  its  former  violence,  and  the  remnants 
of  the  barque  fast  yielded  to  the  waves.  The 
cabin  was  swamped,  the  after-parts  broke  up, 
and  the  stern,  settled  down  out  of  sight.  Soon, 
too,  the  forecastle  was  filled  with  water,  and 
the  helpless  little  band  were  driven  to  the  deck, 
where  they  clustered  round  the  fore-mast. 
Presently,  even  this  frail  support  was  loosened 
from  the  hull,  and  rose  and  fell  with  every 
billow.  It  was  plain  to  all  that  the  final 
moment  drew  swiftly  near.  The  three  sea- 
men who  remained  on  the  wreck,  again  per- 
suaded the  passengers  to  try  the  planks, 
which  they  held  in  the  lee  of  the  ship. 
Madame  D'Ossoli  had  at  length  been  induced 
by  the  steward  to  part  with  her  child,  with 
a  pledge  that  he  would  save  him,  or  die, 
when  a  sea  struck  the  forecastle,  and  the 
fore-mast  fell,  carrying  with  it  the  deck, 
and  all  upon  it.  Ossoli  clutched  for  a 
moment  the  rigging  ;  but  the  next  wave 
drew  him  down.  Margaret  sank  at  once. 
When  last  seen  she  was  seated  at  the  foot 
of  the  fore-mast,  still  clad  in1  her  white 
night-dress,  with  her  hair  fallen  loose  upon 
her  shoulders.  That  twelve  hours'  commu- 
nion, face  to  face  with  death,  was  over.  Their 
bodies  were  never  found.  The  steward  and 
the  child  were  washed  ashore,  some  twenty 
minutes  after,  both  dead. 

A  friend  of  the  unfortunate  pair,  whom  the 
news  of  the  wreck  drew  to  the  shore,  says, 
"  The  hull  lies  so  near,  that  it  seemed  as  if  a 
dozen  oar-strokes  would  carry  a  boat  along- 
side ;  and  as  one  looks  at  it,  glittering  in  the 
sunshine,  it  is  hard  to  feel  reconciled  to  our 
loss.  Seven  resolute  men  might  have  saved 
every  soul  on  board."  "  The  next  day,"  says 
the  same  writer,  "  the  body  of  the  child  was 
buried  in  a  chest  given  by  one  of  the  sailors 
in  a  hollow,  among  the  sand  heaps.  As  I 
stood  beside  the  lovely  little  mound,  it  seemed 
that  never  was  seen  a  more  affecting  type  of 
orphanage.  Around,  wiry  and  stiff,  were 
scanty  spires  of  beach  grass  ;  near  by  dwarf 
cedars,  blown  flat  by  wintry  winds,  stood, 
like  grim  guardians  ;  only  at  the  grave-head 
a  stunted  wild  rose  was  struggling  for  exist- 
ence. Thoughts  came  of  many  a  little  one  in 
this  hard  world,  and  there  was  joy  in  the 
assurance  that  the  child  was  neither  mother- 


124 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


less  nor  fatherless,  and  that  Margaret  and 
her  husband  were  not  childless  in  that  new 
world  which  they  had  entered  together." 


MOKE  DUMB  FBIENDS. 


AN  eloquent  and  very  thoughtful  passage 
is  quoted  by  Mr.  Harvey,  in  his  pleasing  little 
work  called  "  The  Sea-side  Book,"  to  the 
effect  that  we  are  surrounded  by  races  of 
creatures,  which  we  designate  as  "  dumb,"  of 
whom  we  really  know  very  little  beyond  the 
outside,  and  a  limited  number  of  ordinary 
actions,  habits,  and  peculiarities.  If  we  were 
not  used  to  it  by  every-day  experience,  he 
argues  that  we  should  regard  the  fact  as 
something  marvellous  ;  because  we  may  be 
said  to  hold  intercourse  with  creatures  who 
are  as  much  strangers  to  us,  and  as  mys- 
terious, as  if  they  were  "  fabulous,  unearthly 
beings,  which  Eastern  superstitions  have 
invented."  "We  depend  on  them  in  various 
ways — "  we  use  their  labour,  and  we  eat  their 
flesh."  But  what  do  Ave  know  of  their  minds  ? 
We  have  written  a  great  many  books  about 
instinct  and  reason  ;  and  even  now  the  ques- 
tion is  not  settled,  and  does  not  seem  likely 
to  be  settled,  except  by  fairly  giving  up  the 
point  at  issue,  and  handsomely  making  our 
dumb  friends  a  present  of  both. 

But  why  do  we  call  them  "dumb?"  for 
they  are  not  so.  We  mean,  if  we  examine  the 
expression,  that  they  do  not  speak  a  human 
language — which  it  would  be  most  unreason- 
able to  expect  they  should  ;  yet  they  have 
a  language  of  their  own.  The  old  story  of 
an  English  bumpkin — one  of  our  choice 
specimens — who,  going  over  to  France,  was 
.•istonished  to  hear,  amidst  the  gabble  of  a 
strange  dialect,  a  dog  bark  quite  intelligibly, 
like  ours,  always  makes  us  laugh.  He  had 
expected  the  dog  to  bark  French.  Well,  our  I 
laugh  being  over,  let  us  look  closer  at  this 
ludicrous  notion.  There  may  be  more  in  it 
than,  the  bumpkin  knew,  or  we  had  fancied. 
Certainly  the  bark  of  an  English  mastiff,  or 
bull-dog,  is  very  different  from  that  of  a 
French  poodle  ;  as  the  bark  of  an  English  lap- 
dog  is  different  from  that  of  a  French  wolf- 
dog  ;  or  an  Italian  greyhound  from  that  of  a 
Scotch  terrier.  We  may  say  off-hand,  that 
it  is  only  a  difference  of  loudness  and  strength, 
according  to  the  size  or  strength  of  the  dog  ; 
but  we  cannot  be  at  all  sure  that  there  are 
not  national  characteristics  far  more  numerous 
than  we  know — partly,  because  we  have  never 
paid  a  careful  attention  to  the  distinction ; 
partly,  because  we  happen  not  to  be  dogs 
ourselves,  or  conversant  with  all  the  instincts 
of  the  race.  The  extent  of  our  learning,  as  to 
the  dog's  vocal  language,  is  almost  limited 
to  his  bark  of  joy  or  of  anger,  his  whine  of 
impatience,  aud  his  howl  of  pain ;  and,  as  to 
liis  sign-language,  we  flatter  ourselves  that 
we  understand  all  the  gradations  of  his  tail- 
wagging,  fbrepaw-lif'ting,  and  ear-cocking — 
but  \ve  are  mere  tyros  and  strangers. 


Horses  understand  each  other  by  their 
neighs,  and  there  is  an  obvious  sign-language 
in  their  eyes  and  ears.  As  everybody  lias 
noticed  the  natural  understanding  of  sounds 
between  all  creatures  and  their  young  ones 
(the  parent  distinguishing  the  voice  of  its 
offspring  among  the  similar  voices  of  a 
number  of  others,  when  no  one  else  can  dis- 
tinguish them),  may  we  not  readily  imagine 
that  there  are  an  immense  variety  of  sounds 
with  which  we  are  not  at  all  conversant  ? 
The  antennae  language  of  bees — to  say  nothing 
of  the  modulations  in  their  apparently  mono- 
tonous hum — has  been  noticed  long  since  by 
naturalists  ;  but  there  we  are  all  at  fault,  and 
know  nothing  more  about  the  language  than 
the  fact  that  it  exists. 

We  once  saw  a  large  stranger  dog  trotting 
through  a  village,  who  was  assailed  by  the 
yelpings  of  a  number  of  curs,  of  whom  he 
took  no  notice,  but  ran  on  Avith  perfect  good 
temper,  even  though  some  of  them  almost 
flew  at  his  hind  legs.  At  length,  happening 
to  stop  and  look  around  him,  one  cur,  of  a 
most  insolent  physiognomy,  quickly  tripped 
up  to  him,  and  appeared  to  whisper  some- 
thing (though  we  could  hear  110  sound  of  it) 
in  his  ear.  In  an  instant  the  large  stranger 
pounced  upon  him — flung  him  sprawling  on 
his  back — gave  him  a  tremendous  shaking — 
rolled  his  howling  body  over  and  over  in  the 
dust — and  then  drove  him  yelping  away  as 
fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him.  What  word 
or  sound  of  the  canine  language  was  uttered 
is  forbidden  knowledge  to  us,  but  the  insult 
conveyed  was  obviously  of  the  most  gross 
and  intelligible  kind  to  the  individual  most 
concerned. 

There  is  every  reason  to  suppose  that 
innumerable  sounds,  answering  the  purpose 
of  speech,  are  exchanged  throughout  the 
animal  creation,  which  man  does  not  in 
the  least  understand,  or  which  he  does  not 
hear.  In  Mr.  Beale's  aviary  there  were  three 
Mandarine  ducks,  two  of  .whom  were  drakes. 
The  duck  was  the  wife  of  the  elder  Manda- 
rine ;  and  this  being  perfectly  understood  by 
the  other  drake,  the  three  lived  together  in 
the  utmost  harmony.  But  these  Mandarines 
are  very  valuable  (as  much  as  fifty  pounds 
were  paid  not  long  since  for  the  pair  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens),  and  a  thief,  who  had 
been  studying  ornithology,  broke  into  the 
aviary  one  night,  and  stole  the  elder  Manda- 
rine. The  very  next  day,  the  bereaved  widow 
found  herself  exposed  to  the  polite  attentions 
of  the  other  drake.  She  was,  however,  incon- 
solable for  the  loss  of  her  husband,  and  resisted 
all  the  blandishments  and  overtures  of  the 
indefatigable  suitor.  But  it  so  happened  that 
the  ornithological  thief  was  traced,  the  elder 
Mandarine  recovered,  and  restored  to  the 
expanded  wings  of  his  faithful  wife.  Their 
first  transports  being  over,  the  elder  Man- 
darine instantly  turned  upon  the  other  drake, 
smote  him  with  bill  and  pinion,  buffetted 
him  about  the  head  till  his  sight  was  destroyed, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


MORE  DUMB  FKIENDS. 


and  inflicted  so  many  other  wounds  npou  him 
that  he  died  shortly  afterwards.  Of  course 
she  must  have  told  him. 

Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  superior 
sagacity  of  the  monkey,  the  dog,  the  elephant, 
the  horse,  and  other  animals,  there  are  no 
creatures  who  can  compete  with  birds  in  the 
power  of  acquiring  portions  of  human  lan- 
guage. We  do  not  allude  only  to  the  "  iini- 
versal  linguist"  —  the  parrot  ;  for  the  jack- 
daw, the  raven,  the  magpie,  the  starling,  and 
the  crow,  have  all  been  found  capable  of 
various  degrees  of  accomplishment  in  this 
way.  More  wonderful  than  these,  or  at  least 
it  seems  so,  from  being  the  only  known 
instance  on  record,  was  the  canary  possessed 
by  an  English  lady  some  few  years  since, 
which  she  had  taught  to  utter  several  words 
and  short  sentences  ;  and  who,  at  the  end  of 
a  song,  continually  added  —  "  Pretty  little 
Dickee,  dear " — the  accent  being  laid  upon 
the  last  syllable,  so  as  to  produce  the  effect  of 
metrical  euphony,  in  accordance  with  the 
close  of  his  vocal  melody.  Lord  Brougham 
among  others,  went  to  hear  the  phenomenon  : 
"  It's  not  a  bird!"  said  his  lordship — "it  is 
a  bit  of  clock-work."  Presently  the  canary 
cracked  a  hemp-seed,  then  drank  a  little 
water  ;  and,  it  was  said,  winked  an  eye  at  the 
noble  and  learned  lord ;  but  birds  often  do 
this  while  drinking.  Ancient  writers  tell  of 
the  thrush,  the  nightingale,  and  even  the 
partridge,*,  being  known  to  utter  woi'ds  ;  and 
Pliny  relates  a  story  of  a  hen  who  articulated 
some  words  so  clearly  that  the  omen  found 
occupation  for  the  augurs.  We  suppose  this 
roopij  hen  was  held  in  high  and  sacred  honour 
till  the  day  of  her  death. 

The  acquirement  of  any  fragments  of 
human  language  by  the  lower  animals — or, 
to  speak  more  correctly,  their  power  to  imitate 
certain  human  sounds  of  speech — ia  quite 
a  distinct  question  from  that  of  the  natural 
language  they  really  possess,  by  which  they 
express  themselves,  and  are  understood  by  their 
relatives  and  others  of  their  kind.  This  is 
carried  to  a  much  finer  degree  than  may  be  sup- 
posed. When  two  birds  of  the  same  species  are 
addressing  each  other,  in  song,  from  a  distance, 
"  the  responses  are  continued  with  distinctness 
and  without  distraction,  their  attention  never 
being  diverted  by  the  multiplicity  of  sounds 
that  strike  the  ear  from  birds  of  another 
species,  which  are  singing  close  at  hand."  It 
is  also  worthy  of  notice,  and  of  memory  also, 
that  when  two  birds  are  engaged  in  alter- 
nately pouring  forth  a  lyrical  effusion  to 
each  other,  one  bird  never  interrupts  another. 
"  A  thrush,  blackbird,  or  redbreast,"  says  Mr. 
Jonathan  Couch,  to  whose  extremely  interest- 
ing ;uid  instructive  book*  we  are  indebted  for 
these  observations,  "  may  be  seen  to  stretch 
forward  the  head,  and  direct  the  ears  to  catch 
the  notes  which  come  to  it  from  some  distant 
songster  of  its  own  species  ;  nor  will  any  effort 

*  Illustrations  of  Instinct,  by  Jonathan  Couch,  F.R.S. 


be  made  to  return  a  sound  until  the  com- 
petitor is  known  to  have  ended  his  lay."  The 
same  thing  holds  good  even  in  cases  of  war- 
like and  angry  challenge.  The  antagonists 
wait  as  patiently  as  the  heroes  in  Homer,  till 
each  has  concluded  his  sonorous, high-sounding 
challenge,  and  the  narrative  of  his  birth 
and  education.  Mr.  Couch  once  noticed 
three  cocks,  "of  superior  size  and  majesty," 
who  were  engaged  in  answering  each  other 
from  distant  quarters  in  regular  succession, 
as  understood  by  the  three  ;  but  when 
at  last  a  number  of  inferior  individuals,  of  no 
"  name  and  breed,"  thought  fit  to  join  their 
voices,  and  interrupt  the  order  and  correct 
usages  of  Chanticleer-war,  the  three  great 
heroes  immediately  ceased  crowing,  and 
haughtily  withdrew  and  joined  their  hens,  in 
disdain  of  such  low  interference. 

There  is  evidently  a  common  understand- 
ing, among  all  creatures,  of  certain  primitive 
sounds.  The  cry  of  alarm,  of  pain,  of  rage, 
and  the  sounds  of  conciliation  and  calming, 
pitying  and  caressing,  are,  more  or  less, 
understood  by  neai'ly  the  whole  living  family 
of  the  earth.  The  use  and  perception  of 
minute  and  elaborate  gradations  and  inflec- 
tions can  alone  constitute  a  language  ;  and 
we  are  in  no  condition  to  deny  that  other 
creatures  possess  something  of  this  kind 
besides  ourselves.  Certain  naturalists  think 
that  the  humming  of  the  bee,  though  a  con- 
fused monotone  to  our  ears,  may  to  the  bee's 
organ  of  hearing  represent  an  orderly  "  suc- 
cession of  drummings."  These  are  the  real 
grounds  of  a  belief  that  the  creatures  we  are 
in  the  habit  of  calling  "  dumb  animals,"  have 
an  intelligible  language  suited  to  their  several 
states ;  the  question  of  how  far  they  under- 
stand such  words  of  human  speech  as  they 
may  contrive  to  articulate,  may  be  quietly 
left,  with  the  admission  that  most  probably 
it  is  a  mere  imitation  of  sounds  ;  and  that,  of 
such  words  as  we  use  to  them  (the  meaning  of 
which  it  is  evident  they  comprehend)  the 
modulations  of  the  voice,  i.e.  the  sounds,  ai'e 
the  chief  medium  of  instructive  intelligence 
or  sympathy. 

As  to  the  power  of  imitation,  it  is  very  gi-eat 
in  some  creatures  besides  those  who  have 
the  common  reputation  for  it.  We  once  saw 
a  pai'rot  imitate  actions.  The  bird  belonged 
(and  is  probably  still  living)  to  a  popular 
fairy-land  dramatist  of  the  present  day.  On 
seeing  anybody  take  off  his  coat,  the  parrot 
presently  bent  forward  in  precisely  the  same 
attitude,  and  gave  an  imitation  of  the  act 
with  its  wings,  the  effect  of  which  was  ex- 
traordinary from  the  fact  of  the  Avings  being 
"  fixtures,"  while  the  bird  seemed  to  draw 
its  body  out  of  them,  as  it  protruded  its 
shoulders.  There  is  an  account,  in  "  London's 
Magazine  of  Natural  History,"  of  a  blackbird 
who  imitated  the  crowing  of  a  cock  so  well 
that  he  continually  set  all  the  cocks  crowing 
who  were  within  hearing.  He  did  not,  how- 
ever, invariably  complete  his  crow,  but  some- 


126 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


times  stopped  in  the  middle  and  finished 
with  a  whistle,  conveying  a  curious  effect  of 
levity  and  insult,  which  must  very  much 
have  puzzled  the  listening  warriors  of  the 
neighbourhood, 

Pliny  tells  us  that  the  younger  nightingales 
study  the  older,  and  catch  and  imitate  the 
song ;  the  scholar  listening  with  the  utmost 
earnestness,  and  replying  to  it  at  intervals, 
"  comprehending  the  correction  of  error  and 
every  little  step  in  the  lesson."  (Intelligitur 
emendatae  correctio,  et  in  docente  qusedam 
repreheusio.)  All  this  is  in  the  natural  and 
usual  way  of  imitation,  by  means  of  which 
young  birds  are  taught  the  song  of  their 
species  ;  and  yet  experiments  are  recorded 
by  Mr.  Couch  of  a  young  thrush,  and  of  a 
goldfinch,  being  taken  so  early  from  the  nest 
that  they  could  have  had  no  opportunity  of 
receiving  a  lesson,  or  perhaps  hearing  a  song, 
from  the  parent,  and  that,  nevertheless,  the 
caged  birds,  at  four  or  five  years  old,  sung  the 
song  of  their  species.  This  is  more  than  can 
be  said  of  the  lingual  powers  of  the  human 
species  ;  and  though  Sir  Thomas  Brown  avers 
that  if  any  infant  were  left  on  an  uninhabited 
island,  and  grew  up,  it  would  spontaneously 
speak  the  primitive  language  of  man  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden — namely,  Hebrew — we  yet 
venture  to  express  our  conviction  that  this 
very  interesting  young  person  would  speak  no 
human  language  whatever.  A  dumb  language, 
however,  if  we  may  so  term  it,  of  signs, 
gesticulations,  and  expressive  sounds,  would 
undoubtedly  be  possessed,  and  be  correspond- 
ingly intelligible  to  all  of  his  own  species,  and 
to  many  of  a  different  species. 

Mr.  Couch  relates  an  amusing  story  of  two 
swallows,  one  of  whom  was  returning  to  his 
nest,  but  was  incessantly  pursued  by  the  other 
(evidently  a  gay  young  bachelor)  who  wanted 
to  go  there  also.  In  all  their  circles  and 
turns,  the  married  proprietor  of  the  nest 
invariably  kept  on  the  side  towards  it,  both  of 
them  the  whole  time  being  at  "high  words." 
Meanwhile,  the  hen  swallow,  who  was  sitting 
in  the  dark  at  tue  bottom  of  her  nest,  under  a 
roof,  heard  all  the  dispute,  and  comprehended 
every  word  of  it.  Eventually,  being  quite 
unable  to  endure  it  any  longer,  she  darted 
out,  and  pouncing  upon  the  impertinent 
stranger,  who  had  dared  to  persist  in  saying 
he  would  come  to  her  nest,  aided  her  husband 
so  efficiently  that  the  gay  young  bachelor  was 
driven  away  with  a  sorely  pecked  crown. 

It  is  obvious  that  a  kind  of  language, 
answering  all  their  purposes  of  life,  is  pos- 
sessed by  most  of  those  creatures  whom  we 
erroneously  designate  as  dumb.  But  not  only 
have  they  different  sounds  which  are  intel- 
ligible to  those  of  the  same  species  ;  they  have 
also  a  still  greater  variety  of  actions,  or  signs, 
by  which  to  communicate  with  each  other, 
many  of  which  are  visible  to  us,  and  very 
probably  they  have  many  more  of  which  we 
can  form  no  conception.  Some  of  them  have 
the  sense  of  hearing  infinitely  finer  than  ours. 


A  field  is  thus  open  to  impressions  which  are 
beyond  us.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the 
sense  of  smell.  Each  of  these  senses  admits 
of  subtle  and  distant  communications,  of  which 
we  have  good  evidence  ;  but  how  much  more 
remains  unknown  to  us  !  So  of  the  sight. 
These  interesting  questions  have  been  dis- 
cussed in  a  new  but  no  less  earnest  fashion,  by 
Mr.  E.  H.Horne,  in  his  charming  book  entitled  \ 
"  The  Poor  Artist ;  or  Seven  Eyesights  and 
One  Object ;"  a  work  which  endeavours  in  a 
playful  manner  to  elucidate  the  wonders 
and  diversities  of  vision  in  different  organs 
of  sight.  We  borrow  a  few  observations 
from  it  : — 

"The  greyhound  runs  by  eyesight  only, 
and  this  we  observe  as  a  fact.  The  carrier- 
pigeon  flies  his  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
homewards,  by  eyesight,  viz.,  from  point  to 
point,  by  objects  which  he  has  marked ;  but 
this  is  only  our  conjecture.  The  fierce  dragon- 
fly, with  twelve  thousand  lenses  in  his  eyes, 
darts  from  angle  to  angle  with  the  rapidity 
of  a  flashing  sword,  and  as  rapidly  darts  back 
— not  turning  in  the  air,  but  with  a  clash 
reversing  the  action  of  his  four  wings — the 
only  known  creature  that  possesses  this 
faculty.  His  sight,  then,  both  forwards  and 
backwards,  must  be  proportionately  rapid 
with  his  wings,  and  instantaneously  calcula- 
ting the  distance  of  objects,  or  he  would  dash 
himself  to  pieces."  The  subtle  operations  of 
other  senses  in  different  creatures,  exceeding 
the  senses  of  man  in  these  respects,  are  thus 
noticed  in  the  same  work.  "  What  sort  of 
hearing  has  the  shark — if  any  ?  The  organs 
of  smell,  however,  in  the  shark,  who  discovers, 
through  the  great  volume  of  waters,  and  through 
the  dense  timbers,  that  somebody  is  dead,  yea, 
or  dying,  in  the  cabin,  nrust  be  wonderful. 
But  we  know  nothing  about  this  beyond  the 
fact.  .The  same  creature,  whether  shark  or 
cat,  who  has  a  wonderful  sense  of  smell  in 
some  things,  seems  to  have  no  nose  at  all  for 
many  others.  No  one  ever  saw  a  monkey 
smell  a  flower.  If  he  did  smell  it,  this  would 
only  be  to  inquire  if  it  were  eatable  or 
poisonous.  Then,  as  to  the  sense  of  touch  ; 
what  a  fine  work  goes  on  in  the  language  of 
the  antennae  !  and  yet  it  is  impossible  that  the 
majority  of  these  insects  should  possess  sensa-  , 
tions  like  ours.  A  wasp  flies  in  at  the  window, 
alights  on  the  breakfast  table,  runs  swiftly  up 
the  side  of  the  sugar-basin,  and  displays  his 
grim  face  in  a  brazen  mask  with  iron  specta- 
cles, just  above  the  rim.  The  next  moment 
he  darts  upon  the  sugar.  But  an  alarmed 
hand  advances  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  suddenly 
snips  off  his  head.  'The  body  staggers,  and 
perhaps  flies  away,  while  the  jawrs  of  the 
brazen  mask  with  iron  spectacles  continue  for 
some  seconds  to  work  away  at  the  sugar,  as 
though  110  such  event  had  occurred." 

Mr.  Home  also  speculates  on  the  variations 
of  the  organs  of  taste  in  different  creatures ;  he 
is  curious  to  know  whether  the  birds  of  prey 
who  bolt  everything  whole,  really  taste  their 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  SENTIMENT  IN  STONE. 


127 


prey,  or  only  satisfy  a  ravenous  appetite  ;  and 
inquires  whether  the  owl,  who  swallows  a 
mouse  whole,  tastes  him  in  his  stomach.  We 
feel  disposed  to  put  a  similar  query,  as  to 
whether  the  serpent  in  the  Zoological  Gardens 
who  recently  bolted  his  bedding,  derived  any 
gastric  pleasure  during,  or  after,  the  per- 
formance. 

A  flock  of  crows  have  their  sentinel,  who 
watches,  as  an  outpost,  and  gives  notice  by  a 
watch-cry  of  the  approach  of  danger  ;  so  have 
linnets,  so  have  blackbirds,  so  have  choughs, 
so  have  gulls,  so  has  a  herd  of  deer,  so 
have  many  other  creatures.  "Whether  by 
the  acuteness  of  their  sight,  or  smell,  or 
hearing,  it  is  quite  clear  that  they  know 
very  well  what  they  are  about.  All  things 
considered,  we  must  admit  that  our  dumb 
friends  and  fellow  inhabitants  of  the  earth 
are  only  dumb  in  respect  to  one  sort  of 
language,  but  that  they  have  "  a  mother- 
tongue  "  of  their  own,  which  answers  all  their 
purposes.  The  ingenious  young  gentleman 
who  slits  the  tongue  of  a  magpie,  and  says, 
"  Now  he  can  talk  !  "  has  a  very  exaggerated 
estimate  of  his  own  educational  powers. 
Nature  did  far  more  for  the  magpie  in  the 
way  of  language  before  he  left  the  parental 
nest. 


A  SENTIMENT  IN  STONE. 


IF  Patience  ever  sits  at  all  upon  a  monu- 
ment, the  monument  of  her  choice  must  be, 
without  doubt,  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne. 
When  finished — it  was  begun  some  half- 
dozen  centuries  ago — this  building  is  to  be 
the  gem  of  the  world's  architecture ;  it  is  a 
gem  which  takes  as  much  time  as  the  diamond 
is  said  to  need,  before  it  crystallises  finally 
into  its  perfect  shape. 

Everybody  knows  that  the  great  shrine  at 
Cologne  is  that  of  the  Three  Kings,  who,  after 
they  had  been  to  Bethlehem,  trotted  about 
Europe,  and  left  their  bones — patron-saints 
of  voyagers — at  Milan.  Yes,  undoubtedly,  I 
mean  that  the  bones  were  the  saints  ;  and  let 
no  sceptic  suggest  that  these  bones,  which 
Barbarossa  took  from  Milan  to  Cologne,  might 
possibly  have  belonged,  when  there  was  life- 
blood  flowing  over  them,  to  some  Brown, 
Robinson,  and  Jones,  among  the  ancients. 
For  being  the  bones  of  Albuphar,  Balthazar, 
and  Melchior,  all  Christendom  revered  the 
sacred  relics  in  Cologne.  The  sauctification 
of  the  Imperial  title,  and  the  unity  of  Germany, 
were  connected  with  the  possession  of  those 
skeletons  ;  and  out  of  this  sentiment  arose  the 
wish  to  build  over  their  shrine  a  great  Cathe- 
dral, worthy  of  the  Empire  which  they 
blessed.  People,  Prince,  Emperor,  rivalled 
each  other  in  the  richness  of  their  offerings 
before  the  shrine  of  the  Three  Kings,  in  that 
old  time  when  Angebert,  the  Bishop  of 
Cologne,  first  planned  the  splendid  edifice 
which  is  not  yet  complete.  It  was  to  be  a 
si<m  and  token  of  the  sentiment  of  German 


unity.  There  is  a  fitness,  therefore,  in  its 
incomplete  form,  and  in  the  despair  with 
which  we  are  looking  forward  to  the  very 
distant  time,  when  the  last  stone  shall  be  laid 
upon  it,  in  fulfilment  of  the  first  magnificent 
idea. 

Enter  the  front  portal  under  the  famous 
crane  ;  turn  to  the  left,  and  you  come  to  an 
enclosed  square,  about  which  are  scattered, 
ready  hewn  and  carved,  and  numbered  in 
accordance  with  their  places  up  aloft,  the 
stones  which  yearly  add  to  the  slow  growth 
of  the  Cathedral.  This  is  the  school,  to  which 
there  have  descended  few  traditions  of  its  by- 
gone masters  and  disciples.  Those  old  artists 
perched  themselves  on  high,  and  carved  the 
stones  in  situ,  and  would  perhaps  have  been 
indignant  at  the  trouble-saving  temper  of  the 
present  day.  The  stone  now  chiselled  in  the 
school,  is  from  a  quarry  near  the  Drachenfels, 
the  very  same  quarry  which  furnished  stone 
for  the  foundations  of  the  edifice.  The  lumps 
of  rock  are  broken  off  from  one  spot  by  the 
Rhine,  and  carried  down  in  boats,  to  be  again 
landed  after  no  long  voyage,  and  pieced 
together  in  the  new  form  of  the  most  magni- 
ficent of  Christian  temples.  It  is  curious  to 
observe  from  the  summit  of  the  Drachenfels, 
how  large  a  piece  of  mountain  has  been  taken 
by  the  quarry-men,  and  sent  to  build  up  the 
Cathedral  of  Cologne.  The  cutting  into 
shape  of  such  a  building  creates  a  vast 
quantity  of  chips,  and  costs  also  a  pretty 
pyramid  of  gold  and  silver.  In  all  the  Uni- 
versities— at  Bonn,  at  Breslau,  at  Tubingen, 
at  Trier,  at  Braunsberg,  at  Giessen,  at  Pelplin, 
at  Miinster,  at  Posen,  at  Paderborn,  at  Dil- 
lingen,  at  Hildesheim,  at  Kremsminster,  at 
Rostock,  at  Brixen,  at  Freiburg  in  Brisgau, 
at  Luxemburg — in  every  state  of  Germany 
there  exist  organised  associations  (Dom-lau- 
Vereine)  to  raise  funds  for  the  slow  con- 
tinuance towards  completion  of  the  building 
of  the  great  Cathedral,  Innumerable  small 
societies  in  aid  of  these  (the  Hulf-Vereine) 
exist  and  increase  through  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  land.  The  revolution  of  1848 
vastly  reduced  the  resources  of  these  Cathe- 
dral-clubs. Though  they  had  produced  in 
the  year  1842  fifty  thousand  thalers  (seven 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds)  ;  in  the  year 
1849,  while  the  number  of  associations  had 
increased,  eighteen  thousand  two  hundred  and 
fifty-four  thalers  was  their  only  produce. 
The  Cathedral,  in  addition  to  these  sources  of 
support,  is  aided  in  its  progress  by  an  annual 
grant  of  fifty  thousand  thalers  from  the  King 
of  Prussia,  and  by  presents,  among  which  we 
may  call  to  mind  the  splendid  painted  windows 
given  by  the  late  King  of  Bavaria. 

The  efforts  made  from  the  beginning  to 
raise  funds  for  the  great  work — the  great 
symbol  of  German  unity,  as  it  was  called  only 
a  few  years  since  by  the  King  of  Prussia, 
when  he  visited  Cologne — were  not  very  dis- 
similar to  those  made  in  the  present  day.  Of 
the  building  itself  the  history,  in  brief,  is  this. 


128 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


On  tlie  site  of  the  Cathedral  there  was  for- 
merly an  older  church,  built  in  the  style  of 
that  at  Worms.  This  old  church,  an  im- 
posing structure,  was  destroyed  by  fire,  and 
the  first  stone  of  the  present  Cathedral  was 
laid  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  August,  one 
thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-eight.  The 
ceremony  was  almost  a  subterranean  scene, 
the  foundations  having  been  dug  to  fifty  feet 
below  the  present  level  of  the  ground.  After 
seventy  years,  only  the  high  choir  was  finished. 
Henry  of  Birnenburg,  then  Archbishop  of 
Cologne,  consecrated  it.  After  that  time 
progress  became  even  less  rapid,  the  most 
energetic  work  being  expended  on  the  south- 
west tower.  Gradually  the  workmen  dropped 
away  from  the  great  work,  till,  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  sixteenth  century,  the  toil 
began  again.  Soon,  however,  the  little  burst 
of  short-lived  energy  had  lapsed  into  a  long 
age  of  listlessness.  In  the  year  one  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  twenty-four  the  exertions  of 
Boisseree  restored  that  active  interest  in  the 
Cathedral  which  has,  since  that  date,  been 
continued,  and  is  now  alive.  The  original  plan 
of  the  second  tower,  which  had  been  lost,  was 
found,  by  good  fortune,  in  the  loft  of  a  tavern, 
at  Darmstadt ;  and  so  it  was  supposed,  that 
by  the  year  1860,  at  least  the  body  of  the 
church  might  be  complete. 

But  to  come  back  to  the  story  of  the  cash.  In 
the  most  ancient  time  the  Building  Fund  con- 
sisted partly  in  funded  stock,  partly  in  the  inte- 
rest of  unappropriated  moneys  belonging  to  a 
prebend,  and  partly  in  donations  from  the  pious. 
This  last  item  was  not  trifling.  Scarcely  credi- 
ble are  the  amounts  of  money  raised  within  no 
wider  circle  than  the  walls  of  Cologne  itself, 
from  bequests  of  rents,  houses,  or  personal 
estate,  to  the  great  shrine.  Out  of  Cologne, 
in  Bonn,  Neuss,  Diisseldorf,  and  even  Dort- 
mund, testamentary  dispositions  a-re  found  to 
have  been  made  in  the  earliest  time  of  its 
existence,  in  favour  of  the  new  Cathedral  at 
Cologne.  Money  gifts  soon  flowed  in  so 
freely,  that  a  society  was  formed  for  the 
collection  of  bequests,  and  the  administration 
of  Cathedral  property.  This  society,  com- 
menced in  one  thousand  four  hundred  and 
eighty-eight,  called  the  Fraternity  of  Saint 
Peter,  consisted  of  (1)  collectors,  who  took 
contributions  on  behalf  of  the  building  during 
service  ;  (2)  inspectors  of  alms-boxes  at 
Saint  Hubert's  altar  in  the  Pesch  Kirche  ; 
(3)  assistants  to  these  ;  (4)  stationary  col- 
lectors, fixed  in  whatever  towns  outside 
Cologne  would  yield  a  harvest  to  the  Ger- 
man shrine  ;  and,  lastly,  (5)  travelling  col- 
lectors. The  travelling  collectors  paid  their 
receipts  in  to  the  collectors  stationed  in  the 
town.  These  last  remitted  their  amounts  to 
a  distinct  class  of  officials,  (6)  the  overseers  of 
the  building  in  Cologne,  who  duly  supplied 
funds  to  (7)  the  architect,  the  master  of  the 
works. 

That  is  the  story  of  the  money.  It  is  now 
supposed  that  the  body  of  the  Cathedral  can 


be  finished  at  a  further  cost  of  two  million 
thalers,  and  the  towers  for  three  million  ; — 
that  is  to  say,  in  all  for  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  pounds.  Already  the  two  ends  of 
the  transept  have  been  almost  completed,  and 
the  foundation  of  the  second  tower — to  be  built 
according  to  the  plan  found  at  Darmstadt — 
has  been  laid.  Whether  any  child  now  in  our 
arms,  who,  under  improved  sanitary  discipline, 
shall  live  to  a  hundred  years,  will  live  to  see 
the  great  ideas  of  Cologne  Cathedral  and  of 
German  Unity  completely  realised,  we  do  not 
undertake  to  guess.  But  we  feel  half  dis- 
posed to  fear  that  those  two 'grandeurs  will 
be  things  of  hope,  even  in  one  thousand  nine 
hundred  and  fifty-two. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  MIRACULOUS 
ROSE-TREES. 

OLD  travellers  say,  mat, 'in  an  Eastern  land, 

And  in  a  field,  with  mountains  nigh  at  hand, 

Are  found  two  marvellous  Rose-trees ;  and  they  write 

That  one  bears  flowers  red,  the  other  white — 

Red  as  the  fire,  and  white  as  snow  on  wold. 

These  trees  are  preternaturally  old, 

Yet  keep  their  freshness  ;  and  from  day  to  clay 

Wax  greener,  and  more  odorous  and  gay, 

As  though  an  angel  fed  them  with  his  youth  : 

And  the  near  people  tell,  for  very  truth, 

An  ancient  tale,  sent  down  from  tongue  to  tongue, 

Of  how  these  trees  miraculously  sprung ; 

Which  I  will  here,  as  best  I  may,  rehearse 

In  added  rhyme,  and  weav'd  into  a  verse. 

There  was  a  maiden,  in  a  time  gone  by, 
Who  lived  secluded  from  all  company ; 
For  the  world's  battle  fill'd  her  with  more  dread 
Than  silence — and  her  parents  both  were  dead. 
Ami  so  she  dwelt  apart,  without  a  friend, 
In  a  still  mansion  by  the  city's  end, 
That  look'cl  upon  a  garden's  shadowy  trees. 
A  voice  of  murmuring  leaves  and  moaning  seas 
Haunted  for  ever  that  removed  house, 
Like  an  enchantment,  rich  and  marvellous  ; 
And,  under  clustering  boughs,  this  maiden  clear 
Walk'd  up  and  down  without  a  thought  of  fear, 
Though  by  her  side  was  human  creature  none. 
Yet  certainly  she  was  not  quite  alone  : 
For,'in  the  hush  of  that  deserted  place, 
She  often  met  with  angels  face  to  face, 
And  felt  the  wind  that  blows  from  out  their  bowers 
Breathe  in  her  hair ;  and  sometimes,  when  the  hours 
Were  stillest,  and  the  westering  sun  was  low, 
The  visages  of  ancient  Gods  would  grow 
Out  of  the  pale,  blank  air,  before  her  eyes, 
Heavily  calm  with  piled  mysteries. 

But  who  can  reckon  on  a  placid  life, 
Because  of  guilele.ssnt-ss  ?     The  tyrant's  knife 
Pierces  the  naked  breast  before  the  arm'd. 
This  gentle  maiden,  who  had  never  harm'd 
A  living  creature,  and  whose  soul  was  while 
And  uncorrupt  as  elemental  light, 
Was,  by  the  priests,  accused  of  secret  crimes. 
And  of  neglecting  to  observe  the  times 
Of  adoration  in  their  temples,  where 
They  worahipp'd  a  fierce  God  with  studious  prr.yer. 
They  said  she  was  a  devil  with  bright  looks, 
And  that  she  read  not  in  their  Sac-red  Books  ; 


Charles  Bickena.] 


A  TERRIBLY  STRANGE  BED. 


129 


But  kept  a  Fiend  within  her  house,  who  fill'd 
The  cursed  place,  so  soon  as  day  was  kill'd, 
With  gleams  and  fiery  aspects  ;  for,  at  night, 
The  awe-struck  passers-by  had  seen  the  light 
In  which  those  angels  dwelt,  that  thither  came, 
Paint  the  dark  casements  with  a  sudden  flame. 

The  priests  aloud  for  instant  vengeance  call, 
And  drag  the  maiden  to  the  Justice  Hall. 
The  people  throng,  and  gaze  into  her  eyes, 
And  think  they  see  11  spirit  from  the  skies, 
With  visage  pale,  by  golden  tresses  hemm'd, 
Come  there  to  judge,  and  not  to  be  condemn'd. 
A  busy  murmur  passes  up  and  down  : 
The  throned  Judges  wear  an  ominous  frown, 
And  hearken  to  the  eager  priests,  who  cry, 
"  She  is  accurs'd  !     To  vengeance,  instantly  !  " 
Alas  !  they  have  determined  on  the  deed. 
The  sentence  has  gone  forth  :  it  is  decreed 
That  in  a  fire  she  shall  be  burnt  to  death. 

The  people  for  a  moment  hold  their  breath  ; 
Then  rush  from  out  the  Hall,  and  reach  the  place 
Of  execution,  in  an  open  space 
Beyond  the  town,  and  barr'd  the  other  way 
By  wall-like  mountains,  old  and  dusky  grey ; 
And,  in  the  midst,  there  is  an  iron  stake, 
From  which  a  drooping  chain  hangs  heavy  and  bluck. 
Some  one  each  day,  upon  a  foul  pretence, 
Dies  at  that  stake  ;  and  there,  for  evidence, 
A  heap  of  pallid  ashes  at  the  foot, 
Mix'd  with  charr'd  wood,  and  with  a  fearful  soot, 
Before  the  wind  goes  staggering  to  and  fro. 
All  round  this  point,  the  people  in  a  row 
Await,  with  close  lips  and  with  frequent  sighs, 
The  offering  of  that  lurid  sacrifice. 

The  victim  conies,  by  savage  priests  shut  in, 
Who  rage  and  trample  with,  a  ceaseless  din, 
And  throw  their  quivering  arms  about  the  air, 
And  dance  like  drunken  men  with  heads  all  bare. 
And  now  the  brands  around  the  stake  are  laid, 
With  straw  between.     The  unoffending  maid 
Beholds  the  pile,  and  sees,  with  steadfast  eye, 
The  sharp  and  cruel  Murder  standing  by  ; 
The  executioners,  with  eyes  blood-red, 
Like  half-spent  embers  glowing  in  the  head  ; 
The  flaming  torches  flashing  round  about; 
The  glare  and  smoke  ;  the  stirring  of  the  rout ; 
The  fixed  mountains,  cold  and  passionless  ; 
The  meadows  flaunting  in  their  summer  dress ; 
The  conscious-looking  heavens,  bare  and  still  ; 
The  moveless  trees  ;  the  running  of  the  rill ; 
The  quick  birds,  loudly  flapping  on  the  wing; 
The  people  round,  with  white  lips  murmuring  : 
All  this  she  sees,  and  still  she  does  not  quake. 

Those  bloody  men  have  bound  her  to  the  stake  ; 
And  yet  she  smiles,  and  not  a  word  she  says. 

The  heap  is  fired  ;  the  straw  and  faggots  blaze  ; 
The  deathsmen  farther  from  the  pile  have  fled ; 
The  flames,  up-springing,  dash  the  heavens  red  ; 
The  swarthy  smoke,  like  metal  in  a  forge, 
C  rows  sanguine  all  about  that  fiery  surge. 

A  miracle  !  a  wonder  to  behold  ! 
The  flames  are  out ;  the  lighted  brands  are  cold  ! 
Another  marvel  yet !     No  brands  are  there, 
But  only  two  fresh  Rose-trees,  budding  fair ; 
The  one  with  flowers  red,  the  other  white. 
The  staring  people  stagger  at  the  sight. 
The  maiden  still  is  standing  in  her  place ; 
And,  'twixt  the  rosy  buds,  they  see  her  face. 


For  very  joy  the  people  shout  and  sing. 
The  priests  upon  the  ground  lie  grovelling, 
And  cast  themselves  abroad,  and  idly  rave, 
And  pull  the  earth  about  them  like  a  grave  ; 
And  in  their  howling  presently  they  die. 
The  lovely  lady  murmurs  thankfully ; 
And  by  the  people  homeward  she  is  brought, 
With  flights  of  gleaming  angels  overthwart. 

Thus  sprang  those  marvellous  trees  ;  and  it  is  said, 
That  from  the  burnt  brands  came  the  Roses  red, 
And  from  the  unburnt  came  the  Roses  pale. 
I  say  no  farther.     I  have  done  my  tale. 


A  TERRIBLY  STRANGE  BED. 


THE  most  difficult  likeness  I  ever  had  to 
take,  not  even  excepting  my  first  attempt  in 
the  art  of  Portrait-painting,  was  a  likeness 
of  a  gentleman  named  Faulkner.  As  far  as 
drawing  and  colouring  went,  I  had  no  par- 
ticular fault  to  find  with  my  picture  ;  it  was 
the  expression  of  the  sitter  which  I  had  failed 
in  rendering — a  failure  quite  as  much  his 
fault  as  mine.  Mr.  Faulkner,  like  many 
other  persons  by  whom  I  have  been  employed, 
took  it  into  his  head  that  he  must  assume  an 
expression,  because  he  was  sitting  for  his 
likeness ;  and,  in  consequence,  contrived  to 
look  as  unlike  himself  as  possible,  while  I 
was  painting  him.  I  had  tried  to  divert  his 
attention  from  his  own  face,  by  talking  with 
him  on  all  sorts  of  topics.  We  had  both 
travelled  a  great  deal,  and  felt  interested 
alike  in  many  subjects  connected  with  our 
wanderings  over  the  same  countries.  Occa- 
sionally, while  we  were  discussing  our  travel- 
ling experiences,  the  unlucky  set-look  left  his 
countenance,  and  I  began  to  work  to  some 
purpose  ;  but  it  was  always  disastrously  sure 
to  return  again,  before  I  had  made  any  great 
progress — or,  in  other  words,  just  at  the  very 
time  when  I  was  most  anxious  that  it  should 
not  re-appear.  The  obstacle  thus  thrown  in 
the  way  of  the  satisfactory  completion  of  my 
portrait,  was  the  more  to  be  deplored,  because 
Mr.  Faulkner's  natural  expression  was  a  very 
remarkable  one.  I  am  not  an  author,  so  I 
cannot  describe  it.  I  ultimately  succeeded 
in  painting  it,  however  ;  and  this  was  the 
way  in  which  I  achieved  my  success  : — 

On  the  morning  when  my  sitter  was  coming 
to  me  for  the  fourth  time,  I  was  looking  at 
his  portrait  in  no  very  agreeable  mood — 
looking  at  it,  in  fact,  with  the  disheartening 
conviction  that  the  picture  would  be  a  perfect 
failure,  unless  the  expression  in  the  face  repre- 
sented were  thoroughly  altered  and  improved 
from  nature.  The  only  method  of  accom- 
plishing this  successfully,  was  to  make  Mr. 
Faulkner,  somehow,  insensibly  forget  that  he 
was  sitting  fur  his  picture.  What  topic  could 
I  lead  him  to  talk  on,  which  would  entirely 
engross  his  attention  while  I  was  at  work  ou 
his  likeness  1 — I  was  still  puzzling  my  brains 
to  no  purpose  on  this  subject  when  Mr. 
Faulkner  entered  my  studio  ;  and,  shortly 
afterwards,  an  accidental  circumstance  gained 


130 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


for  me  the  very  object  which  my  own  inge- 
nuity had  proved  unequal  to  compass. 

While  I  was  "setting"  my  palette,  my  sitter 
amused  himself  by  turning  over  some  port- 
folios. He  happened  to  select  one  for  special 
notice,  which  contained  several  sketches  that 
I  had  made  in  the  streets  of  Paris.  He 
turned  over  the  first  five  views  rapidly 
enough  ;  but  when  he  came  to  the  sixth,  I 
saw  his  face  flush  directly  ;  and  observed  that 
he  took  the  drawing  out  of  the  portfolio, 
carried  it  to  the  window,  and  remained 
silently  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  it 
for  full  five  minutes.  After  that,  he  turned 
round  to  me  ;  and  asked  very  anxiously,  if  I 
had  any  objection  to  part  with  that  sketch. 

It  was  the  least  interesting  drawing  of  the 
series — merely  a  view  in  one  of  the  streets 
running  by  the  backs  of  the  houses  in  the 
Palais  Eoyal.  Some  four  or  five  of  these 
houses  were  comprised  in  the  view,  which 
was  of  no  particular  use  to  me  in  any  way  ; 
and  which  was  too  valueless,  as  a  work  of 
Art,  for  me  to  think  of  setting  it  to  my  kind 
patron.  I  begged  his  acceptance  of  it,  at 
once.  He  thanked  me  quite  warmly  ;  and 
then,  seeing  that  I  looked  a  little  surprised 
at  the  odd  selection  he  had  made  from  my 
sketches,  laughingly  asked  me  if  I  could  guess 
why  he  had  been  so  anxious  to  become  pos- 
sessed of  the  view  which  I  had  given  him  '] 

"  Probably" — I  answered — "  there  is  some 
remarkable  historical  association  connected 
with  that  street  at  the  back  of  the  Palais 
Koyal,  of  which  I  am  ignorant." 

"  No" — said  Mr.  Faulkner — "  at  least,  none 
that  1  know  of.  The  only  association  con- 
nected with  the  place  in  my  mind,  is  a  purely 
personal  association.  Look  at  this  house  in 
your  drawing  —  the  house  with  the  water- 
pipe  running  down  it  from  top  to  bottom. 
I  once  passed  a  night  there — a  night  I  shall 
never  forget  to  the  day  of  my  death.  I  have 
had  some  awkward  travelling  adventures  in 

my  time  ;  but  that  adventure !  Well,  well ! 

suppose  we  begin  the  sitting.  I  make  but  a 
bad  return  for  your  kindness  in  giving  me 
the  sketch,  by  thus  wasting  your  time  in  mere 
talk." 

He  had  not  long  occupied  the  sitter's  chair 
(looking  pale  and  thoughtful),  when  he  re- 
turned— involuntarily,  as  it  seemed — to  the 
subject  of  the  house  in  the  back  street. 
Without,  I  hope,  showing  any  undue  curiosity, 
I  contrived  to  let  him  see  that  I  felt  a  deep 
interest  in  everything  he  now  said.  After 
two  or  three  preliminary  hesitations,  he  at 
last,  to  my  great  joy,  fairly  started  on  the  nar- 
rative of  his  adventure.  In  the  interest  of  his 
subject  he  soon  completely  forgot  that  he  was 
sitting  for  his  portrait — the  very  expression 
that  I  wanted,  came  over  his  face — my  picture 
proceeded  towards  completion,  in  the  right 
direction,  and  to  the  best  purpose.  At  every 
fresh  touch,  I  felt  more  and  more  certain  that 
I  was  now  getting  the  better  of  my  grand 
difficulty;  and  I  enjoyed  the  additional  grati- 


fication of  having  my  work  lightened  by  the 
recital  of  a  true  story,  which  possessed,  in  my 
estimation,  all  the  excitement  of  the  most 
exciting  romance. 

This,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  is,  word 
for  word,  how  Mr.  Faulkner  told  me  the 
story  : — 

Shortly  before  the  period  when  gambling- 
houses  were  suppressed  by  the  French  Govern- 
ment, I  happened  to  be  staying  at  Paris  with 
an  English  friend.  We  were  both  young  men 
then,  and  lived,  I  am  afraid,  a  very  dissipated 
life,  in  the  very  dissipated  city  of  our  sojourn. 
One  night,  we  were  idling  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  Palais  Eoyal,  doubtful  to 
what  amusement  we  should  next  betake 
ourselves.  My  friend  proposed  a  visit  to 
Frascati's  ;  but  his  suggestion  was  not  to  my 
taste.  I  knew  Frascati's,  as  the  French 
saying  is,  by  heart  ;  had  lost  and  won  plenty 
of  five-franc  pieces  there,  "  merely  for  the 
fun  of  the  thing,"  until  it  was  "  fun"  no 
longer  ;  and  was  thoroughly  tired,  in  fact,  of 
all  the  ghastly  respectabilities  of  such  a  social 
anomaly  as  a  respectable  gambling-house. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake"— said  I  to  my  friend — 
"let  us  go  somewhere  where  we  can  see  a 
little  genuine,  blackguard,  poverty-stricken 
gaming,  with  no  false  gingerbread  glitter 
thrown  over  it  at  all.  Let  us  get  away  from 
fashionable  Frascati's,  to  a  house  where  they 
don't  mind  letting  in  a  man  with  a  ragged 
coat,  or  a  man  with  no  coat,  ragged,  or  other- 
wise."— "Very  well,"  said  my  friend,  "we 
needn't  go  out  of  the  Palais  Eoyal  to  find  the 
sort  of  company  you  want.  Here's  the  place, 
just  before  us  ;  as  blackguard  a  place,  by  all 
report,  as  you  could  possibly  wish  to  see." 
In  another  minute  we  arrived  at  the  door, 
and  entered  the  house,  the  back  of  which  you 
have  drawn  in  your  sketch. 

When  we  got  up-stairs,  and  had  left  our 
hats  and  sticks  with  the  doorkeeper,  we  were 
admitted  into  the  chief  gambling-room.  We 
did  not  find  many  people  assembled  there. 
But,  few  as  the  men  were  who  looked  up  at 
us  on  our  entrance,  they  were  all  types — 
miserable  types — of  their  respective  classes. 
We  had  come  to  see  blackguards ;  but  these 
men  were  something  worse.  There  is  a 
comic  side,  more  or  less  appreciable,  in  all 
blackguardism — here,  there  was  nothing  but 
tragedy ;  mute,  weird  tragedy.  The  quiet 
in  the  room  was  horrible.  The  thin,  hag- 
gard, long-haired  young  man,  whose  sunken 
eyes  fiercely  watched  the  timiing  up  of  the 
cards,  never  spoke ;  the  flabby,  fat-faced, 
pimply  player,  who  pricked  his  piece  of 
paste-board  perseveringly,  to  register  how 
often  black  won,  and  how  often  red — never 
spoke  ;  the  dirty,  wrinkled  old  man,  with  the 
vulture  eyes,  and  the  darned  great  coat,  who 
had  lost  "his  last  sous,  and  still  looked  on 
desperately,  after  he  could  play  no  longer — 
never  spoke.  Even  the  voice  of  the  croupier 
sounded  as  if  it  were  strangely  dulled  and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  TERKIBLY  STKANGE  BED 


131 


thickened  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  room. 
I  had  entered  the  place  to  laugh ;  I  felt 
that  if  I  stood  quietly  looking  on  much 
longer,  I  should  be  more  likely  to  weep.  So, 
to  excite  myself  out  of  the  depression  of 
spirits  which  was  fast  stealing  over  me,  I 
unfortunately  went  to  the  table,  and  began 
to  play.  Still  more  unfortunately,  as  the 
event  will  show,  I  won — won  prodigiously  ; 
won  incredibly ;  won  at  such  a  rate,  that  the 
regular  players  at  the  table  crowded  round 
me ;  and  staring  at  my  stakes  with  hungry, 
superstitious  eyes,  whispered  to  one  another, 
that  the  English  stranger  was  going  to  break 
the  bank. 

The  game  was  Rouge  et  Noir.  I  had  played 
at  it  in  every  city  in  Europe,  without,  how- 
ever, the  care  or  the  wish  to  study  the  Theory 
of  Chances — that  philosopher's  stone  of  all 
gamblers !  And  a  gambler,  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  word,  I  had  never  been.  I  was 
heart-whole  from  the  corroding  passion  for 
play.  My  gaming  was  a  mere  idle  amuse- 
ment. I  never  resorted  to  it  by  necessity, 
because  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  want 
money.  I  never  practised  it  so  incessantly 
as  to  lose  more  than  I  could  afford,  or  to  gain 
more  than  I  could  coolly  pocket  without  being 
thrown  off  my  balance  by  my  good  luck.  In 
short,  I  had  hitherto  frequented  gambling- 
tables — just  as  I  frequented  ball-rooms  and 
opera-houses — because  they  amused  me,  and 
because  I  had  nothing  better  to  do  with  my 
leisure  hours. 

But,  on  this  occasion,  it  was  very  different 
— now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  felt 
what  the  passion  for  play  really  was.  My 
success  first  bewildered,  and  then,  in  the 
most  literal  meaning  of  the  word,  intoxi- 
cated me.  Incredible  as  it  may  appear,  it 
is  nevertheless  true,  that  I  only  lost,  when 
I  attempted  to  estimate  chances,  and  played 
according  to  previous  calculation.  If  I  left 
everything  to  luck,  and  staked  without  any 
care  or  consideration,  I  was  sure  to  win — to 
win  in  the  face  of  every  recognised  probability 
in  favour  of  the  bank.  At  first,  some  of  the 
men  present  ventured  their  money  safely 
enough  on  my  colour  ;  but  I  speedily  in- 
creased my  stakes  to  sums  which  they  dared 
not  risk.  One  after  another  they  left  off 
playing,  and  breathlessly  looked  on  at  my 
game.  Still,  time  after  time,  I  staked  higher 
and  higher  ;  and  still  won.  The  excitement 
in  the  room  rose  to  fever  pitch.  The  silence 
was  interrupted,  by  a  deep,  muttered  chorus 
of  oaths  and  exclamations  in  different  lan- 
guages, every  time  the  gold  was  shoyelled 
across  to  my  side  of  the  table — even  the  im- 
perturbable croupier  dashed  his  rake  on  the 
floor  in  a  (French)  fury  of  astonishment  at 
my  success.  But  one  man  present  preserved 
his  self-possession  ;  and  that  man  was  my 
friend.  He  came  to  my  side,  and  whispering 
in  English,  begged  me  to  leave  the  place, 
satisfied  with  what  I.  had  already  gained.  I 
must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  re- 


peated his  warnings  and  entreaties  several 
times  ;  and  only  left  me  and  went  away,  after 
I  had  rejected  his  advice  (I  was  to  all  intents 
and  purposes  gambling-drunk)  in  terms  which 
rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  address  me 
again  that  night. 

Shortly  after  he  had  gone,  a  hoarse  voice 
behind  me  cried  : — "  Permit  me,  my  dear  sir  ! 
— permit  me  to  restore  to  their  proper  place 
two  Napoleons  which  you  have  dropped. 
Wonderful  luck,  sir  ! — I  pledge  you  my  word 
of  honour  as  an  old  soldier,  in  the  course  of 
my  long  experience  in  this  sort  of  thing,  I 
never  saw  such  luck  as  yours  ! — never  !  Go 
on,  sir — Sacre  mille  lombes  !  Go  on  boldly, 
and  break  the  bank  !  " 

I  turned  round  and  saw,  nodding  and 
smiling  at  me  with  inveterate  civility,  a  tall 
man,  dressed  in  a  frogged  and  braided  sur- 
tout.  If  I  had  been  in  my  senses,  I  should 
have  considered  him,  personally,  as  being 
rather  a  suspicious  specimen  of  an  old  soldier. 
He  had  goggling  bloodshot  eyes,  mangy 
mustachios,  and  a  broken  nose.  His  voice 
betrayed  a  barrack-room  intonation  of  the 
worst  order,  and  he  had  the  dirtiest  pair  of 
hands  I  ever  saw — even  in  France.  These 
little  personal  peculiarities  exercised,  how- 
ever, no  repelling  influence  on  me.  In  the 
mad  excitement,  the  reckless  triumph  of  that 
moment,  I  was  ready  to  "  fraternise  "  with 
anybody  who  encouraged  me  in  my  game.  I 
accepted  the  old  soldier's  offered  pinch  of 
snuff;  clapped  him  on  the  back,  and  swore 
he  was  the  honestest  fellow  in  the  world  ;  the 
most  glorious  relic  of  the  Grand  Army  that 
I  had  ever  met  with.  "  Go  on  !  "  cried  my 
military  friend,  snapping  his  fingers  in  ecstasy, 
— "  Go  on,  and  win  !  Break  the  bank — Mille 
tonnerres  !  my  gallant  English  comrade,  break 
the  bank  •  " 

And  I  did  go  on — went  on  at  such  a  rate, 
that  in  another  quarter  of  an  hour  the 
croupier  called  out :  "  Gentlemen  !  the  bank 
has  discontinued  for  to-night."  All  the  notes, 
and  all  the  gold  in  that  "  bank,"  now  lay  in  a 
heap  under  my  hands  ;  the  whole  floating 
capital  of  the  gambling-house  was  waiting  to 
pour  into  my  pockets  ! 

"  Tie  up  the  money  in  your  pocket-hand- 
kerchief, my  worthy  sir,"  said  the  old  soldier, 
as  I  wildly  plunged  my  hands  into  my  heap 
of  gold.  "  Tie  it  up,  as  we  used  to  tie  up  a 
bit  of  dinner  in  the  Grand  Army  ;  your  win- 
nings are  too  heavy  for  any  breeches  pockets 
that  ever  were  sown.  There  !  that 's  it  ! — 
shovel  them  in,  notes  and  all !  Credie  !  what 
luck  ! — Stop  !  another  Napoleon  on  the  floor  ! 
Ah  !  sacre  petit  polisson  de  Napoleon  !  have  I 
found  thee  at  last  ?  Now  then,  sir — two 
tight  double  -knots  each  way  with  your 
honourable  permission,  and  the  money 's  safe. 
Feel  it !  feel  it,  fortunate  sir !  hard  aud 
round  as  a  cannon  ball — Ah,  bah  !  if  they 
had  only  fired  such  cannon  balls  at  us,  at 
Austerlitz — nom  d\me  pipe  !  if  they  only 
had  !  And  no\v,  as  an  ancient  grenadier,  as 


132 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


an  ex-brave  of  the  French  army,  what 
remains  for  me  to  do  1  I  ask  what  ?  Simply 
this  :  to  entreat  my  valued  English  friend  to 
drink  a  bottle  of  champagne  with  me,  and 
toast  the  goddess  Fortune  in  forming  goblets 
before  we  part !  " 

Excellent  ex-brave  !  Convivial  ancient 
grenadier  !  Champagne  by  all  means  !  An 
English  cheer  for  an  old  soldier  !  Hurrah  ! 
hurrah  !  Another  English  cheer  for  the  god- 
dess Fortune  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  !  Hurrah  ! 

"  Bravo  !  the  Englishman  ;  the  amiable, 
gracious  Englishman,  in  whose  veins  circu- 
lates the  vivacious  blood  of  France  !  Another 
glass  1  Ah,  bah  ! — the  bottle  is  empty  !  Never 
mind  !  Vive  le  vin  !  I,  the  old  soldier,  order 
another  bottle,  and  half-a-pound  of  bon-lons 
with  it  !" 

No,  no,  ex-brave  ;  never — ancient  grena- 
dier !  Your  bottle  last  time ;  my  bottle 
this.  Behold  it  !  Toast  away  !  The  French 
Array  ! — the  great  Napoleon  !  — the  present 
company !  the  croupier !  the  honest  croupier's 
wife  and  daughters — if  he  has  any !  the  Ladies 
generally  !  Everybody  in  the  world  ! 

By  the  time  the  second  bottle  of  champagne 
was  emptied,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  drinking 
liquid  fire — my  brain  seemed 'all  a-flame.  No 
excess  in  wine  had  ever  had  this  effect  011  me 
before  in  my  life.  Was  it  the  result  of  a 
stimulant  acting  upon  my  system  when  I  was 
in  a  highly-excited  state  ?  Was  my  stomach 
in  a  particularly  disordered  condition  ]  Or 
was  the  champagne  particularly  strong  ] 

"Ex-brave  of  the  French  Army  !"  cried  I, 
in  a  mad  state  of  exhilaration.  "  /  am  on 
fire!  how  are  you?  You  have  set  me  on 
fire  !  Do  you  hear  ;  my  hero  of  Austerlitz  ? 
Let  us  have  a  third  bottle  of  champagne  to 
put  the  flame  out ! "  The  old  soldier  wagged 
his  head,  rolled  his  goggle-eyes,  until  I 
expected  to  see  them  slip  out  of  their 
sockets  ;  placed  his  dirty  forefinger  by  the 
side  of  his  broken  nose  ;  solemnly  ejaculated 
"Coffee!"  and  immediately  ran  off  into  an 
inner  room. 

The  word  pronounced  by  the  eccentric 
veteran,  seemed  to  have  a  magical  eifect  on 
the  rest  of  the  company  present.  With  one 
accord  they  all  rose  to  depart.  Probably 
they  had  expected  to  profit  by  my  intoxica- 
tion ;  but  finding  that  my  new  friend  was 
benevolently  bent  on  preventing  me  from 
getting  dead  drunk,  had  now  abandoned  all 
hope  of  thriving  pleasantly  on  my  winnings. 
Whatever  their  motive  might  be,  at  any  rate 
they  went  away  in  a  body.  When  the  old 
soldier  returned,  and  sat  down  again  opposite 
to  me  at  the  table,  we  had  the  room  to  our- 
selves. I  could  see  the  croupier,  in  a  sort  of 
vestibule  which  opened  out  of  it,  eating  his 
supper  in  solitude.  The  silence  was  now 
deeper  than  ever. 

A  sudden  change,  too,  had  come  over  the 
"  ex-brave."  He  assumed  a  portentously 
solemn  look;  and  when  he  spoke  to  me 
again,  his  speech  was  ornamented  by  no  oaUi>, 


enforced  by  no  finger-snapping,  enlivened  by 
no  apostrophes,  or  exclamations. 

"  Listen,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he,  in  mysteri- 
ously confidential  tones — "  listen  to  an  old 
soldier's  advice.  I  have  been  to  the  misti 
of  the  house  (a  very  charming  woman,  with 
a  genius  for  cookery  !)  to  impress  on  her  the 
necessity  of  making  us  some  particularly 
strong  and  good  coffee.  You  must  drink  this 
coffee  in  order  to  get  rid  of  your  little 
amiable  exaltation  of  spirits,  before  you 
think  of  going  home — you  must,  my  good  and 
gracious  friend  !  With  all  that  money  to  take 
home  to-night,  it  is  a  sacred  duty  to  yourself 
to  have  your  wits  about  you.  You  are  known 
to  be  a  winner  to  an  enormous  extent,  by 
several  gentlemen  present  to-night,  who,  in  a 
certain  point  of  view,  are  very  worthy  and 
excellent  fellows  ;  but  they  are  mortal  men, 
my  dear  sir,  and  they  have  their  amiable 
weaknesses  !  Need  I  say  more  ?  Ah,  no,  no  ! 
you  understand  me  !  Now,  this  is  what  yon 
must  do — send  for  a  cabriolet  when  you  feel 
quite  well  again — draw  up  all  the  windows 
when  you  get  into  it — and  tell  the  driver  to 
take  you  home  only  through  the  large  and 
well-lighted  thoroughfares.  Do  this';  and 
you  and  your  money  will  be  safe.  Do  this  ; 
I  and  to-morrow  you  will  thank  an  old  soldier 
for  giving  you  a  word  of  honest  advice." 

Just  as  th6  ex-brave  ended  his  oration  in 
very  lachrymose  tones,  the  coffee  came  in, 
ready  poured  out  in  two  cups.  My  attentive 
friend  handed  me  one  of  the  cups,  with  a 
bow.  I  was  parched  with  thirst,  and  drank, 
it  off  at  a  draught.  Almost  instantly  after- 
wards, I  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  giddiness, 
and  felt  more  completely  intoxicated  than 
ever.  The  room  whirled  round  and  round 
furiously  ;  tlie  old  soldier  seemed  to  be  regu- 
larly bobbing  up  and  down  before  me,  like 
the  piston  of  a  steam-engine.  I  was  half 
deafened  by  a  violent  singing  in  my  ears  ;  a 
feeling  of  utter  bewilderment,  helplessness, 
idiotcy,  overcame  me.  I  rose  from  my  chair, 
holding  on  by  the  table  to  keep  my  balance  ; 
and  stammered  out,  that  I  felt  dreadfully  un- 
well— so  unwell,  that  I  did  not  know  how  I 
was  to  get  home. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  answered  the  old  soldier ; 
and  even  his  voice  seemed  to  be  bobbing  up 
and  down,  as  he  spoke — "  My  dear  friend,  it 
would  be  madness  to  go  home,  in  your  state, 
Yovi  would  be  sure  to  lose  your  money  ;  you 
might  be  robbed  and  murdered  with  the 
greatest  ease.  /  am  going  to  sleep  here  :  do 
you  sleep  here,  too — they  make  up  capital  beds 
in  this  house — take  one  ;  sleep  off  the  effects 
of  the  wine,  and  go  home  safely  with  your 
winnings,  to-morrow — to-morrow,  in  broad 
daylight." 

I  had  no  power  of  thinking,  no  feeling  of 
any  kind,  but  the  feeling  that  I  must  lie 
down  somewhere,  immediately,  and  fall  off 
into  a  cool,  refreshing,  comfortable  sleep. 
So  I  agreed  eagerly  to  the  proposal  about  the 
bed,  and  took  the  offered  arms  of  the  old 


Ch»rle»  Dickers  ] 


A  TERRIBLY  STRANGE  BED. 


133 


soldier  and  the  croupier — the  latter  having 
been  summoned  to  show  the  way.  They  led 
me  along  some  passages  and  up  a  short  flight 
of  stairs  into  the  bedroom  which  I  was  to 
occupy.  The  ex-brave  shook  me  warmly  by 
the  hand  ;  proposed  that  we  should  breakfast 
together  the  next  morning  ;  and  then,  fol- 
lowed by  the  croupier,  left  me  for  the  night. 

I  ran  to  the  wash-hand-stand  ;  drank  some 
of  the  water  in  my  jug  ;  poured  the  rest  out, 
:uid  plunged  my  face  into  it — then  sat  down 
in  a  chair,  and  tried  to  compose  myself.  I 
soon  felt  better.  The  change  for  my  lungs, 
from  the  fetid  atmosphere  of  the  gambling- 
room  to  the  cool  air  of  the  apartment  I 
now  occupied  ;  the  almost  equally  refreshing 
climige  for  my  eyes,  from  the  glaring  gas- 
lights of  the  "Salon  "  to  the  dim,  quiet  nicker 
of  one  bed- room  candle  ;  aided  wonderfully 
the  restorative  effects  of  cold  water.  The 
giddiness  left  me,  and  I  began  to  feel  a  little 
like  a  reasonable  being  again.  My  first 
thought  was  of  the  risk  of  sleeping  all  night 
in  a  gambling-house  ;  my  second,  of  the  still 
greater  risk  of  trying  to  get  out  after  the 
house  was  closed,  and  of  going  home  alone  at 
night,  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  with,  a 
large  sum  of  money  about  me.  I  had  slept 
in  worse  places  than  this,  in  the  course  of  my 
travels  ;  so  I  determined  to  lock,  bolt,  and 
barricade  my  door. 

Accordingly,  I  secured  myself  against  all 
intrusion ;  looked  under  the  bed,  and  into 
the  clipboard ;  tried  the  fastening  of  the 
window  ;  and  then,  satisfied  that  I  had  taken 
every  proper  precaution,  pulled  off  my  upper 
clothing,  put  my  light,  which  was  a  dim  one, 
on  the  hearth  among  a  feathery  litter  of  wood 
ashes  :  and  got  into  bed,  with  the  handkerchief 
full  of  money  under  my  pillow. 

I  soon  felt,  not  only  that  I  could  not  go  to 
sleep,  but  that  I  could  not  even  close  my 
eyes.  I  was  wide  awake,  and  in  a  high  fever. 
Every  nerve  in  my  body  trembled — every  one 
of  my  senses  seemed  to  be  preternatu rally 
sharpened.  I  tossed,  and  rolled,  and  tried 
every  kind  of  position,  and  perse veringly 
sought  out  the  cold  corners  of  the  bed,  and 
all  to  no  purpose.  Now,  I  thrust  my  arms 
over  the  clothes  ;  now,  I  poked  them  under 
tV.e  clothes  ;  now,  I  violently  shot  my  legs 
straight  out,  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  bed  ; 
now,  I  convulsively  coiled  them  up  as  near 
my  chin  as  they  would  go  ;  now,  I  shook  out 
my  crumpled  pillow,  changed  it  to  the  cool 
side,  patted  it  flat,  and  lay  down  quietly 
on  my  back  ;  now,  I  fiercely  doubled  it  in 
two,  set  it  up  on  end,  thrust  it  against  the 
board  of  the  bed,  and  tried  a  sitting  posture. 
Every  effort  was  in  vain  ;  I  groaned  with 
vexation,  as  I  felt  that  I  was  in  for  a  sleepless 
night. 

What  could  I  do  1  I  had  no  book  to 
read.  And  yet,  unless  I  found  out  some 
method  of  diverting  my  mind,  I  felt  certain 
that  I  was  in  the  condition  to  imagine  all 
sorts  of  horrors  ;  to  rack  my  brains  with 


forebodings  of  every  possible  and  impossible 
danger ;  in  short,  to  pass  the  night  in  suffer- 
ing all  conceivable  varieties  of  nervous  terror. 
1  raised  myself  on  my  elbow,  and  looked 
about  the  room — -which  was  brightened  by 
a  lovely  moonlight  pouring  straight  through 
the  window — to  see  if  it  contained  any  pictures 
or  ornaments,  that  I  could  at  all  clearly  dis- 
tinguish. While  my  eyes  wandered  from 
wall  to  wall,  a  remembrance  of  Le  Maistre's 
delightful  little  book,  "  Voyage  autour  de 
Ma  Chambre,"  occurred  to  me.  I  resolved 
to  imitate  the  French  author,  and  find  occu- 
pation and  amusement  enough  to  relieve  the 
tedium  of  my  wakefulness,  by  making  a 
mental  inventory  of  every  article  of  furniture 
I  could  see,  and  by  following  up  to  their  sources 
the  multitude  of  associations  which  even  a 
chair,  a  table,  or  a  wash-hand-stand,  may  be 
made  to  call  forth. 

In  the  nervous  unsettled  state  of  my  mind 
at  that  moment,  I  found  it  much  easier  to 
make  my  proposed  inventory,  than  to  make 
my  proposed  reflections,  and  soon  gave  up 
all  hope  of  thinking  in  Le  Maistre's  fanciful 
track — or,  indeed,  thinking  at  all.  I  looked 
about  the  room  at  the  different  articles  of 
furniture,  and  did  nothing  more.  There  was, 
first,  the  bed  I  was  lying  in — a  four-post  bed, 
of  all  things  in  the  world  to  meet  with  in  Paris ! 
— yes,  a  thorough  clumsy  British  four-poster, 
with  the  regular  top  lined  with  chintz — the 
regular  fringed  valance  all  round — the  regular 
stifling,  unwholesome  curtains,  which  I  re- 
membered having  mechanically  drawn  back 
against  the  posts,  without  particularly  noticing 
the  bed  when  I  first  got  into  the  room.  Then, 
there  was  the  marble-topped  wash-hand-stand, 
from  which  the  water  I  had  spilt,  in  my  hurry 
to  pour  it  out,  was  still  dripping,  slowly  and 
more  slowly,  on  to  the  brick  floor.  Then,  two 
small  chairs,  with  my  coat,  waistcoat,  and 
trousers  flung  on  them.  Then,  a  large  elbow 
chair  covered  with  dirty-white  dimity  :  with 
my  cravat  and  shirt-collar  thrown  over  the 
back.  Then,  a  chest  of  drawers,  with  two  of 
the  brass  handles  off,  and  a  tawdry,  broken 
china  inkstand  placed  on  it  by  wa,y  of  orna- 
ment for  the  top.  Then,  the  dressing-table, 
adorned  by  a  very  small  looking-glass,  and  a 
very  large  pincushion.  Then,  the  window — • 
an  unusually  large  window.  Then,  a  dark 
old  picture,  which  the  feeble  candle  dimly 
showed  me.  It  was  the  picture  of  a  fellow 
in  a  high  Spanish  hat,  crowned  with  a  plume, 
of  towering  feathers.  A  swarthy  sinister 
ruffian,  looking  upward ;  shading  his  eyes 
with  his  hand,  and  looking  intently  upward — 
it  might  be  at  some  tall  gallows  at  which  he 
was  going  to  be  hanged.  At  any  rate  he  had 
the  appearance  of  thoroughly  deserving  it. 

This  picture  put  a  kind  of  constraint  upon 
me  to  look  upward  too — at  the  top  of  the  bed. 
It  was  a  gloomy  and  not  an  interesting  object, 
and  I  looked  back  at  the  picture.  I  counted 
the  feathers  in  the  man's  hat ;  they  stood 
out  in  relief ;  three,  white  ;  two,  green.  I 


134 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


observed  the  crown  of  his  hat,  which  was  of  a 
conical  shape,  according  to  the  fashion  sup- 
posed to  have  been  favoured  by  Guido  Fa  v 
I  v,  ondered  what  he  was  looking  up  at.  It 
couldn't  be  at  the  stars  ;  such  a  desperado 
was  neither  astrologer  nor  astronomer.  It 
must  be  at  the  high  gallows,  and  he  was  going 
to  be  hanged  presently.  Would  the  execu- 
tioner coine  into  possession  of  his  conical 
crowned  hat,  and  plume  of  feathers  ?  I 
counted  the  feathers  again ;  three,  white ; 
two,  green. 

While  I  still  lingered  over  this  very  im- 
proving and  intellectual  employment,  my 
thoughts  insensibly  began  to  wander.  The 
moonlight  shining  into  the  room  reminded 
me  of  a  certain  moonlight  night  in  Enghmd 
— the  night  after  a  pic-nic  party  jn  a  Welsh 
valley.  Every  incident  of  the  drive  home- 
ward through  lovely  scenery,  which  the  moon- 
light made  lovelier  than  ever,  came  back  to 
my  remembrance,  though  I  had  never  given 
the  pic-nic  a  thought  for  years  ;  though,  if  I 
had  tried  to  recollect  it,  I  could  certainly  have 
recalled  little  or  nothing  of  that  scene  long 
past.  Of  all  the  wonderful  faculties  that 
help  to  tell  us  we  are  immortal,  which  speaks 
the  sublime  truth  more  eloquently  than 
memory  ?  Here  was  I,  in  a  strange  house  of 
the  most  suspicious  character,  in  a  situation 
of  uncertainty,  and  even  of  peril,  which  might 
seem  to  make  the  cool  exercise  of  my  re- 
collection almost  out  of  the  question  ;  never- 
theless remembering,  quite  involuntarily, 
places,  people,  conversations,  minute  circum- 
stances of  every  kind,  which  I  had  thought 
forgotten  for  ever,  which  I  could  not  possibly 
have  recalled  at  will,  even  under  the  most 
favourable  auspices.  And  what  cause  had  pro- 
duced in  a  moment  the  whole  of  this  strange, 
complicated,  mysterious  efi'ect  1  Nothing  but 
some  rays  of  moonlight  shining  in  at  my  bed- 
room window. 

I  was  still  thinking  of  the  pic-nic  ;  of 
our  merriment  on  the  drive  home  ;  of  the 
sentimental  young  lady  who  would  quote 
Childe  Harold,  because  it  was  moonlight. 
I  was  absorbed  by  these  past  scenes.and  past 
amusements,  when,  in  an  instant,  the  thread 
on  which  my  memories  hung,  snapped  asunder ; 
my  attention  immediately  came  back  to  present 
things,  more  vividly  than  ever,  and  I  found 
myself,  I  neither  knew  why  nor  wherefore, 
looking  hard  at  the  picture  again. 

Looking  for  what  1  Good  God,  the  man 
had  pulled  his  hat  down  on  his  brows-! — 
No  !  The  hat  itself  was  gone  !  Where  was 
the  conical  crown  ?  Where  the  feathers  ; 
three,  white  ;  two,  green  1  Not  there  !  In 
place  of  the  hat  and  feathers,  what  dusky 
object  was  it  that  now  hid  his  forehead — his 
eyes  —  his  shading  hand  ?  W7as  the  bed 
moving  ? 

I  turned  on  my  back,  and  looked  up.  Was 
I  mad  ?  drunk  ?  dreaming  1  giddy  again  ?  or, 
was  the  top  of  the  bed  really  moving  down — 
sinking  slowly,  regularly,  silently,  horribly, 


right  down  throughout  the  whole  of  its  length 
and  breadth — right  down  upon  Me,  as  I  lay 
underneath  1 

My  blood  seemed  to  stand  still  ;  a  deadly, 
paralysing  coldness  stole  all  over  me,  as  I 
turned  my  head  round  on  the  pillow,  and 
determined  to  test  whether  the  bed-top  was 
really  moving,  or  not,  by  keeping  my  eye  on 
the  man  in  the  picture.  The  next  look  in 
that  direction  was  enough.  The  dull,  black, 
frowsy  outline  of  the  valance  above  me  was 
within  an  inch  of  being  parallel  with  his 
waist.  I  still  looked  breathlessly.  And  steadily, 
and  slowly — very  slowly — I  saw  the  figure, 
and  the  line  of  frame  below  the  figure,  vanish, 
as  the  valance  moved  down  before  it. 

I  am,  constitutionally,  anything  but  tirnid. 
I  have  been,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  in 
peril  of  my  life,  and  have  not  lost  my  self- 
possession  for  an  instant ;  but,  when  the  con- 
viction first  settled  on  my  mind  that  the 
bed-top  was  really  moving,  was  steadily  and 
continuously  sinking  down  upon  me,  I  looked 
up  for  one  awful  minute,  or  more,  shuddering, 
helpless,  panic-stricken-,  beneath  the  hideous 
machinery  for  murder,  which  was  advancing 
closer  and  closer  to  suffocate  me  where  I  lay. 

Then  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  came, 
and  nerved  me  to  save  my  life,  while  there 
was  yet  time.  I  got  out  of  bed  very  quietly, 
and  quickly  dressed  myself  again  in  my  upper 
clothing.  The  candle,  fully  spent,  went  out. 
I  sat  down  in  the  arm-chair  that  stood  near, 
and  watched  the  bed-top  slowly  descending. 
I  was  literally  spell-bound  by  it.  If  I  had 
heard  footsteps  behind  me.  I  could  not  have 
turned  round  ;  if  a  means  of  escape  had  been 
miraculously  provided  for  me,  I  could  not 
have  moved  to  take  advantage  of  it.  The 
whole  life  in  me,  was,  at  that  moment,  con- 
centrated in  my  eyes. 

It  descended — the  whole  canopy,  with  the 
fringe  round  it,  came  down — down — close 
down ;  so  close  that  there  was  not  room 
now  to  squeeze  my  finger  between  the  bed- 
top  and  the  bed.  I  felt  at  the  sides,  and  dis- 
covered that  what  had  appeared  to  me,  from 
beneath,  to  be  the  ordinary  light  canopy  of  a 
four-post  bed  was  in  reality  a  thick,  broad 
mattress,  the  substance  of  which  was  concealed 
by  the  valance  and  its  fringe.  I  looked  up, 
and  saw  the  four  posts  rising  hideously  bare. 
In  the  middle  of  the  bed-top  was  a  huge 
wooden  screw  that  had  evidently  worked  it 
down  through  a  hole  in  the  ceiling,  just  as 
ordinary  presses  are  worked  down  on  the 
substance  selected  for  compression.  The 
frightful  apparatus  moved  without  making 
the  faintest  noise.  There  had  been  no 
creaking  as  it  came  down  ;  there  was  now 
not  the  faintest  sound  from  the  room  above. 
Amid  a  dead  and  awful  silence  I  beheld  before 
me — in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  in  the 
civilised  capital  of  France — such  a  machine 
for  secret  murder  by  suffocation,  as  might 
have  existed  in  the  worst  days  of  the  Inqui- 
sition, in  the  lonely  Inns  among  the  Hartz 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  TERRIBLY  STRANGE  BED. 


133 


Mountains,  in  the  mysterious  tribunals  of 
"Westphalia  !  Still,  as  I  looked  on  it,  I  could 
not  move  ;  I  could  haYdly  breathe  ;  but  1 
began  to  recover  the  power  of  thinking  ;•  and, 
in  a  moment,  I  discovered  the  murderous 
conspiracy  frvamed  against  me,  in  all  its  horror. 

Mv  cup  of  coffee  had  been  drugged,  and 
drugged  too  strongly.  I  had  been  saved  from 
being  smothered,  by  having  taking  an  over- 
dose of  some  narcotic.  How  I  had  chafed 
and  fretted  at  the  fever-fit  which  had  pre- 
served my  life  by  keeping  me  awake  !  How 
recklessly  I  had  confided  myself  to  the  two 
wretches  who  had  led  me  into  this  room, 
determined,  for  the  sake  of  my  winnings,  to 
kill  me  in  my  sleep,  by  the  surest  and  most 
horrible  contrivance  for  secretly  accomplishing 
my  destruction  !  How  many  men,  winners 
like  me,  had  slept,  as  I  had  proposed  to  sleep, 
in  that  bed  ;  and  never  been  seen  or  heard 
of  more  !  I  shuddered  as  I  thought  of  it. 

But,  erelong,  all  thought  was  .again  sus- 
pended by  the  sight  of  the  murderous  canopy 
moving  once  more.  After  it  had  remained 
on  the  bed — as  nearly  as  I  could  guess — about 
ten  minutes,  it  began  to  move  up  again.  The 
villains,  who  worked  it  from  above,  evidently 
believed  that  their  purpose  was  now  accom- 
plished. Slowly  and  silently,  as  it  had  de- 
scended, that  horrible  bed-top  rose  towards  its 
former  place.  When  it  reached  the  upper 
extremities  of  the  four  posts,  it  reached  the 
ceiling  too.  Neither  hole  nor  screw  could  be 
seen — the  bed  became,  in  appearance,  an  ordi- 1 
nary  bed  again,  the  canopy,  an  ordinary ' 
canopy,  even  to  the  most  suspicious  eyes. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  able  to  move,  j 
to  rise  from  my  chair,  to  consider  of  how  I 
should  escape.  If  I  betrayed,  by  the  smallest 
noise,  that  the  attempt  to  suffocate  me  had 
failed,  I  was  certain  to  be  murdered.  Had  I 
made  any  noise  already  1  I  listened  intently, 
looking  towards  the  door.  No  !  no  footsteps 
in  the  passage  outside  ;  no  sound  of  a  tread, 
light  or  heavy,  in  the  room  above — absolute 
silence  everywhere.  Besides  locking  and 
bolting  my  door,  I  had  moved  an  old  wooden 
chest  against  it,  which  I  had  found  under  the 
bed.  To  remove  this  chest  (my  blood  ran 
cold,  as  I  thought  what  its  contents  might 
be  !)  without  making  some  disturbance,  was 
impossible  ;  and,  moreover,  to  think  of  escap- 
ing through  the  house,  now  barred-up  for 
the  night,  was  sheer  insanity.  Only  one 
chance  was  left  me — the  window.  I  stole  to 
it  on  tiptoe. 

My  bedroom  was  on  the  first  floor, 
above  an  entresol,  and  looked  into  the 
back  street,  which  you  have  sketched  in 
your  view.  I  raised  my  hand  to  open  the 
window,  knowing  that  on  that  action  hung, 
by  the  merest  hair's-breadth,  my  chance 
of  safety.  They  keep  vigilant  watch  in  a 
House  of  Murder — if  any  part  of  the  frame 
cracked,  if  the  hinge  creaked,  I  was,  perhaps, 
a  lost  man !  It  must  have  occupied  me  at 
least  five  minutes,  reckoning  by  time — five 


hours,  reckoning  by  suspense — to  open  that 
window.  I  succeeded  in  doing  it  silently,  in 
doing  it  with  all  the  dexterity  of  a  house- 
breaker :  and  then  looked  down  into  the 
street.  To  leap  the  distance  beneath  me, 
would  be  almost  certain  destruction  !  Next,  I 
looked  round  at  the  sides  of  the  house.  Down 
the  left  side,  ran  the  thick  water-pipe  which 
you  have  drawn — it  passed  close  by  the  outer 
edge  of  the  window.  The  moment  I  saw  the 
pipe,  I  knew  I  was  saved ;  my  breath  came 
and  went  freely  for  the  first  time  since  I  had 
seen  the  canopy  of  the  bed  moving  down  upon 
me ! 

To  some  men,  the  means  of  escape  which  I 
had  discovered  might  have  seemed  difficult 
and  dangerous  enough — to  me.  the  prospect 
of  slipping  down  the  pipe  into  the  street  did 
not  suggest  even  a  thought  of  peril.  I  had 
always  been  accustomed,  by  the  practice  of 
gymnastics,  to  keep  up  my  schoolboy  powers 
as  a  daring  and  expert  climber  ;  and  knew 
that  my  head,  hands,  and  feet  would  serve  me 
faithfully  in  any  hazards  of  ascent  or  descent. 
I  had  already  got  one  leg  over  the  •window- 
sill,  when  I  remembered  the  handkerchief, 
filled  with  money,  under  my  pillow.  I  could 
well  have  afforded  to  leave  it  behind  me  ;  but 
T  was  revengefully  determined  that  the  mis- 
creants of  the  gambling-house  should  miss 
their  plunder  as  well  as  their  victim.  So  I 
went  back  to  the  bed,  and  tied  the  heavy 
handkerchief  at  my  back  by  my  cravat.  Just 
as  I  had  made  it  tight,  and  fixed  it  in  a  com- 
fortable place,  I  thought  I  heard  a  sound  of 
breathing  outside  the  door.  The  chill  feeling 
of  horror  ran  through  me  again  as  I  listened. 
No  !  dead  silence  still  in  the  passage — I  had 
only  heard  the  night  air  blowing  softly  into 
the  room.  The  next  moment  I  was  on  the 
window-sill — and  the  next,  I  had  a  firm  grip 
on  the  water-pipe  with  my  hands  and  knees. 

I  slid  down  into  the  street  easily  and 
quietly,  as  I  thought  I  should,  and  immedi- 
ately set  off,  at  the  top  of  my  speed,  to  a 
branch  "  Prefecture"  of  Police,  which  I  knew 
was  situated  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood. 
A  "  Sub-Prefect  "  and  several  picked  men 
among  his  subordinates,  happened  to  be  up, 
maturing,  I  beh'eve,  some  scheme  for  dis- 
covering the  perpetrator  of  a  mysterious 
murder,  which  all  Paris  was  talking  of  just 
then.  "When  I  began  my  story,  in  a  breath- 
less hurry  and  in  very  bad  French,  I  could 
see  that  the  Sub-Prefect  suspected  me  of 
being  a  drunken  Englishman,  who  had  robbed 
somebody,  but  he  soon  altered  his  opinion,  as 
I  went  on  ;  and  before  I  had  anything  like 
concluded,  he  shoved  all  the  papers  before 
him  into  a  drawer,  put  on  his  hat,  supplied 
me  with  another  (for  I  was  bare-headed), 
ordered  a  file  of  soldiers,  desired  his  experb 
followers  to  get  ready  all  sorts  of  tools  for 
breaking  open  doors  and  ripping-up  brick- 
flooring,  and  took  my  ;mu,  in  the  most  friendly 
and  familiar  manner  possible,  to  lead  me  with 
him  out  of  the  house.  I  will  venture  to  say. 


136 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


that  when  the  Sub-Prefect  was  a  little  boy, 
and  was  taken  for  the  first  time  to  the  Play, 
he  was  not  half  as  much  pleased  as  he  was 
now  at  the  job  in  prospect  for  him  at  the 
"  Gambling-House  ! " 

.Away  we  went  through  the  streets,  the 
Sub-Prefect  cross-examining  and  congratu- 
lating me  in  the  same  breath,  as  we  marched 
at  the  head  of  our  formidable  posse  comitatus. 
Sentinels  were  placed  at  the  back  and  front  of 
•the  gambling-house  the  moment  we  got  to  it  ; 
a  tremendous  battery  of  knocks  was  directed 
against  the  door  ;  a  light  appeared  at  a 
window  ;  I  waited  to  conceal  myself  behind 
the  police — then  came  more  knocks,  and  a 
cry  of  "  Open  in  the  name  of  the  law  !  "  At 
that  terrible  summons,  bolts  and  locks  gave 
way  before  an  invisible  hand,  and  the  moment 
after,  the  Sub-Prefect  was  in  the  passage,  con- 
fronting a  waiter,  half-dressed  and  ghastly 
pale.  This  was  the  short  dialogue  which 
immediately  took  place. 

"  We  want  to  see  the  Englishman  who  is 
sleeping  in  this  house  1  " 

"  He  went  away  hours  ago." 

"  He  did  no  such  thing.  His  friend  went 
away  ;  he  remained.  Show  us  to  his  bed- 
room !  " 

';  I  swear  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Sous-Prefet, 
he  is  not  here  !  he " 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Monsieur  le  Gallon,  he 
is.  He  slept  here — he  didn't  find  your  bed 
comfortable — he  came  to  us  to  complain  of  it 
— here  he  is,  among  my  men — and  here  am  I, 
ready  to  look  for  a  flea  or  two  in  his  bed- 
stead. Picard  !  (calling  to  one  of  the  sub- 
ordinates, and  pointing  to  the  waiter)  collar 
that  man,  and  .tie  his  hands  behind  him. 
Now,  then,  gentlemen,  let  us  walk  up 
stairs  !  " 

Every  man  and  woman  in  the  house  was 
secured — the  "  Old  Soldier,"  the  first.  Then  I 
identified  the  bed  inwhichl  had  slept ;  and  then 
we  went  into  the  room  above.  No  object  that 
was  at  all  extraordinary  appeared  in  any  part 
of  it.  The  Sub-Prefect  looked  round  the  place, 
commanded  everybody  to  be  silent,  stamped 
twice  on  the  floor,  called  for  a  candle,  looked 
attentively  at  the  spot  he  had  stamped  on, 
and  ordered  the  flooring  there  to  be  carefully 
taken  up.  This  was  done  in  no  time.  Lights 
were  produced,  and  we  saw  a  deep  raftered 
cavity  between  the  floor  of  this  room  and  the 
ceiling  of  the  room  beneath.  Through  this 
cavity  there  ran  perpendicularly  a  sort  of 
case  of  iron,  thickly  greased  ;  and  inside  the 
case,  appeared  the  screw,  -which  communi- 
cated with  the  bed-top  below.  Extra  lengths 
of  screw,  freshly  oiled — levers  covered  with 
felt — all  the  complete  upper  works  of  a  heavy 
press,  constructed  with  infernal  ingenuity  so 
as  to  join  the  fixtures  below — and,  when  taken 
to  pieces  again,  to  go  into  the  smallest  pos- 
sible compass,  were  next  discovered,  and 
pulled  out  on  the  floor.  After  some  little 
difficulty,  the  Sub-Prefect  succeeded  inputting 
the  machinery  together,  and,  leaving  his  men 


to  work  it,  descended  with  me  to  the  bed- 
room. The  smothering  canopy  was  then 
lowered,  but  not  so  noiselessly  as  I  had  seen 
it  lowered.  When  I  mentioned  this  to  the 
Sub-Prefect,  his  answer,  simple  as  it  was,  had 
a  terrible  significance.  "My  men,"  said  he, 
"  are  working  down  the  bed-top  for  the  fii'st 
time — the  men  whose  money  you  won,  were 
in  better  practice." 

We  left  the  house  in  the  sole  possession  of 
two  police  agents — evei-y  one  of  the  inmates 
being  removed  to  prison  on  the  spot.  The 
Sub-Prefect,  after  taking  down  my  "procds- 
•verlal"  in  his  office,  returned  with  me  to  my 
hotel  to  get  my  passport.  "  Do  you  think," 
I  asked,  as  T  gave  it  to  him,  "that  any  men 
have  really  been  smothered  in  that  bed,  as 
they  tried  to  smother  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  dozens  of  drowned  men  laid 
out  at  the  Morgue,"  answered  the  Sub-Prefect, 
"  in  whose  pocket-books  were  found  letters, 
stating  that  they  had  committed  suicide  in 
the  Seine,  because  they  had  lost  everything 
at  the  gaming-table.  Do  I  know  how  many 
of  those  men  entered  the  same  gambling- 
house  that  you  entered  ?  won  as  you  won  ? 
took  that  bed  as  you  took  it  ?  slept  in  it  ? 
were  smothered  in  it  1  and  were  privately 
thrown  into  the  river,  with  a  letter  of  expla- 
nation written  by  the  murderers  and  placed 
in  their  pocket-books  1  No  man  can  say  how 
many,  or  how  few,  have  suffered  the  fate  from 
which  you  have  escaped.  The  people  of  the 
gambling-house  kept  their  bedstead  machinery 
a  secret  from  us — even  from  the  police  !  The 
dead  kept  the  rest  of  the  secret  for  them. 
Good  night,  or  rather  good  morning,  Mon- 
sieur Faulkner !  Be  at  my  office  again  at 
nine  o'clock — in  the  meantime,  au  revoir  !  " 

The  rest  of  my  story  is  soon  told.  I  was 
examined,  and  re-examined  ;  the  gambling- 
house  was  strictly  searched  all  through,  from 
top  to  bottom  ;  the  prisoners  were  separately 
interrogated ;  and  two  of  the  less  guilty 
among  them  made  a  confession,  /discovered 
that  the  Old  Soldier  was  the  master  of  the 
gambling-house — justice  discovered  that  he 
had  been  drummed  out  of  the  army,  as  a 
vagabond,  years  ago  ;  that  he  had  been  guilty 
of  all  sorts  of  villanies  since  ;  that  he  was 
in  possession  of  stolen  property,  which  the 
owners  identified  ;  and  that  he,  the  croupier, 
another  accomplice,  and  the  woman  who  had 
made  my  cup  of  coffee,  were  all  in  the  secret 
of  the  bedstead.  There  appeared  some  reason 
to  doubt  whether  the  inferior  persons  at- 
tached to  the  house  knew  anything  of  the 
suffocating  machinery  ;  and  they  received  the 
benefit  of  that  doubt,  by  being  treated  simply 
as  thieves  and  vagabonds.  As  for  the  Old 
Soldier  and  his  two  head-myrmidons,  they 
went  to  the  galleys ;  the  woman  who  had 
drugged  my  coffee  was  imprisoned  fqr  I  forget 
how  many  years  ;  the  regular  attendants  at 
the  gambling-house  were  considered  '•  sus- 
picious," and  placed  under  "surveillance;" 
and  I  became,  for  one  whole  week  (which  is 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  THIRSTY  BOYS  OF  BONK 


137 


a  long  time),  the  head  "lion"  in  Parisian 
society.  My  adventure  was  dramatised  by 
three  illustrious  playmakers,  but  never  saw 
theatrical  daylight ;  for  the  censorship  forbade 
the  introduction  on  the  stage  of  a  correct  copy 
of  the  gambling-house  bedstead. 

Two  good  results  were  produced  by  my 
adventure,  which  any  censorship  must  have 
approved.  In  the  first  place,  it  helped  to 
justify  the  Government  in  forthwith  carrying 
out  their  determination  to  put  down  all 
gambling-houses ;  in  the  second  place,  it 
cured  me  of  ever  again  trying  "  Rouge  et  Noir" 
as  an  amusement.  The  sight  of  a  green  cloth, 
with  packs  of  cards  and  heaps  of  money  on  it, 
will  henceforth  be  for  ever  associated  in  my 
mind  with  the  sight  of  a  bed-canopy  de- 
scending to  suffocate  me,  in  the  silence  and 
darkness  of  the  night." 

Just  as  Mr.  Faulkner  pronounced  the  last 
words,  he  started  in  his  chair,  and  assumed 
a  stiff,  dignified  position,  in  a  great  hurry. 
"  Bless  my  soul ! "  cried  he — with  a  comic 
look  of  astonishment  and  vexation — "  while 
I  have  been  telling  you  what  is  the  real  secret 
of  my  interest  in  the  sketch  you  have  so 
kindly  given  to  me,  I  have  altogether  for- 
gotten that  I  came  here  to  sit  for  my  portrait. 
For  the  last  hour,  or  more,  I  must  have 
been  the  worst  model  you  ever  had  to  paint 
from  ! " 

"  On  the  contrary,  you  have  been  the  best," 
said  I.  "  I  have  been  painting  from  your 
expression  ;  and,  while  telling  your  story,  you 
have  unconsciously  shown  me  the  natural 
expression  I  wanted." 

THE  THIRSTY  BOYS  OF  BONN. 


DUELS  vary  in  blood-thirstiness  ;  beer  varies 
in  strength.  Of  the  duels  and  beer-drinkings 
of  German  students,  many  of  us  have  been 
taught  to  form  an  incorrect  idea.  Having 
acquired  some  experience  upon  these  matters 
among  the  young  gentlemen — now  and  then 
rather  old  gentlemen — subject  to  the  Univer- 
sity at  Bonn,  I  desire  that  justice  may  be 
done  to  that  community. 

The  German  student  is,  on  the  whole,  a 
person  much  maligned.  You  may  judge  from 
his  duelling  pads,  and  from  the  bluntness  of 
his  cutlasses — sharp  only  at  the  points — and 
from  the  gay  appearance  of  the  principals  and 
seconds,  that  a  duel  is  not  in  Germany  a 
mortal  contest.  The  Bonner  student  is  thirsty, 
but  not  blood-thirsty.  He  submits  to  have 
his  face  gashed  for  a  point  of  honour — that 
is  all.  He  fights  for  the  honour,  not  so  much 
of  himself,  as  of  his  corps.  He  takes  up  the 
sword  as  a  cricketer  takes  up  his  bat,  for  the 
support  of  club  supremacy.  For,  be  it  under- 
stood, that  students  of  one  corps  will  only 
fight  with  students  of  another  corps.  As  for 
the  "  KaineeV  —  the  corps-less,  bodiless  non- 
entity— he  is  as  much  one  of  the  external 
accidents  of  life,  which  true  philosophy  is 


bound  to  disregard,  as  a  "  philister"  or  shop- 
keeper himself. 

The  face  of  the  German  student  is  the  only 
part  of  him  uncovered  in  a  duel.  Let  him 
but  have  his  cheek  cut  through,  or  a  wing  of 
his  nose  sliced  off,  and.  he  assumes  the  scar- 
born  honours  of  a  veteran.  Let  not  young 
ladies  marvel  at  the  reckless  sacrifice  '  of 
beauty.  There  is  not  much  manly  beauty  to 
be  spoilt  in  any  German  University ;  and, 
least  of  all,  if  it  be  Prussian.  But,  pooh  ! — 
that  is  a  small  consideration.  The  German 
student  is  true-hearted  and  jovial. 

Observe  a  party  of  "  Guestphaleri'''  members 
of  the  most  noted  corps  at  Bonn,  bent  on 
pleasure,  by  the  way  of  punch,  after  a  morn- 
ing lecture.  They  embark  upon  a  boat,  some- 
thing like  the  gig  of  a  Yorkshire  collier, 
furnished  with  a  sail  and  a  pair  of  sweeps 
that  would  tire  any  London  lighterman. 
Down  the  stream  they  go — easily  enough — 
singing  snatches  of  song  from  their  "  Commers- 
buc/i,"  relieving  each  other  at  the  sweeps, 
until  they  have  reached  their  destination.  If 
they  run  the  boat  aground,  two  or  three  of 
them  will  jump  into  the  shallow  water  in- 
stantly to  shove  her  off.  They  land,  and  light 
a  fire  ;  their  punch  is  brewed  ;  their  sausage 
and  etceteras  are  cooked  ;  and  then  the  even- 
ing is  spent  in  drink  and  song.  If,  by  chance, 
there  should  be  an  English  fly-fisher  at  hand, 
he  brings  his  trout,  and  quickly  fraternises 
with  the  company.  Finally,  all  return  into 
the  town  to  join  the  festive  "  Kneipe." 

They  return  against  the  current,  and  in 
that  respect  exceedingly  against  their  incli- 
nation. Boating  is  not  popular  at  Bonn. 

Before  the  town  flows  the  rapid  Rhine,  its 
grey  and  turbid  stream  inviting  oarsmen  ;  and 
yet  boating  is  rare,  and  what  there  is  does 
not  deserve  the  name.  The  swift  Rhine,  how- 
ever, is  not  quite  so  safe  as  Thames  water  to 
row  upon,  and  it  is  hard  work,  too,  to  pull 
against  stream  home  to  the  festive  "  Kneipe." 
The  "  Kneipe  "  of  the  Guestphalen  is  a  large 
square  room  well  filled  with  tables.  At  the 
extreme  end  of  it,  is  hung  over  the  chimney 
the  scutcheon  of  the  corps — a  piece  of  heraldry 
which,  for  more  complete  identification,  is 
emblazoned  with  the  words  ''  Guestphalen  scis 
punier"  Two  swords  are  crossed  above  the 
emblem.  Round  the  tables  are  the  students, 
in  each  stage  of  cheer.  In  their  dress  they 
all  resemble  one  another.  They  who  can 
raise  them,  wear  a  beard  and  a  moustache. 
Here,  on  one  side,  is  a  young  fellow  troubled 
(O  !  no,  not  at  all  troubled)  with  a  slash  that 
has  multiplied  his  lips  by  two  ;  he  is  endea- 
vouring to  insert  part  of  a  hard-boiled  egg 
into  his  mouth,  with  the  assistance  of  a  silver 
tooth-pick.  The  ligature  still  binds  his  wound, 
and  he  can  open  his  mouth  but  slightly.  Else- 
where, another,  who  is  drinking,  painfully,  de- 
bilitated beer  from  a  glass  twelve  inches  high, 
wears  the  less  recent  marks  of  an  encounter, 
in  which  his  nose  was  very  nearly  severed 
from  his  face.  A  third  ha-s  a  bloated  appear- 


138                                                   HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.                                       [Conducted  by 

ance,  and  a  want  of  scars.     He  is  a  hero  as 
successful  in  the  duel  by  blood,  as  in  the  trial 
by  beer,   of  which  I  shall  speak  presently. 

tli  at  he  is  a  thief.     The  second,  ascending  in 
the  alcoholic  scale,  retorts  with  a  bottle  of 
Madeira,  and  the  epithet  "  swindler  !"    So  tl\<- 

Now,  for  a  wager,  he  is  swallowing  a  quart  a  duel  goes  on  till  one  of  the  combatants  sh.-i.il 
minute  for  twelve  minutes  in  succession — to  fall.  Very  anxious  are  the  seconds  for  the 
him  apparently  an  easy  task.  A  fourth  is  supremacy  of  their  respective  principals, 
feeding  upon  that  unsatisfactory  Rhenish  When  one  is  floored,  his  second  has  been 
dish  entitled  "  sauer  bratcn."  It  consists  of  [  known  to  pour  the  contents  of  a  last  bottle 


stewed  beef,   made  sour  and  putrescent  by 
vinegar  and  lapse  of  time. 

The  appearance  of  a  stranger  in  the 
"  Kneipe  "  causes  an  immediate  stir.  He  is 
surrounded  by  men  who  welcome  him,  and 
he  has  no  peace  till  he  has  drank  all  their 
healths  in  beer,  in  quick  succession.  This, 
when  the  corps  is  numerous  (like  that  of  the 
Guestphalen)  is  no  small  feat,  since  the  polite 
stranger  may  not  swallow  less  than  one  pint 
at  a  draught  ;  that  is  to  say,  half  his  measure. 


intoxication ;  but  a  man  accustomed  to 
London  stout  will  find  no  worse  affliction  in 
large  draughts  of  Bonner  beer  than  the  ex- 
cessive irrigation  of  his  stomach. 

It  is  in  the  course  of  conversation,  at  these 
hours  of  hospitality,  that  a  stranger  learns 
all  about  these  student  corps.  The  hosts  tell 
you  all  about  themselves,  about  their  fights, 
their  rules  for  stopping  and  renewing  combat, 
their  intense  horror  of  duelling  with  pistols. 
If  they  are  asked  whether  a  bout  at  fisticuffs 
would  not  be  a  better  remedy  than  clumsy 
swords  and  pads,  they  reply  that  there  is  not 
any  skill  in  boxing.  (This  fact  the  Guest- 
phalen once  began  to  doubt  when  a  good 
number  of  them  had  been  amicably  knocked 
down  by  an  English  guest.) 

Of  their  duels  with  swords,  familiar  descrip- 
tions have  been  given.  The  trial  by  liquids 
is  not  known  so  commonly.  The  combatants, 
in  an  encounter  of  this  kind,  are  generally 
men  who  have  grown  old  in  the  classes  and 
corps  of  the  Universities.  Numbers  of  men 
spend  their  lives  there,  never  rising  above  a 
certain  level  in  learning.  Their  use  in  life  is 
to  be  old  students,  and  to  be  referees  on 
points  of  student  law  for  fresh-men.  To  be 
sure,  there  are  the  ancient  and  authentic 
books  of  rules  to  lay  down  conditions  of 
combat,  and  such  weighty  matters.  These 
venerable  manuscripts,  with  their  well- 
greased  covers,  are  reverently  preserved  and 
venerated ;  but  law  has  always  ready  com- 
mentators, and  the  student  of  ten  or  fifteen 
years'  standing  is  a  Blackstone  to  all  neo- 
phytes, and  by  them  solemnly  respected. 

In  the  duel  by  liquid,  the  combatants  are 
placed  on  opposite  sides  of  a  table,  having  on 
their  right  hand  an  equal  quantity  of  bottles 
and  phials,  containing  juices  of  all  kinds, 
ranged  according  to  their  alcoholic  strength. 
The  adversaries  are  then,  on  a  given  signal, 
ordered  to  commence.  Each  man  is  required 
to  drain  to  the  dregs  the  bottle  he  takes  up, 
casting  at  his  antagonist  after  each  draught 
an  opprobrious  epithet.  The  first  man  drains 


clown  his  throat,  and  then  to  kick  him  lustily, 
out  of  his  great  friendship,  until  the  epithet 
Fool !  the  strongest  that  can  be  used  in  the 
German  language,  issues  from  him,  and  he  is 
left  to  repose  dead  drunk,  but  victorious, 
under  the  table. 

But  these  men  are  studious.  If  I  wander 
into  the  rooms  of  the  student  who  overnight 
was  the  heaviest  of  drinkers,  I  find  him  sitting 
surrounded  by  ponderous  volumes  of  the  most 


heavy 
pages. 


learning.     He    is    studying    abstruse 
His  favourite  pipe  is  hung  over  the 


chimney-piece,  and  the  portraits  of  his  friends, 
all  done  in  black,  are  formed  into  a  circle  round 
it.  Partial  to  billiards,  the  German  student 
would  think  it  too  much  trouble  to  play,  were 
not  the  balls  double  the  size  that  they  attain 
in .  other  countries,  and  the  pockets  as  large 
as  an  ordinary  hat.  Bowls,  too,  facetiously 
called  in  England  "  American,"  are  a  time- 
honoured  game  with  him.  They  enable  him 
to  take  his  exercise  in-doors  :  that,  also,  is  a 
thing  he  likes.  From  the  same  cause,  also, 
proceeds  his  pleasure  in  frequenting  the  fencing- 
room,  where  one  may  see  a  dozen  youngsters, 
each  with  a  curved  sword,  endeavouring 
to  strike  into  a  target.  This  target  is  cut 
starlike,  and  into  its  converging  rays  the 
blade  has  to  be  struck  in  quick  succession. 

The  German  student  will  lounge  out  to 
enjoy  the  fineness  of  an  evening,  listlessly 
smoking  his  dear  pipe  ;  or  he  will  sit  down  in 
suburban  gardens  to  drink  beer  ;  but  of  the 
hard-working  out-door  English  sports  he 
knows  not  one.  He  does  not  hunt  ;  he  does 
not  course.  He  has  no  horse-racing  ;  he  has 
no  cricket.  He  never  boxes,  and  it  would  be 
sacrilege  to  say  he  rows.  He  is  a  quiet  philo- 
sophic youth  ;  he  studies  immensely  through 
a  mist  of  indolence.  He  is  often  wonderfully 
learned,  and  he  drinks,  in  Bonn  at  any  rate, 
remarkably  mild  beer. 


THE  SISTER-SHIP. 


I  SHOULD  probably  have  arrived  a  little 
earlier,  but  for  the  trivial  accident  of  my 
having  been  taken  to  Fenchurch  Street  by 
the  railway,  instead  of  to  Blackwall ;  but  at 
last  I  found  myself  there — peering  out  from  the 
banks  of  the  river  on  the  damp  shipping — and 
speedily  fixing  my  eyes  on  the  vessel  I  wanted, 
namely,  The  West  India  Mail  Company's 
Orinoco — the  sister-ship  of  the  unfortunate 
Amazon — I  have  always  felt  a  great  interest  in 
your  large  mercantile  steamers  ;  perhaps  in- 
creased, since,  in  the  Bustard,  (a  jackass 
frigate  by  name,  and  by  nature),  we — that  is, 


a  bottle  of  Rhenish,  and  tells  his  adversary '  old  Bulbous,  our  commander,  one  of  whose 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  SISTER-SHIP. 


139 


midshipmen  I  was — ran  into  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  Company's  steamer  Goliath,  when 
she  was  lying  tranquilly  off  the  Ragged  Staff, 
at  Gibraltar.  I  feel  that  I  owe  a  kind  of 
amende  to  the  mercantile  navy,  in  consequence 
of  my  participation  in  that  lubberly  perform- 
ance. To  be  sure,  the  Admiralty — but  let 
us  sink  our  private  grievances,  and  hail  a 
boat.  "  A  massive  hull  that  of  the  Orinoco's 
— taffrail  thirty  feet  above  the  water,  I  dare 
say.  What  two  huge  black  columns  these 
funnels  are  !  Really,  she  is  as  big  as  a  line- 
of-battle  ship,"  I  remark  (with  a  slight  pro- 
fessional chagrin)  ;  and,  indeed,  she  is  a  vessel 
of  two  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-five 
tons ;  her  engines  are  eight  hundred  horse 
power  ;  her  crew  numbers  one  hundred  and 
ten  men ;  her  length  is  three  hundred  feet. 

Blackwall  is  not  a  lively  place  in  winter. 
The  river  looks  muddy  and  sullen,  and 
seems,  in  the  distance,  to  be  emptying  itself 
into  a  sea  of  mist.  The  rigging  of  ships 
looks  flabby  and  dirty  ;  the  smoke  clings 
to  everything.  The  hotels  are  deserted. 
If  you  enter  one  of  them,  you  find  the  stairs 
ghastly  and  uncarpeted,  and  a  general  air 
of  an  impending  funeral  on  the  first  floor. 
There  were  no  temptations  to  look  about, 
so  I  was  glad  enough  to  find  myself  on 
the  main-deck  of  the  Orinoco.  The  smart 
noises  of  hammers,  the  smell  of  fresh  paint, 
loose  ropes  lying  about,  and  bustling  me- 
chanics running  backwards  and  forwards, 
showed  the  activity  with  which  preparations 
were  going  forward.  I  instinctively  remark, 
in  the  first  place,  the  height  of  the  deck  ; 
that  is  always  the  first  thing  whic"h  attracts 
my  attention.  I  have  served  in  "  Symondites," 
where  the  loftiness  of  the  deck  is  always  a 
characteristic,  and  where  you  will  never 
break  your  head,  as  you  do  in  old-fashioned 
craft.  I  note  that  the  Orinoco's  main-deck 
is  as  high  as  the  Vanguard's,  in  which 
remark  the  chief  officer  very  cordially  ac- 
quiesces. And  now  I  go  aft,  to  glance  at  the 
cabins,  and  see  the  arrangements  in  progress 
for  the  comfort  of  those  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  are  now,  in  various  parts  of  the  country, 
bidding  good-bye  to  friends  and  relations,  and 
getting  ready  for  the  passage  out. 

The  Orinoco,  one  learns,  to  begin  with, 
has  sleeping  accommodations  for  about  a 
hundred  and  fifty-six  passengers.  You  pass 
a  row  of  them  neatly  painted  white,  with 
gilt  mouldings,  and  fitted  with  ornamental 
glass.  Each  cabin  is  arranged,  as  a  general 
principle,  to  accommodate  two  ;  one  of  the 
beds  being  triced  up  during  the  day,  and 
lowered  down  at  right  angles  across  the  end 
of  the  other  when  wanted.  A  particularly 
admirable  arrangement  prevents  gentlemen 
from  having  any  control  over  their  lights  at 
night ;  the  light  is  placed  in  a  little  triangular 
nook,  in  perfect  safety,  communicating  through 
ground  glass  all  the  benefit  that  the  in- 
habitant can  possibly  require,  and  being  ready 
for  snug  removal  from  the  deck  outside. 


Abaft  are  the  ladies'  private  cabins,  for  their 
own  drawing-room  purposes.  Descending  to 
the  saloon-deck,  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
dining  saloon,  where  a  hundred  and  twenty 
persons  "  dine"  (it  does  not  become  me,  as  a 
nautical  man,  to  grin  sardonically  here,  but  I 
do.)  There  are  sixteen  cabins,  and  here  are 
two  fire-places.  The  mahogany  tables  are 
screwed  into  the  deck.  Here  you  observe 
the  steward's  cabin,  whence  (in  the  hot 
latitudes)  so  much  consolation  may  be  ex- 
pected to  flow.  In  this  excellent  establish- 
ment, there  are  arrangements  for  the  stowage 
of  sixty  dozen  bottles  ;  and  there  is  a  patent 
filter  (a  work  of  great  genius)  ;  and  exquisite 
conveniences  protect  the  plates.  Seeing  all 
this,  and  being  informed  how  arrangements 
have  been  made  for  the  dinner  to  come  aft  in 
the  promptest,  hottest  style,  I  mentally  ap- 
plaud peace,  and  reflect  on  the  blessings 
of  commerce.  For,  indeed,  I  involuntarily 
remember  our  hideous  berth  in  the  Bustard, 
and  how  we  had  no  filter,  and,  not  unfre- 
quently,  scarcely  a  plate  either,  and  how 
the  tumblers  got  broken  in  our  execrable 
buffet. 

From  the  dining  saloon  let  us  descend  to 
the  orlop-deck,  where  cabins  of  interest  are 
to  be  seen.  In  these,  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  vessel,  on  either  side  of  the  narrow 
passage,  through  which  we  go,  preceded  by 
a  lantern,  lie  the  bullion-cabin,  and  the  mail- 
rooms.  The  mail-rooms  are  lined  with  zinc, 
to  protect  the  huge  bagfuls  of  letters,  which 
the  steamer  carries  for  all  parts  of  the  West. 
In  this  region,  too,  are  rooms  for  the  passen- 
gers' baggage  ;  and  down  below  is  the  maga- 
zine. For  the  steamer  carries  two  twenty- 
four  pounders,  and  small  arms  for  a  hundred 
and  twenty  men.  Meanwhile  we  see  near  us 
racks  laden  with  cheeses  ;  and  observe  like- 
wise two  wine-racks  to  hold  a  snug  fifty 
dozen  of  wine. 

Feeling  tolerably  secure  that  all  will  go 
well  in  the  eating  and  drinking  department, 
I  now  descend  to  visit  the  engine-room.  I 
find  myself  in  the  centre  of  the  massive 
iron-work  of  machinery  in  an  engine-room 
seventy  feet  long.  To  supply  the  mighty  life 
that  is  to  make  all  this  throb  gigantically — 
tolerable  provision  is  made — in  five  hundred 
and  fifty  tons  of  coal — aft  ;  in  five  hundred 
and  fifty  ditto,  in  the  bunkers.  There  are 
eight  boilers,  fore  and  aft  —  four  for  each 
funnel.  And  no  wonder.  The  paddle-wheels 
are  forty  feet  in  diameter,  with  floats  ("  feath- 
ering" floats),  eleven  feet  six  inches  long,  and 
four  feet  six  broad  ; — and  how  these  must  go ! 

The  Orinoco  is  fitted  with  "  direct  acting" 
engines  ;  and  a  peculiarity,  called  the  "  valve 
motion,"  enables  one  man  to  work  both  en- 
gines ;  the  valves  are  worked  by  wheels  from 
the  "  intermediate  shafts."  The  Amazon's 
engines  were  "  side-lever"  engines,  and  were 
situated  farther  forward. 

Note,  also,  a  little  two-horse  engine,  which 
they  call  the  "  donkey-engine" — useful  as  a 


140 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


fire-engine  —  for  washing  decks  and  other 
slushy  purposes. 

In  looking  at  the  galleys,  we  must  notice 
that  the  Amazon's  galley  was  on  the  side, 
while  that  of  the  present  vessel  is  amid- 
ships. And  the  arrangement  of  the  En- 
gineer's store-room  is  different  likewise  from 
that  of  the  lost  vessel.  The  Engineer's 
store-room  in  the  Amazon  was  over  the 
boilers  : — between  the  boilers  and  the  ship  ; — 
that  of  the  Orinoco  is  alongside  the  en- 
gine, between  that  and  the  ship's  side  ; 
built  sound,  and  air-tight.  This  difference 
of  position  will  doubtless  receive  the  atten- 
tion of  professional  men  in  the  inquiry  con- 
cerning the  fatal  fire. 

There  is  a  hollow  clanging  and  hammering 
resounding  for  ever  in  that  engine-room. 
Nevertheless,  it  must  not  altogether  quash 
our  little  experiment  with  those  gutta  percha 
tubes  —  long  flexible  tubes  dangling  down 
from  the  deck  above,  to  communicate  orders 
through.  The  courteous  CAPTAIN  ALLAN  calls 
out  "  Ease  her,"  through  one  of  them,  and  you 
hear  it  distinctly.  And  now  we  ascend  up 
the  neat  iron-ladder  to  the  air. 

Arrived  on  the  tipper  deck — "  the  spar 
deck"  they  call  it — I  had  occasion  to  admire 
afresh  the  bulk  and  symmetry  of  this  fine 
vessel,  from  another  point  of  view.  She  is 
perfectly  rigged,  and  could  spread  an  immense 
surface  of  canvas  to  a  fair  wind.  Wind 
being  foul — down,  of  course,  come  topsail- 
yards,  topmasts,  arid  lower  yards,  and  away 
she  thunders  in  the  teeth  of  it — giving  as  little 
surface  aloft  to  it  as  she  can.  Pacing  about, 
fore  and  aft,  you  see  pens  and  coops,  for  flesh 
and  fowl — admirable  conveniences  to  keep  pig 
comfortable  till  his  hour  is  come,  and  he  is 
wanted  in  the  saloon.  All  the  paddle-box 
region  is  made  useful  ;  among  other  purposes, 
for  baths.  Seeing  which,  I  again  reflected 
how  much  jollier  it  would  be  to  have  the 
refreshing  bath  there,  than  to  splash  about 
the  sea  in  a  lower  studding-sail,  with  Bulbous 
roaring  for  you  to  come  in,  and  a  shark  want- 
ing you  to  come  out  ! — But  to  resume. 

Of  course,  I  turned  a  very  attentive  eye  to 
the  boats.  The  Orinoco's  boats  are  nine 
in  number.  The  two  chief  "life  boats"  are 
before  the  paddle-boxes,  hanging  to  davits, 
but  resting  on  "  chocks  " — the  after-part,  at 
least — on  the  wooden  platform  there.  I  must 
try  to  make  the  reader  understand  the  ar- 
rangement ;  these  "  chocks "  are  important 
items  ;  for  most  people  are  agreed  that  the 
Amazon  was  unfortunate  in  having  her 
boats  resting  on  •'  cranks,"  i.  e.  a  kind  of  iron 
stanchions  projecting  from  the  sides.  The 
"chocks"  are  made  of  wood — the  lower  one 
is  square,  the  upper  shaped  like  a  wedge, 
and  ready  to  be  drawn  out.  Thus,  the  wedge 
drawn — arid  the  davits,  which  are  iron  (and 
made  to  swing)  being  swung — the  boat  glides 
bodily  out  from  her  seat,  and  hangs  clear  of 
the  ship,  ready  to  lower,  with  much  facility. 
Whereas,  according  to  the  "  crank  "  arrange-1 


incut,  it  would  be  necessary — and  in  the 
Amazon  was  necessary  —  to  hoist  at  the 
tackles,  before  the  lowering  could  take  place. 
I  saw  the  "chock"  system  tried,  and  though 
at  that  time  there  were  only  "lumpers "on 
board  to  go  through  the  manoeuvres,  its  per- 
formance seemed  to  be  very  satisfactory.  Let 
us  hope  that  these  boats  would  be  successfully 
worked.  But  you  may  be  sure,  reader,  that 
when  I  came  fresh  from  the  huge  engine- 
room,  and  the  decks,  and  the  cabins,  and  the 
galley — with  all  the  scenery  of  the  Amazon 
stamped  on  my  imagination — and  thought  of 
the  dark  stormy  night,  and  the  sudden  spring- 
ing fire,  and  the  wild  wind,  and  the  terror— I 
was  in  no  humour  to  be  critical.  I  was  in  no 
humour  to  say, — why  did  not  they  do  so  and 
so  ?  Thankfully  acknowledging  what  was 
good  in  the  arrangements  I  saw  around  me, 
I  had  far  too  clear  an  image  of  that  night  to 
be  inclined  to  talk  speculatively  of  what  ought 
to  have  been  done — according  to  my  notion — 
or  Captain  Bigwig's  notion,  or  Admiral  Blus- 
ter, K.C.B.'s  notion,  either. 

As  an  instance  of  the  scale  on  which  these 
Companies  arrange  the  personnel  of  their  ves- 
sels (of  which  we  shall  have  more  to  say  in  a 
future  article),  let  us  just  see  how  many  officers 
the  Orinoco  musters.  Besides  the  commander, 
there  are  five  "  officers  " — technically  so  called 
— answering  to  the  mates  in  a  ship  ;  four 
midshipmen  ;  three  warrant  officers  ;  a  purser, 
and  purser's  clerk  ;  a  surgeon  ;  six  engineers, 
and  a  boiler-master;  and  four  quarter-]; 
ters.  Of  course,  the  superior  rank  of  these 
have  their  cabins  ;  and  a  large  staff  of  ser- 
vants is  kept  up  for  the  saloon.  A  particu- 
larly snug  cabin,  I  was  glad  to  see,  is  devoted 
to  the  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  mails  ;  and 
if  I  know  anything  of  the  profession,  the 
';  Admiralty  Agent ' '  has  a  very  j oily  time  of  it. 

Since  my  above-recorded  visit,  the  Orinoco 
has  made  a  voyage  to  and  from  the  West 
Indies,  with  batches  of  passengers  and  bul- 
lion— besides  the  eleven  hundred  tons  of  coal, 
and  the  three  hundred  tons  of  cargo,  which 
she  stows  away  in  that  big  hull  of  hers.  She 
called  at  St.  Thomas's  with  the  mails  ;  thun- 
dered away  to  Carthagena  ;  then  to  Chagres, 
where  she  landed  her  Pacific  mails ;  and  thence 
on  to  Grey  Town  and  Nicaragua.  She  arrive!  I 
home  in  capital  condition ;  but  she  has  noigniic 
answered  the  expectations  of  her  owners.  Her 
engines  are  so  tremendously  powerful  that, 
enormous  as  her  stowage  is,  she  cannot  carry 
coals  enough  to  keep  them  at  the  top  of  their 
speed. 


Xota  Ready,  Price  3s,  in  cloth,  the 
VOLUME   FOR  1851   OF 

THE  HOUSEHOLD  NARRATIVE 

OF    CURRENT    EVENTS ; 

Which  being  declared,  by  the  judgment  of  the  Court  of 
K\chr<iuer,  ii  Ii'tfil  publication  not  (sorting  within  the  pro- 
visions  of  the  Stamp  Act,  will  be  regularly  continued  :>.IK! 
much  improved. 

A  Number  is  published  at  the  end  of  each  Month. 


»t  tlie  Otter,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BK.MIBUBT  & 


s,  Whitefriam,  ixmiioa. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"— 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY   JOURNAL: 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


N°-  no.] 


SATURDAY,  MAY  1,  1852. 


[PuiCE  Id. 


FOR  INDIA  DIEECT. 


HALF- PAST  six,  on  the  twentieth  of  the 
month.  Although,  according  to  the  calendar, 
Spring  has  commenced,  a  corroding  morning 
mist  rolls  in  acrimoniously  between  the 
crevices  of  the  crazy  cab,  and  bites  its  way 
straight  to  the  inner  man.  The  fog  is  dense 
and  brown  ;  and  the  horse  labours  through  it ; 
it  so  shrivels  up  the  driver,  that  he  is  careful 
to  occupy  the  smallest  surface  possible  on  his 
freezing  perch  :  at  the  South- Western  Eailway 
Station,  it  has  huddled  together,  for  the  sake 
of  warmth  and  gossip,  a  knot  of  porters ;  \vho 
rapidly  disentangle  themselves  to  compete 
for  any  active  employment  that  a  carpet-bag 
may  afford  :  it  drives  the  money-taker  to 
the  effeminacy  of  mittens,  and  he  slides  the 
cold  change,  singly,  across  the  counter  with 
the  tips  of  his  fingers  :  it  slanders  the 
countenances  of  the  three  ladies  on  the  plat- 
form, with  a  suspicion  of  jaundice  ;  and, 
when  the  eldest  (with  ringlets)  ventures 
into  the  waiting-room  and  stands  at  the 
fire,  her  crisp,  hoar-frosted  curls  thaw  and 
descend — dank,  straggling,  and  unlovely:  it 
freezes  the  breath  of  the  military  officer  in 
his  moustaches,  which  stick  out,  stark  as 
bristles  :  it  stiffens  the  Mackintosh  of  the 
fox-hunter  around  his  jack-boots  and  buck- 
skins :  it  enters  the  very  souls  of  all  the 
passengers  ;  for  they  are  cross  and  uncom- 
municative. The  dishevelled  lady  returns  to 
her  friends,  gazes  silently  on  a  heap  of  lug- 
gage, and  weeps.  The  blazing  red  labels, 
marked  CALCUTTA,  communicate  to  all  be- 
holders but  her,  a  factitious  glow. 

The  bell  has  rung  ;  the  passengers  are 
locked  up  in  their  locomotive  cells.  The  fluffy 
engine  blows  and  pants  impatiently  ;  the 
distressed  lady — giving  vent  to  her  emotion 
and  straightening  her  curls  at  the  fire — is 
dragged  across  the  platform  between  a  porter 
and  a  strong-minded  sister.  She  is  thrust 
bodily  into  the  carriage  beside  me.  "  Are 
you  right,  forward  ?  "  shouts  the  guard. 
"  Yes  !  "  shrieks  the  engine.  We  are  off. 

As  this  is  the  early  passenger  train  for  the 
conveyance  of  travellers  for  India  to  the  end 
of  their  first  stage,  Southampton,  I  am  curious 
to  know  which  of  my  companions  are  on  their 
way  to  the  far  East.  The  sportsman  is 
evidently  not  attired  for  the  jungle  ;  neither 


does  the  wife  of  the  moustaches  seem  very 
well  provided — with  a  knitting-box — for  a 
journey  of  ten  thousand  miles.  And,  surely, 
the  most  useful  adjuncts  for  the  overland  route 
are  not  a  bundle  of  swords,  umbrellas,  fishing- 
rods,  and  walking-sticks ;  all  the  apparent  tra- 
velling apparatus  belonging  to  the  moustached 
lieutenant.  To  judge,  also,  from  the  accompani- 
ments of  the  young  Scotch  gentleman,  he  cannot 
be  going  to  a  very  great  distance — perhaps  to 
Winchester  College.  He  passes,  after  much 
admiring  scrutiny,  the  contents  of  three  or 
four  paper  parcels  into  the  pockets  of  his 
paletdt  ;  his  only  travelling  bags.  They  con- 
sist of  a  cutty  pipe  in  a  morocco  case,  a 
canister  inscribed  "  Latakia,"  a  small  poetical 
work  entitled  the  "Stunning  Warbler,"  a 
comprehensive  clasp-knife  to  serve  instead 
of  a  chest  of  tools,  a  pocket  compass,  a 
weighty  watch-chain,  a  tiny  spirit-case,  a 
packet  of  steel-pens,  an  American  revolver, 
a  portable  inkstand,  and  a  bran-new  prayer- 
book.  The  individual  opposite  to  me,  whose 
travelling  appointments  are  complete  from 
top  to  toe — and  whose  valise,  protruding 
from  under  his  seat,  very  much  circumscribes 
the  lawful  space  for  my  legs — must  be 
our  only  India-bound  companion.  I  '11  ask 
him. 

His  reply  is,  "  No,  sir  ;  I'm  not  bound  for 
India,  sir.  I'm  going  to  Isleworth." 

Somebody  remarks  that  he  has  got  into  a 
train  which  does  not  pass  that  village. 

"Then,  pray,  ma'm,  where  are  you  going?" 
He  addresses  the  officer's  wife.  The  lady 
looks  up  from  her  crochet,  and  answers 
quietly  : 

"  To  Hong  Kong." 

The  querist  is  utterly  dumfoundered. 

At  Kingston,  the  hunter  (bound  for  a 
"meet"  at  Hampton  Wick)  and  my  vis-a-vis 
(overshot,  with  his  huge  valise,  far  beyond 
Isleworth)  leave  the  lieutenant  and  his  wife 
to  continue  their  journey  to  China,  the 
loosened  curls  to  be  blown  by  wind  and  steam 
to  Calcutta,  and  the  young  Scotchman  from 
Addiscombe  (who  is  not  going  to  Win- 
chester) to  be  shot  across  the  globe  to 
Koondooz,  at  the  northern  foot  of  the  Hindoo 
Koosh. 

And,  really,  now  that  I  step  on  board  the 
P.  &  O.  S.  N.  Co.'s  (technical  ellipsis  for 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  Steam.  Navigation 


VOL.  V. 


110 


142 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Company's)  good  ship  Bentinck,  from  South- 
ampton dock,  with  no  more  ado  than  I  stepped 
out  of  the  railway  carriage  ;  now  that  I  behold 
the  spacious  luxuriousness  of  the  saloon,  the 
domestic  anugness  of  the  sleeping  berths 
which  open  into  it,  the  lavish  appoint- 
ments of  the  steward's  pantry  ;  now  that  I 
observe  the  cow  which  is  to  deliver  the 
daily  milk,  and  the  hencoops  crowded  with 
victims  for  the  spit ;  now  that  I  inspect  the 
kitchen  apparatus  (in  what  I  ought  nautically 
to  call  a  "galley"),  and  observe  the  scientific 
galley-slaves,  in  snow-white  uniforms,  who 
manufacture  dinners  that  emperors  might 
long  for ;  now  that  I  see,  hoisted  in  and  stowed 
away,  innumerable  hampers  of  champagne 
and  soda-water  ;  now  that  I  am  introduced 
to  the  Captain,  whose  dress  and  demeanour, 
are  those  of  a  well-bred  country  gentleman 
doing  the  honours  of  a  distinguished  mansion  ; 
now  that  I  reflect  on  all  this,  I  quite  under- 
stand the  composed  calmness,  the  trusting 
unpreparedness,  of  the  outward-bound.  Why 
need  travelling  disturb  the  lightest  of  their 
every-day  habits  ?  Why  should  the  soldier's 
wife  suspend  the  knitting  begun  in  her 
boudoir,  merely  because  the  easy  chair,  in 
which  she  sits  is  moving  swiftly  upon 
smooth  iron  rails ;  or  because  the  sofa  on 
which  she  reclines  is  gliding  through  the 
British  Channel  or  the  Indian  Ocean  1  T)o 
1  exaggerate  when  I  say  that  the  Isleworth 
enterprise  required  more  personal  provision  ? 
Perhaps  the  visitor  knew  that  he  would  have 
to  sleep  in  a  damp  villa  ;  and  perhaps  he 
took  care  to  stuff  his  valise  with  sheets 
which  he  could  depend  upon.  Perhaps  the 
maiden  sister  whose  guest  he  is,  not  ap- 
proving of  spirits,  and  not  wearing  Wel- 
lington boots,  constrained  him  to  bring  his 
own  brandy  and  his  own  bootjack.  We,  on 
board  the  Bentinck,  need  to  bring  nothing  ; 
we  find  every  conceivable  requirement  that 
life  in  its  highest  state  of  pampered  affluence 
can  desire  in  every  grade  of  want  between 
the  extremes  of  a  spare  topmast  and  a 
cribbage-peg — from  a  best-bower  to  a  tooth- 
pick. 

The  passengers,  therefore,  who  have  already 
come  on  board,  are  curiously  unexcited.  They 
have  nothing  to  think  of  as  to  their  voyage. 
Sentiment,  indeed,  be  it  ever  so  overflowing, 
cannot  be  conveniently  exchanged  in  words ; 
for  the  noise  of  the  escaping  steam  would 
drown  the  loudest  efforts  of  the  human  voice. 
Nothing  of  the  pathos  of  a  parting  can  I  by 
the  minutest  scrutiny  discover.  The  Scotch 
cadet — his  panniers  still  laden — quaffs  the 
soda  and  brandy  with  one  of  Her  Majesty's 
midshipmen,  (a  messmate  of  mine,  who  has 
come  from  Portsmouth  to  see  his  friend  off), 
with  as  few  of  the  tokens  of  a  parting  glass 
as  if  he  were  leisurely  crossing  his  native 
waters  from  the  Grant-on  Hotel  to  Burnt- 
island.  He  discourses  on  the  prospects 
of  the  London  Opera  season  with  as  much 
earnestness  as  if  he  had  no  other  prospect ' 


than  that  of  reclining  in  a  Haymarket  stall 
a  fortnight  hence,  instead  of  being  jolted 
on  the  back  of  a  camel.  The  lady's  maid, 
who  is  fitting  up  the  litfle  house  in  which 
her  mistress  and  two  children  are  going  to 
live  for  the  next  fortnight,  does  her  office  as 
methodically  as  if  she  were  still  in  Bryanstone 
Square.  The  lieutenant's  clever  wife  seems 
to  have  emptied  her  own  and  her  husband's 
portmanteaux  (which  came  down  by  last 
night's  train),  and  filled  the  chests  of  drawers 
by  magic  ;  and  see  (the  door  of  her  berth  is 
open),  she  is  putting  studs  into  the  lieute- 
nant's shirt,  that  it  may  be  ready  for  him  to 
dress  for  dinner.  Nobody  seems  to  do  any- 
thing different  here  to  what  they  do  at  home. 
Nobody  is  agitated  ;  nobody  is  in  a  hurry ;  and, 
wonderful  to  add  !  nobody  has  left  anything 
behind.  The  calm  completeness  of  the  whole 
ship,  low  and  aloft,  has  even  dried  the  tears 
of  the  sorrower :  the  cold  east  wind,  too,  has 
tightened  her  curls. 

One  of  the  ship's  officers  delivers  a 
short  report  to  the  captain : — "  High  water, 
sir." 

That  is  the  signal  for  sailing.  As  I  am 
here  merely  out  of  curiosity ;  being  on  my 
way  to  my  own  ship  in  Portsmouth  dock 
(the  Copperas,  to  which  I  v/as  appointed,  the 
day  before  yesterday,  naval  instructor)  and 
have  no  wish  to  end  my  adventure  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Nile,  I  step  from  the  ship  upon 
the  wharf,  to  see  the  Bentinck  get  out  ot 
dock — an  operation  which,  after  scanning  the 
breadth  of  the  vessel,  and  measuring  with 
rny  eye  the  narrow  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
I  mentally  pronounce  to  be  within  a  hair's 
breadth  of  impossible ;  the  Southampton  dock 
being  shaped  like  a  Bohemian  decanter, 
with  its  neck  in  the  wrong  place.  When, 
in  walking  round  its  edge,  1  behold  the 
Bentinck,  with  engines  of  five  hundred  and 
twenty  horse  power,  and  capacity  for  nearly 
two  thousand  tons  ;  when  I  also  notice  the 
Euxine,  the  Madras,  and  three  of  the  Royal 
West  India  Mail  Packet  Company's  steamers, 
all  of  vast  dimensions,  lying  in  the  dock,  I 
regard  them  with  the  lively  curiosity  of 
little  boys  looking  at  model  mail-coaches 
inside  ounce  phials,  and  wonder  (like 
Peter  Pindar's  monarch  in  reference  to  the 
apples  in  the  dumplings)  how  they  got 
there ;  or,  once  there,  how  they  are  to  be 
got  out.  Having  reached  the  neck  of  the 
broad  bottle,  I  watch  the  Bentinck  sway 
round  ;  and,  obedient  to  her  sluggish  paddles, 
present  her  handsome  bows  straight  at  the 
narrow  outlet.  I  feel  that  the  problem  will  be 
immediately  solved.  There  is  great  activity 
in  the  bows  of  the  ship,  and  the  Captain 
stands  on  one  of  the  paddle-boxes,  his  surtout 
and  eyeglass  blown  wildly  about  by  the 
wind.  The  pilot  dances  frantically  from  the 
bridge  to  the  other  paddle-box  ;  now  directing 
the  helmsman,  now  shouting  hoarse  orders  to 
the  engineer.  Beside  me  and  other  idlers,  the 
P.  and  O.  S.  N.  C.'s  admiral,  or  superintendent 


Charles  Dickena.] 


FOR  INDIA  DIRECT. 


1-13 


of  vessels,  directs  the  shore  operations.  The 
monstrous  marine  locomotive  must  be  warped 
out  by  means  of  a  cable  or  "  check,"  lying 
coiled  up  at  my  feet ;  one  end  of  which  is 
fastened  to  a  Titanic  post.  The  Bentinck's  cut- 
water is  close  upon  us.  The  moment  is  exciting. 
A  row-boat,  which  is  bringing  a  rope  from 
the  ship  to  the  shore,  ruffles  the  admiral- 
superintendent's  serenity.  He  roars,  speaking- 
trumpet-wise,  through  his  hands,  "  What  are 
you  doing  with  that  hawser  1  Send  a  line 
ashore  fo'r  the  check."  The  vessel  drifts 
nearer  to  the  harbour  wall :  excitement  in- 
creases. "  Bear  a  hand  with  the  line  !  "  The 
smaller  rope  is  pulled  ashore  in  another  boat ; 
is  attached  to  the  check,  and  is  returned  to 
the  ship.  "  Send  up  all  hands  upon  deck  ; 
cook,  firemen — everybody — to  run  out  the 
line  !  "  Twenty  men  seize  the  rope  all  in  a 
row,  and  run  a  mad  race  aft  with  it,  until 
the  check  is  rove  in  and  secured  to  the 
vessel.  "  Go  on  easy ! "  The  paddles  re- 
volve ;  the  ship  almost  touches  the  coping- 
stones  upon  which  I  stand.  I  hold  my 
breath.  "  Hoist  the  jib.  Keep  her  head 
well  off.  Bear  a  hand  with  the  fenders !  " 
The  ship's  bows  scrape  the  wall  as  they  glide 
past  it.  "  Port  your  helm — Down  with  the 
jib  !  "  The  check,  tight  as  a  fiddle-string,  now 
holds  the  ship  to  the  post,  and  sways  her 
head  round  into  deep  waters.  "  Cast  off  the 
check !  " 

I  breathe  again.  The  mail-coach  has  been 
driven  through  the  neck  of  the  phial :  the 
Bentinck  has  found  her  way  out  of  the  wry- 
necked  water-bottle,  and  is  steaming  off 
gallantly  through  the  broad  Southampton 
Water. 

As  she  recedes  with  the  steady  power 
which,  in  a  fortnight,  will  guide  her  into  the 
harbour  of  Alexandria,  I  reflect  on  her 
score  of  sisters — members  of  the  Peninsular 
and  Oriental  Steam  Navigation  Company 
family — immediately  smile  at  Invasion,  and 
defy  the  French.  I  communicate  my  senti- 
ments to  the  superintendent.  His  responses 
strengthen  my  defiant  valour.  He  tells  me, 
that  the  steam  navy  belonging  to  his  com- 
pany alone,  consists  of  twenty-four  vessels  in 
active  service,  and  six  more  in  course  of  con- 
struction (including  the  Himalaya,  which  will 
be  the  largest  steam-boat  in  the  world)  : — 
total,  thirty  ships.  To  which  I  add,  flatter- 
ingly, that  his  single  fleet  nearly  equals  the 
Imperial  steam  navy  of  Eussia  ;  it  is  double 
that  of  Holland  ;  the  State  steam  squadron 
of  Brother  Jonathan  numbers  only  six  more 
vessels  ;  and  the  entire  Danish  flotilla,  in- 
cluding sailing  ships,  musters  one  less,  or  only 
twenty-nine.  The  number  of  persons  employed, 
continues  the  P.  and  O.  S.  N.  C.'s  Admiral, 
afloat  and  ashore,  in  the  year  1851,  was  about 
two  thousand  three  hundred  persons.  That 
(I  add,  telling  him  that  I  am  a  schoolmaster 
and  am  "  up  "  in  these  matters)  nearly  equals 
the  entire  military  force  of  Saxe  Altenbourg. 
The  salaries  paid  to  them  amounted  to  ninety- 


seven  thousand  pounds  (says  he).  One-third 
more  (says  I)  than  the  cost  of  the  Belgian 
navy  for  the  same  year  ;  and  four  times 
greater  than  the  entire  revenues  of  the 
principality  of  Saxe  Coburg.  Four  hun- 
dred colliers  (he  continues)  are  employed  in 
transporting  English  coal  to  the  different 
coaling  stations  between  Southampton  and 
Hong  Kong  ;  some  of  them  having  to 
double  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  The 
average  yearly  consumption  of  coal  is  one 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  tons  ;  and  the 
average  cost  per  ton  being  forty-two  shillings, 
two  hundred  and  seventy -three  thousand 
pounds  per  annum  is  spent  to  keep  the 
steam  up.  Your  disbursements  (I  remark), 
for  fuel  and  wages,  fall  not  far  short  of  the 
payments  for  the  Civil  List  of  this  country 
for  the  year  1851.  Yet  (I  begin  to  con- 
sider) there  are  other  steam-packet  com- 
panies equally  flourishing,  and  the  combined 
fleets  of  these  powerful  associations  could 
show  to  our  enemies,  in  case  of  utmost  need 
— how  many  steam-vessels  at  one  view  ave- 
raging upwards  of  one  thousand  tons  bur- 
then? "Let  us  see,"  replies  the  Admiral, 
"  about  seventy ;  besides  smaller  steamers 
and  swarms  of  colliers."  "With  comple- 
ments of  how  many  thoroughly  trained  British 
tars?"  I  ask.  "Quite"  (he  answers)  "eight 
thousand,  not  to  mention  the  crews  of  the 
coal-vessels  ;  and  guns  innumerable."  A  fig 
for  the  French  ! 

"  Eule,  Britannia!    Britanniu  rules  the  waves, 
For  Brit" 

"  Pray,  don't  sing  here  J  "  remonstrates  my 
excellent  informant. 

"  Here  ?     Where  ?  " 

I  look  round  in  amazement.  Have  I  been 
bewitched  ?  or  has  the  good,  hearty,  earnest 
Admiral  Superintendent  so  thoroughly  in- 
terested me,  that  he  has  brought  me  "  here  " 
without  my  knowing  it  ?  I  see  dangling 
above  me,  stacked  around  me,  and  strewed 
below  me,  so  thickly  that  I  am  obliged 
to  mind  where  I  tread,  every  sort  of 
article  that  the  daintiest  housewife  could 
desire.  I  hear  a  steam-engine  driving  circular 
saws,  grindstones,  and  paint-mills.  I  smell 
(and  that  loved  fragrance  restores  my 
scattered  senses)  tar.  I  am,  it  seems,  in 
the  P.  and  O.  S.  N.  C.'s  storehouse  —  a 
spacious  piece  of  architecture  just  outside 
the  dock-gate.  I  am  brought  here  to  be 
plunged  from  my  informant's  comprehen- 
sive statements,  into  the  actual  working 
of  P.  and  O.  S.  N.  details.  He  leads 
me  through  forests  of  brushes  of  all  sorts, 
sizes,  and  descriptions  ;  lakes  of  paint  ; 
more  oil-cans  than  would  have  concealed  the 
Forty  Thieves ;  museums  of  pickles  and  jellies ; 
stacks  of  spare  spars  ;  mountains  of  sail- 
cloth ;  round  towers  of  coiled  rope  ;  piles 
of  carpets,  rugs,  blankets,  counterpanes  ; 
show-rooms  of  glass  and  crockery  ;  ware- 
houses crammed  with  cabin  stoves,  cooking 


144 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


utensils,*  bundles  of  fire-irons,  regiments  of 
coal-scuttles  ;  floors  of  elegant  chairs,  tables, 
and  drawers ;  cabinet-work  and  upholstery 
enough  to  suggest  the  notion  that  the  P.  and 
O.  S.  N.  C.'s  navy  are  always  about  to  marry  ; 
artisans  planing,  glueing,  and  inlaying  ;  six 
women,  in  deep  mourning,  sewing  bed  and 
table  linen  ("  all  widows  of  men  who  have 
died  in  the  service,"  whispers  my  cicerone), 
or  folding  it  into  hot-air  chambers  ;  "  for  not 
a  stitch  goes  aboard,  sir  " — I  quote  the  head 
laundress — "  without  being  aired,  bone  dry." 
Once  more  in  the  dock,  two  objects  present 
themselves  at  the  same  moment,  which 
would  occasion  uneasiness  to  a  less  supersti- 
tious person  than  a  sailor.  In  the  offing  I 
perceive  the  smoke  of  the  Bentinck  paying 
itself  out  in  coils  of  black  gossamer :  passing 
across  the  wharf,  in  his  habit  as  he  lived 
when  I  last  saw  him  on  the  paddle-box, 
walks  the  Captain  !  Has  he  flown  from  his 
own  quarter-deck,  now  at  least  a  couple  of 
miles  distant  ?  or  has  he  a  twin  brother,  who 
wears  twin  kid-gloves,  a  twin  brown  surtout, 
and  a  twin  eyeglass  1  I  have  not  time  to 
ask.  I  am  suddenly  entangled  in  a  maze  of 
overland  tin  cases,  overland  trunks,  and  over- 
land hat-boxes.  I  am  hustled  about  by 
several  overland  officers,  and  bilious  blacks 
in  white  turbans.  A  distracted  overland 
female,  dragging  along  two  overland  chil- 
dren, nearly  sweeps  me  into  the  funnel  of  a 
small  steamer,  moored  upon  the  sinking  tide, 

below  the  level  of  the  wharf.      Everything: 

*  _ .    ." 


is    being    poured    into    that    little 
in  a  thick  strong  stream.     I   try 


portable 

steamer, 

to  get   out  of  the  way,  and  am  instantly 

knocked     on     one    side    by    one    of    three 

enormous  horse-boxes,  which  is  being  drawn 

(overland)  from   the   railway  station  to   the 

bewilderingly  busy  little  steamer. 

That  is  the  Overland  Mail. 

I  had  long  wished  to  see  the  Overland 
Mail.  I  never  had  a  notion  what  the  Over- 
land  Mail  could  be  like  ; — whether  it  was 
a  coach,  painted  red,  with  a  blazing  royal 
arms,  attended  by  a  gold-laced  guard ;  or 
a  portable  post-office,  to  be  conveyed  by 
rail  and  ship  from  the  Waterloo  station  to 
India  and  China.  But  now,  the  entire 
broadside  of  the  horse-box  being  let  down, 
the  Overland  Mail  bursts  upon  me  like  a 
trick  in  a  pantomime.  The  huge  van  is 
suddenly  transformed  into  a  prodigious  exag- 

*  Some  notion  of  the  play  into  which  cooking  apparatus 
is  brought  in  this  Company's  steamers,  may  be  formed 
by  the  following  selection,  from  a  return  of  the  "  Average, 
Consumption  of  Purser's  Stores  on  a  voyage  from  Southamp- 
ton to  Calcutta,  vid  Egypt:" — Fresh  beef,  mutton,  nnd 
pork,  5,957  pounds  weight,  besides  2,192  pounds  of  salt 
meat  (exclusive  of  1,159  pounds  of  ham  and  bacon) ;  668 
pounds  of  preserved  meats  ;  124  live  sheep  ;  16  live  pigs  ; 
and  2,075  head  of  poultry ;  3,480  pounds  of  biscuits;  53  barrels 
of  flour;  239  pounds  of  tea ;  366  pounds  of  coffee ;  1,621  pounds 
of  sugar;  22  pounds  of  pt>pper.  To  wash  all  this  down 
pleasantly,  3,472  bottles  of  wine,  and  1,161  bottles  of  spirits, 
are  provided.  Lovers  of  arithmetic  may  multiply  eacli  of 
these  sums  by  thirty  (the  number  of  voyages  performed 
per  annum),  and  they  will  get  at  the  gross  quantity  of 
foo('  cooked  every  ye*r  by  the  Company,  for  its  passengers 
and  crews. 


It   is  received  with  all 
Two  gentlemen — attired 


geration  of  the  sign  of  the  Chequers  on  Ports- 
mouth Hard,  or  the  side  wall  of  Harlequin's 
private  residence  ;  for  it  is  a  series  of  squares 
in  blazing  colours,  filling  up  the  hors<J-box 
from  floor  to  roof, 
befitting  ceremony. 

in  cocked  hats  (made,  I  think,  of  black  court- 
plaster  edged  with  faded  lace)  and  surtout 
coats,  hitched  up  at  the  hips,  like  window 
curtains,  by  the  pommels  of  their  swords — 
attended  by  the  Southampton  post-muster, 
and  a  second  ubiquitous  officer  of  the  Ben- 
tinck, solemnly  draw  forth  pencils  and  printed 
forms,  and  order  the  gaudy  squares  to 
be  separated.  I  find  them  to  consist  of 
wooden  boxes,  about  two  feet  long  by  one 
foot  deep,  each  distinguished  by  a  separate 
colour ; — that  its  destination  may  at  once  be 
seen.  Down  a  slfde  into  the  little  steamer 


tumbles  a  red  box.  A  porter  shouts  "  Hong 
Kong  ! "  Then  comes  a  blue  box — "  Calcutta ! " 
Buff—  "Madras!"  No  paint— "Aden !"  White 
— "  Bombay  ! "  Black  (like  coffins  for  dead 
letters) — "  Ceylon  ! "  At  each  of  the  one  hun- 
dred and  ninety  announcements  thus  made, 
the  cocked  hats  nod  gracefully  ;  not  so  much 
out  of  respect  to  Her  Majesty's  mail-boxes, 
as  to  enable  the  gentlemen  under  them  to 
record  each  colour  in  its  proper  column  on 
the  printed  form.  The  mails  are,  in  fact, 
given  into  their  charge.  They  are  called 
"Admiralty  Agents." 

Presently — it  is  "post  meridian  half-past 
one  " — amidst  the  tearing,  bustle,  and  frantic 
confusion,  which  is  now  come  to  a  climax,  I 
am  swept  bodily  on  board  the  little  steamer. 
She  is  to  take  me  out,  it  seems,  to  witness — 
positively  and  for  the  last  time — the  final 
departure  of  the  Bentinck,  which  has  been 
anchored  in  the  Southampton  Water  to  await 
the  mails  and  late  passengers ;  amongst  whose 
baggage  I  had  got  bewilderingly  entangled. 
Their  last  links  with  England  are  now  irre- 
vocably snapped.  The  Captain  cannot  again, 
under  some  pretence  about "  his  papers,"  dash 
back  from  his  Beutinck  to  his  fireside  for  one 
more  last  word.  Had  the  Admiralty  Agent 
left  his  cocked  hat  on  shore,  no  power  on  earth 
could  have  restored  it  to  him  this  voyage. 
As  we  dart  through  the  harbour's  narrow 
mouth,  blessings  are  wafted  to  us,  from  lines 
of  parted  friends,  on  the  outermost  edges 
of  the  sea-wall.  There  is  hardly  time  for  our 
"  Indians  "  to  return  these  valedictions.  Our 
little  steamer  shoots  along  like  an  arrow  ;  for 
the  Bentiuck  must  start  at  two.  Every  point 
of  the  ten  thousand  four  hundred  miles  which 
lie  between  Southampton  and  Hong  Kong,  is 
as  rigidly  timed  as  if  it  were  a  station  upon  a 
short  line  of  railway.  The  accuracy  and 
punctuality  with  which  each  single  mile  is 
performed  out  or  home,  operates  upon  the 
punctual  delivery  of  the  mails  in  China  or  in 
London.  The  Bentinck  must,  therefore,  start 
at  two.  How  else  will  she  be  able  to  reach 
Gibraltar  by  the  twenty-fifth  (it  is  now  the 
i  twentieth),  Malta  on  the  thirtieth,  and  Alex- 


Churles  Dickens.] 


THE  MAN  FROM  THE  WEST. 


145 


andria  on  the  fourth  of  the  following  month  ? 
She  must  not  detain  the  canal  boats,  which 
are  to  take  her  mails  and  passengers  down  to 
Cairo  ;  or  the  camels  and  four-horse-carriages 
which  are  to  effect  their  exodus  out  of  Egypt 
— an  hour.  Another  panting  steamer  will  be 
waiting  at  the  head  of  the  Bed  Sea  at  Suez, 
and  must  steam  off,  bag  and  baggage,  on  the 
seventh,  to  the  various  ports  between  Egypt 
and  China.* 

.Bump  !  We  are  alongside  the  Bentinck. 
Her  port  is  crowded.  Every  hand  is  stretched 
forth  to  catch  the  first  clutchable  object  out 
of  the  tiny  tender,  and  to  drag  it  into  the 
ship.  Things  are  hauled  over  one  another, 
like  lumps  shot  up  out  of  a  volcano.  A  black 
trunk,  a  black  nurse,  a  couple  of  mail  boxes, 
a  little  boy,  a  birdcage,  two  or  three  more 
mail  boxes,  a  military  officer,  a  supply  of  fish, 
mail  boxes  again,  a  dressing-case,  a  young 
lady,  several  baskets  of  ice,  a  bundle  of  hat- 
boxes,  a  petty  officer — the  deck  of  the  small 
vessel  is  cleared  in  no  time,  and  every  object, 
animate  and  inanimate,  is  mixed  up  and 
jumbled  together  upon  the  gangway .f  The 
bustle  is  intense.  Everything,  including  boxes 
of  specie,  seems  endowed  with  locomotive 
power ;  and  I  am  the  more  struck  with  the 
calm  unconcern  of  my  ringletted  friend.  I 
espy  her  at  her  cabin  window,  behind  a  jar 
of  beautiful  flowers,  reading,  with  the  settled, 
unruffled  a,ir  of  having  lived  there  for  the  last 
twelvemonth.  I  am  torn  from  contemplating 
her  longer,  by  being  made  into  a  sandwich 
(between  a  huge  bread-basket  and  a  bag  of 
biscuits),  and  gulped  into  the  Beutiuck,  to  be 
digested  at  leisure. 

Suddenly,  every  hand  in  the  ship  is  struck 
motionless  ;  but  every  pair  of  legs  runs  as 
fast  as  it  can  to  the  quarter-deck.  Two  small 
elegant  steamers  have  been  reported  within 
hail ;  and,  above  the  second,  the  royal  standard 
is  displayed.  The  Queen  is  coming  !  She  is 
on  her  way  from  Osborne. 

The  bright  little  Fairy  trips  along  over  the 
waves  in  the  dazzling  clear  sunshine,  and 
alters  her  course  to  pass  close  under  us.  The 
starboard  bulwark  of  the  Bentinck  is  beaded 
with  passengers'  heads.  "  Away  aloft !  "  is 
the  word.  The  ship's  company  dance  into 
the  shrouds,  and  stick  to  them  ; — a  swarm 
of  blue-bottles.  "  Dip  the  colours  !  "  The 
bunting  makes  its  bow  ;  for  the  Fairy  is  close 
under  us — a  charming  little  moving  picture : — 
Two  men,  with  a  Lieutenant  in  the  fullest 

*  The  number  of  miles  travelled  by  the  Company's 
steamers  during  the  year  1851,  was  589,842,  equal  to  more 
than  twenty-three  times  the  circumference  of  the  globe,  and 
equal  also  to  1,616  miles  per  day.  During  every  minute  of 
that  year,  an  average  of  one  mile  and  one-eighth  of  a  mile 
was  traversed  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  Steam  Naviga- 
tion Company's  steam  power. 

+  The  number  of  packages— independent  of  passengers' 
personal  luggage,  and  the  Government  mails— shipped  to 
the  various  ports  between  Southampton  and  Hong-Kong, 
by  this  Company,  in  1850,  was  twenty-five  thousand  six 
hundred.  The  number  of  passengers,  in  the  same  year,  was 
nearly  twenty  thousand — thirteen  thousand  of  whom  were 
deck  passengers,  chiefly  going  to  and  fro  on  the  Black  Sea, 
or  between  the  northern  and  southern  ports  of  Spain — mostly 
labourers  in  harvest  time. 


fig,  at  the  wheel.  A  Lady  in  black  seated  at  the 
cabin-door ;  two  children  beside  her,  looking 
at  us  with  eager  curiosity ;  the  Captain,  cocked 
hat  in  hand,  explaining  all  about  us.  Three 
dips  of  a  parasol  is  the  greeting  from  the  Fairy, 
and  three  clear,  distinct,  hearty  English  cheers 
are  returned  from  the  Bentinck. 

In  another  minute,  hardly  without  knowing 
it,  I  find  myself  again  on  the  deck  of  the  little 
tender.  Two  ladies  are  weeping  beside  me. 
An  old  man  with  white  hair  is  waving  one 
hand  to  a  handsome  cadet,  and  covering  his 
eyes  with  the  other.  We  move  away.  1  am 
roused  by  more  cheering,  as  the  paddles  of 
the  Bentinck  revolve.  Good  speed  to  her,  and 
three  times  three  ! 


THE  MAN  FKOM  THE  WEST. 


IT  is  part  of  the  popular  belief  in  Egypt, 
that  wickedness  and  wisdom  are  indigenous 
in  the  West — the  country  of  the  setting  sun. 
But  by  the  West,  or  Maghreb,  they  do  not 
understand  any  of  the  European  states,  con- 
fining the  signification  of  the  word  to  the  long 
series  of  provinces  and  kingdoms  extend- 
ing from  the  limits  of  their  own  valley  along 
the  northern  coast  of  Africa,  even  to  the  Sea 
of  Darkness,  or  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  When- 
ever, in  their  fictitious  narratives,  they  wish 
to  introduce  a  Magician — a  character  answer- 
ing to  the  villain  of  our  dramas  and  romances 
— they  almost  invariably  derive  him  from 
Tripoli,  Fez  or  Morocco,  and  having  stated 
his  origin,  think  themselves  at  liberty  to 
invest  Turn  with  any  amount  of  power  and 
atrocity  required  for  the  development  of  their 
plot. 

The  word  Maghrebi,  or  Man  from  the 
West,  after  some  time  of  residence  in  the  East, 
became  identified,  even  in  my  foreign  mind, 
with  the  idea  of  peculiar  sagacity  and  unscru- 
pulousness.  Whenever  I  saw  a  sallow,  heavy- 
featured  Western,  I  felt  a  mingled  sensation 
of  awe  and  curiosity;  and  I  looked  out 
eagerly  for  an  opportunity  of  making  the  ac- 
quaintance of  one  of  those  terrible  individuals. 
Fortune  favoured  me,  for  one  day  that  I  was 
sitting  enjoying  a  shisheh  in  the  shop  of 
Hanna,  the  Levantine  mercer,  and  chatting 
with  some  closely-veiled  women,  who  were 
idly  bargaining  for  muslins  and  silks,  a  sono- 
rous salaam  attracted  my  attention,  and  the 
tall  form  of  an  uumistakeable  Maghrebi 
darkened  the  door, 

Hauna  knew  his  customer  at  once,  and 
greeted  him  with  profuse  salutations.  From 
what  he  said,  indeed,  it  was  evident  that  he 
had  expected  an  earlier  visit ;  and  he  pro- 
fessed, with  some  affectation,  to  have  been 
quite  uneasy  about  the  safety  of  his  old 
friend.  This  meant  that  the  business  relations 
between  them  had  always  been  satisfactory  ; 
in  other  words,  that  the  said  Hanna  had  been 
accustomed  to  make  at  least  five  per  cent, 
over  and  above  a  fair  profit  in  the  sales  he 
effected  to  the  (supposed)  terrible  MaghrebL, 


146 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducte.1  by 


I  looked  at  the  man  again,  and  in  features 
where  I  had  been  fully  disposed  to  find  the 
traces  of  cunning  and  duplicity,  could  dis- 
cover nothing,  to  my  disappointment,  but 
manly  frankness,  allied  with  almost  child- 
like simplicity. 

He  was  a  fine,  handsome  fellow,  some  thirty 
years  of  age,  with  large  almond-shaped  eyes, 
straight  nose,  well-curved  lips,  and  magni- 
ficent black  beard.  A  carefully  twisted  white 
turban — the  noblest  head-dress  ever  invented 
• — a  grey  embroidered  jacket,  a  light-fitting 
waistcoat  buttoned  up  to  the  throat,  a  red 
shawl  round  the  loins,  loose  white  trousers, 
and  red  slippers,  formed  his  costume.  After 
exchanging  a  few  general  compliments,  he 
sat  down  on  a  heap  of  cloth,  to  wait  till  the 
master  of  the  shop  was  disengaged,  and 
accepted  a  whiff  or  two  from  my  shisheh.  It 
was  evident  at  once,  from  his  whole  manner, 
that  he  was  a  grave,  serious,  solid  old  man  ; 
and  it  was  as  much,  perhaps,  on  this  account, 
as  because  of  his  handsome  person,  that  one 
of  the  ladies  I  have  mentioned  began  to  jest 
with  and  tease  him.  At  the  first  word  he 
actually  blushed,  and  became  uneasy,  replied 
at  first  timidly,  and  then  sulkily  ;  and  when 
the  fair  jester  went  so  far  as  to  lay  her  small 
henna-dyed  fingers  upon  the  glossy  curls  of 
his  beard,  he  could  hold  out  no  longer,  but 
abruptly  rose  and  went  away.  Tagger  Hanna 
was  very  indignant  at  this  ;  and  as  the  bar- 
gain was  concluded,  the  merchandise  cut  and 
packed  up,  and  the  money  in  his  hand — nothing 
remaining  to  go  through  but  an  altercation 
a.bout  five  or  ten  paras  of  change — he  took  the 
liberty,  in  excellent  Arabic,  which  we  cannot 
afford"  to  translate  literally,  of  telling  the 
offended  lady  that  she  was  no  better  than  she 
should  be,  to  which,  in  delightful  vernacular, 
she  responded,  that  he  was  no  better  than  he 
should  be  ;  and  the  sisters,  cousins,  aunts,  and 
friends,  who  had  coalesced  to  idle  away  a  day 
in  spending  three  shillings,  taking  up  the  cry 
with  a  vengeance,  one  old  dame  seeming 
disposed  to  become  more  practical  than  plea- 
sant, my  worthy  friend  was  compelled  to  have 
recourse  to  his  iron  measure,  with  which  he 
threatened  to  dig  out  the  hearts  of  all  who 
did  not  immediately  abscond. 

The  shop  being  cleared  by  these  means, 
and  the  mutterings  of  the  female  tempest 
having  died  away  in  the  distance,  I  made  some 
inquiries  about  the  Maghrebi.  He  was  a 
merchant  at  Derna,  who  every  year  in  the 
spring  came  to  Alexandria,  either  by  laud 
or  water,  to  make  purchases.  It  was  now 
autumn,  so  that  his  arrival  had  been  delayed 
for  some  reason,  at  least  four  months.  Tagger 
Hanna  professed  to  be  certain  that  his 
customer  was  lurking  about  the  neighbour- 
hood waiting  for  the  departure  of  the  women  ; 
but  I  could  divine  from  his  restlessness  that 
he  was  not  without  anxiety  on  the  subject. 
At  length,  however,  his  prediction  turned  out 
to  be  correct ;  for  Hagg  Mustafa  appeared  on 
the  other  side  of  the  street,  casting  sidelong 


glances  in  our  direction.  When  he  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  coast  was  indeed  clear,  he 
crossed  over  and  came  in  to  us,  and  having 
murmured  two  or  three  sage  aphorisms  on 
the  impudence  of  women,  proceeded  to 
business. 

He  bought  a  good  quantity  of  Syrian  and 
Egyptian  silk  manufactures,  and  a  parcel  of 
English  prints,  which  one  would  have  thought 
he  could  have  procured  cheaper  direct  from 
Malta.  Hanna,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  a  little 
unreasonable  in  his  charges  ;  but  the  worthy 
Maghrebi  did  not  bargain,  simply  refusing  to 
take  what  appeared  to  him  too  dear.  Accus- 
tomed as  I  was  to  witness  the  furious  dis- 
cussions that  usually  take  place  in  an  Arab 
shop,  the  lying  on  both  sides,  the  taking  of 
sacred  names  in  vain,  the  indignant  protesta- 
tions of  the  dealer  that  he  is  selling  under 
cost  price  and  does  not  deserve  to  be  beaten 
down,  the  solemn  oaths  of  the  purchaser  that, 
he  has  been  offered  a  similar  article  for  half 
the  money  in  the  next  street,  the  well-acted 
quarrel,  and  the  final  adjustment,  by  which 
both  parties  tacitly  acknowledge  themselves 
to  be  rogues — in  contrast,  I  say,  with  these 
daily  occurring  scenes,  the  way  in  which  the 
Maghrebi  went  to  work  quite  charmed  me, 
and  I  waited  with  interest  the  conversation 
over  the  parting  pipe,  in  hopes  that  he  would 
reveal  some  particulars  of  his  history. 

My  anticipations  were  more  than  fulfilled  ; 
so  that  with  the  addition  of  a  few  facts  sub- 
sequently ascertained,  I  was  enabled  to 
construct  a  little  biography  of  this  Man  from 
the  West.  The  principal  features  are  as 
follows  : — Hagg  Mustafa  belonged  to  a  family 
of  merchants  engaged,  from  time  immemorial, 
in  supplying  the  eastern  provinces  of  Tripoli 
with  the  costly  manufactures  required  for  the 
gaudy  costume  both  of  males  and  females. 
From  a  very  early  age  he  had  accompanied 
his  father  in  all  his  expeditions,  and  having 
pushed  on  one  occasion  as  far  as  Mecca,  had 
acquired  the  honourable  title  of  Pilgrim.  He 
had  now  for  many  years  carried  on  business 
on  his  own  account,  and  fortune  having 
smiled  upon  his  industry,  had  amassed  a  con- 
siderable amount  of  wealth.  His  life  was  one 
of  peril  and  adventure  ;  for  the  Eastern 
merchant  of  his  class  is  not  a  sedentary  per- 
sonage. He  has  no  counting-house,  no  clerks, 
no  distant  correspondents.  He  does  all  his 
business  himself,  buying  in  one  place,  accom- 
panying his  merchandise  from  country  to 
country,  from  market  to  market,  and  selling 
as  much  as  possible  without  the  assistance  of 
brokers  or  agents  of  any  kind.  He  is,  in  fact, 
a  pedlar  on  a  large  scale. 

About  two  years  before  the  period  cf  which 
I  speak,  Mustafa,  on  his  return  from  his 
annual  voyage  to  Egypt,  heard  a  crier  pro- 
claiming in  the  market-place  of  Derna  a 
beautiful  slave  for  sale.  Her  qualities  were 
past  all  enumeration  ;  and  her  name  was 
Sagara-en-Noor,  or  The  Tree  of  Light.  Now, 
Mustafa  had,  until  then,  lived  a  single  life, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  MAN  FBOM  THE  WEST. 


147 


scorning  or  fearing  women  ;  but  he  desired 
to  see  this  slave  so  lauded,  and  having  seen 
her  and  admired  her,  paid  the  price  demanded 
for  her  and  she  became  the  partner  of  his 
bosom. 

Like  a  true  Oriental,  Mustafa  refrained 
from  entering  into  many  particulars  of  his 
domestic  happiness  ;  but  he  said  enough  in 
general  terms  to  make  me  feel  a  great  interest 
in  Sagara.  She  followed  him  in  ;dl  his  ex- 
peditions into  the  interior  ;  and  their  mutual 
attachment  increased  with  knowledge.  Next 
year,  likewise,  she  accompanied  him  to  Egypt, 
in  obedience  to  the  decrees  of  destiny  ;  for  it 
was  necessary  that  what  was  written  should 
come  to  pass. 

They  left  the  port  of  Alexandria  on  their 
return  voyage  in  a  small  vessel,  with  a  crew 
of  five  men,  bound  direct  for  Derna.  A  light 
wind  carried  them  in  two  days  as  far  as  the 
point  of  Akabah,  about  halfway  to  their  des- 
tination ;  but  a  tremendous  tempest  suddenly 
fell  upon  them,  and  as  they  were  upon  a  lee 
shore,  they  knew  at  once  that  their  danger 
was  great.  After  manoeuvring  for  a  few 
hours,  they  saw  the  steep  white  cliffs  of  the 
African  coast  looming  through  .  the  heavy 
atmosphere,  and  endeavoured  to  save  them- 
selves by  casting  anchor ;  but  the  cables 
snapped,  and  they  were  driven  on  shore, 
luckily  in  a  shallow  bay  and  upon  sand.  For 
some  time  it  was  impossible  to  land  on 
account  of  the  violence  of  the  waves,  which 
rose  over  the  ship  and  threatened  every 
moment  to  break  her  ropes  ;  but  at  length 
they  succeeded  in  getting  ashore,  without 
being  able  to  take  with  them  anything  the 
ship  contained,  even  provisions.  However,  it 
was  their  hope  that  the  vessel  would  not  go 
to  pieces,  and  that,  when  the  tempest  abated, 
they  could  at  least  save  some  money  and  a 
little  food,  with  which  they  could  set  out  on 
foot  for  Derna. 

Whilst  they  sat  wet  and  miserable  on  the 
beach,  they  suddenly  saw  some  forms  moving 
along  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay  ;  and  they 
remembered  that  the  Bedawins  of  these  parts 
are  celebrated  for  their  violence  and  brutality 
to  strangers,  especially  such  as  are  wrecked. 
But  there  was  no  escape,  and  the  little  party 
waited  patiently,  therefore,  for  what  was  to 
come  to  pass.  The  Bedawius  had  perceived 
the  wreck  and  were  coming  round  for  the 
purposes  of  plunder.  When,  however,  they 
saw  a  group  of  men  awaiting  their  approach 
they  halted,  and  seemed  to  be  calculating 
their  strength  and  the  probabilities  of  resist- 
ance. At  length,  a  single  individual  of  their 
party  detached  himself  and  came  forward  with 
demonstrations  of  peaceful  intentions  ;  but  he 
had  no  sooner  discovered  that  the  strangers 
were  without  arms,  than  he  shouted  to  his 
companions  to  advance.  In  a  few  minutes, 
a  band  of  half-a-dozen  truculent-looking 
Bedawins,  armed  to  the  teeth,  rushed  up  and 
proceeded  at  once  to  appropriate  the  persons 
of  the  shipwrecked  men,  whilst  waiting  until 


the  sea  allowed  them  to  appropriate  their 
property. 

Hagg  Mustafa  fell  to  the  lot  of  an  individual 
who  appeared  to  be  the  chief,  and  who  like- 
wise laid  claim  to  Sagara.  The  Bedawins 
would  not  listen  to  any  expostulations,  but 
ordered  their  prisoners  to  station  themselves 
at  certain  distances  apart  from  one  another, 
and  to  remember  the  names  of  their  masters. 
Mustafa  and  Sagara,  placed  together,  were 
impressed,  by  means  of  awful  menaces,  with 
the  necessity  of  saying  in  answer  to  all 
questions : 

"  I  belong  to  Yunus." 

The  object  of  this  precaution  now  became 
apparent ;  for  other  Bedawins  came  flocking 
from  all  sides,  so  that  above  two  hundred, 
including  women  and  children,  were  collected 
within  a  few  hours.  They  all  seemed  to 
respect  the  right  of  property  based  on  original 
occupation  ;  and  did  not  attempt  to  dispute 
with  the  first- comers  for  the  possession  of  the 
prisoners — waiting  with  patience  until  they 
could  go  aboard  the  ship  and  plunder  it. 

It  is  customary  for  the  Bedawins  of  this 
coast  to  exact  a  reward,  which  may  be  called 
a  ransom,  for  conducting  persons  under  the 
circumstances  of  our  travellers  to  a  civilised 
country ;  and  Mustafa  was  not  very  uneasy 
about  the  result  of  this  adventure.  He  was 
known  to  many  members  of  the  various 
Ordanes  or  tribes  along  the  coast,  having  per- 
formed the  journey  by  land,  and  expected  to 
be  let  off  for  a  small  sum.  Unfortunately, 
Yunus  had  beheld  and  admired  the  slave- 
girl  Sagara,  and  had  resolved  to  possess  her. 
When  the  plunder  of  the  vessel  was  com- 
pleted, he  took  Mustafa  aside,  and  said,  "  O 
friend !  thou  knowest  the  custom,  that 
strangers  who  fall  into  our  hands  must  libe- 
rate themselves  with  money.  Now,  I  will 
deal  handsomely  by  thee.  Take  my  part 
of  the  merchandise  from  the  wreck,  and  pro- 
ceed on  thy  way  in  peace.  I  will  give  thee 
two  young  men  as  an  escort.  But  leave  unto 
me  Sagara,  to  be  an  ornament  of  my  tent." 
Mustafa  replied  that  he  would  rather  give  all 
that  he  possessed,  than  part  with  his  beloved 
slave  ;  and  begged  Yunus  to  name  any  ran- 
som that  he  desired.  But  the  Bedawin  was 
obdurate  ;  and  finding  he  could  not  prevail 
by  persuasion,  smote  the  unfortunate  mer- 
chant upon  the  face,  and  separated  him  from 
Sagara,  and  ordered  her  to  be  taken  to  his 
tent. 

Mustafa  was  led  towards  evening  to  the 
encampment  over  the  hills,  and  saw  no  more 
of  his  companions,  who  were  kept  prisoners 
some  time,  and  then  sent  back  to  Egypt 
without  ransom,  for  they  were  too  poor  to 
pay  any.  Yunus  took  possession,  as  I  have 
said,  of  Sagara,  and  sought  to  render  himself 
agreeable  to  her  ;  but  she  answered  his  ad- 
vances by  tears,  and  could  not  find  a  smile 
for  the  man  who  had  torn  her  from  her 
master  whom  she  loved.  But  Mustafa  was 
treated  with  every  kind  of  severity  and 


148 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


indignity,  and  compelled  to  tend  the  camels, 
and  fed  like  a  dog.  He  submitted  to  the 
decrees  of  fate  with  resignation,  although  he 
was  resolved  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of 
escape.  Once,  when  he  was  sent  with  a  troop 
of  camels  to  some  distance,  he  mounted  the 
fleetest,  and  started  for  the  West ;  but 
Yunus.  who  suspected  his  design,  followed  ; 
overtook  and  brought  him  back  to  the  en- 
campment, where  he  was  beaten,  until  death 
nearly  released  him  from  his  troubles. 

When  he  recovered  he  determined  to  be 
more  circumspect  for  the  future ;  and  in 
order  to  escape  suspicion,  affected  to  be 
resigned  to  his  fate.  This  procured  him  a 
little  more  liberty  ;  but  he  still  felt  that  he 
was  watched,  and  he  began  to  despair  of  ever 
escaping  from  that  dreadful  situation.  Sagara 
he  never  saw  ;  but  from  the  children  of  the 
village,  with  whom  he  would  sometimes  play, 
he  learned  that  she  remained  ever  weeping 
in  her  new  master's  tent,  refusing  to  be 
comforted. 

One  day  there  arrived  at  the  encampment 
a  stranger,  named  Ali,  the  son  of  one  of  the 
Sheikhs  of  an  inland  tribe.  He  was  a  tall, 
handsome  young  man,  who  had  gained  great 
reputation  already  for  feats  of  gallantry. 
Yunus  received  him  with  hospitality,  and 
related  among  other  things  the  adventure  of 
the  wreck  and  the  acquisition  of  the  beauteous 
Sagara.  To  Ali,  the  matter  appeared  perfectly 
correct,  and  he  congratulated  his  host,  de- 
manding as  a  favour,  to  behold  this  peerless 
beauty.  When  she  appeared  before  him,  her 
melancholy  countenance  told  at  once  her  tale 
of  misery,  and  Ali  felt  that  a  great  injustice 
had  been  committed.  With  desert  cunning, 
however,  he  said  not  a  word  of  condemnation, 
but  praised  the  loveliness  of  Sagara,  and 
extolled  the  happiness  of  Yunus  ;  so  that  the 
poor  slave,  who  had  at  first  conceived  hope 
from  the  pity  that  beamed  through  his  eyes, 
retired  in  still  more  profound  despair. 

Next  day,  as  Mustafa  was  tending  a  herd 
of  camels  on  the  slope  of  a  distant  hill,  he  was 
surprised  to  behold  a  horseman  he  did  not 
know,  ride  up  and  salute  him. 

"I  know  thy  story,"  said  Ali,  "and  am 
resolved  to  assist  thee  ;  but  the  matter  re- 
quires circumspection  and  cannot  be  accom- 
plished in  a  day.  Thy  liberty  it  were  easy  to 
bring  about ;  but  the  flower  in  the  tent  must 
be  released  likewise.  Listen  now  to  me.  I 
am  Ali,  the  son  of  Saleh  ;  and  I  have  come 
on  a  message  of  vengeance  to  this  place. 
Know  that  my  tribe  has  learned,  by  means 
ordained  of  God,  that  many  years  ago  one  of 
our  bravest  warriors  was  basely  murdered  by 
Yunus  and  his  brethren.  Blood  calls  out  for 
blood  ;  and  thou  canst  assist  us  and  save  thy- 
self. A  month  from  this,  an  hour  after  sun- 
set, when  the  moon  is  half 'risen  above  the 
summit  of  Akabah,  take  fire,  and  light  up  a 
conflagration  in  the  straw-heap  that  is  near 
the  great  tent  of  Yunus.  If  thou  art  dis- 
covered, defend  thyself,  and  fear  nothing  ;  for 


I  shall  be  there.  If  no  one  suspect  thee, 
hasten  to  the  harem  and  single  out  Sagara, 
and  bear  her  in  thy  arms,  crying  '  Ali !  Ali !' 
and  no  one  will  harm  thee.  Art  thou  a  man 
to  do  all  this,  and  not  fail  in  one  tittle  ?" 
Mustafa  devoted  himself  to  death  if  he 
should  swerve  from  his  instructions ;  and 
Ali,  having  pressed  his  hand,  rode  slowly 
away  across  the  desert. 

That  was  an  anxious  month  for  Mustafa. 
He  counted  the  days  and  minutes,  and  made 
every  preparation  for  action.  He  contrived 
to  secrete  a  flint  and  steel  beneath  the  straw- 
heap,  as  well  as  a  sword,  which  he  stole  from 
his  master,  Yunus.  In  order  that  he  might 
not  mistake  the  day,  he  dug  two  holes,  in  one 
of  which  he  put  a  stone  every  morning, 
whilst  in  the  other  he  put  a  bean  every 
evening.  To  lull  suspicion,  he  pretended  to 
be  unusually  gay,  and  succeeded  in  becoming 
quite  a  favorite  with  the  young  men.  Even 
Yunus  condescended  to  smile  upon  him ; 
and  once  even  asked  him  to  intercede  with 
Sagara,  and  persuade  her  to  be  less  gloomy. 
But  Mustafa  snapped  his  fingers,  cursed 
women,  and  professed  to  have  no  desire  for 
an  interview. 

The  long-expected  night  came  at  length. 
The  encampment  was  situated  in  a  valley 
surrounded  on  all  sides  by  arid  hills.  Mus- 
tafa had  been  out  since  morning  at  the  place 
where  he  had  met  Ali,  and  had  looked  on  all 
sides  to  discern  some  signs  of  his  deliverer  ; 
but  none  appeared.  He  climbed  to  the  sum- 
mit of  a  peak,  from  which  a  wide  view  could 
be  obtained,  and  anxiously,  with  now  well- 
practised  eyes,  perused  the  horizon.  Nothing. 
He  returned  as  evening  drew  nigh,  and 
reached  the  crest  of  the  hill  that  overlooked 
the  valley  just  as  the  sun  went  down.  There 
were  lights  in  some  of  the  tents,  and  at 
various  points  could  be  seen  Bedawins  re- 
turning home.  Mustafa's  heart  sank  within 
him  as  he  thought  that  some  one  of  these 
might  have  discerned  traces  of  an  enemy. 
But  there  was  no  alarm  given  ;  and,  on 
reaching  the  encampment,  he  found  all  quiet. 
Unperceived  by  any  one,  he  went  and  con- 
cealed himself  between  the  tent  and  the  straw. 
To  his  delight  a  smart  wind  was  sweeping  up 
the  valley ;  and  he  felt  certain  that  if  he  could 
succeed  in  setting  fire  to  the  huge  heap,  every 
tent  would  soon  be  in  flames.  He  had  not 
many  minutes  to  wait,  but  the  time  appeared 
to  him  an  age.  Various  emotions  tormented 
him.  What,  if  he  should  fail  in  his  attempt, 
or  be  discovered  and  slain  before  help  could 
arrive  1  What,  if  Ali  should  forget  his  pro- 
mise, or  arrive  too  late  1  He  was  resolved, 
however,  to  act,  and  having  drawn  out  the 
sword,  and  placed  it  by  his  side  as  he  knelt 
down,  he  began  to  strike  a  light  just  as  the 
silver  edge  of  the  moon  appeared  above  the 
ridge  of  Akabah.  Before  the  orb  was  half 
uncovered  there  was  a  hiss,  a  crackle, — and  a 
swift  flame  swept  up  along  the  side  of  the 
immense  straw  heap.  Almost  at  the  same 


Charles  Dickens.] 


YOUNG  FRANCE  AT  THE  EASEL. 


149 


moment  a  man  rushed  from  a  neighbouring 
tent,  and  having  tired  a  pistol  at  the  culprit 
•without  effect,  advanced  with  a  drawn  dagger, 
crying,  "  'Tis  the  dog  Mustafa  has  done  it  !  " 
There  was  no  time  to  lose ;  and  the  hand 
that  had  never  before  wielded  a  weapon  of! 
death,  felled  the  Bedawin  to  the  ground.  It 
was  a  perilous  moment.  Cue  man  against  a 
whole  encampment,  should  Ali  prove  untrue. 
Furious  Bedawins  Avere  rushing  from  every 
tent.  Some  had  seen  Mustafa  strike  the 
blow,  and  fired  at  him  as  he  ran  towards  the 
tent  where  Sagara  was  confined.  Others 
started  out,  asking  what  was  the  matter  ; 
women  and  children  moaned  ;  and  the  camels 
and  other  animals  breaking  loose,  and  rushing 
to  and  fro,  increased  the  confusion.  The  fire 
had  spread  almost  instantaneously  from  tent 
to  tent,  for  there  were  heaps  of  straw  near 
every  one  of  them  ;  and  it  was  evident  that  in 
a  very  few  minutes  the  whole  encampment 
would  be  destroyed.  Still,  there  was  no  sign 
of  an  attack,  and  when  Mustafa  reached  the 
tent  which  he  had  so  often  beheld,  but  had 
never  been  permitted  to  approach,  he  found 
Yunus  already  there,  shouting  to  the  women 
to  come  forth.  On  seeing  Mustafa,  the  villain 
divined  that  he  was  the  cause  of  the  mischief, 
and  his  hand  glanced  towards  his  dagger  hilt ; 
but  the  blood  of  the  Man  from  the  West  was 
up,  and  with  one  blow  he  laid  open  the 
shoulder  of  his  enemy.  Yunus  bellowed  with 
rage,  arid^  threw  himself  upon  the  merchant; 
but  at  that  instant  a  small  body  of  horsemen 
rode  furiously  into  the  encampment,  striking 
right  and  left  on  every  living  thing  they  met. 
Mustafa  evaded  the  grasp  of  the  wounded 
Bedawin,  and  sprang  towards  Sagara,  whom 
he  now  saw,  standing  near  the  blazing  tent. 
Seizing  her  in  his  arms,  he  shouted  "  Ali, 
All  J "  and  the  horsemen  answered  with  the 
same  cry.  It  was  a  terrible  scene,  lighted  up 
by  the  blazing  tents — a  massacre,  not  a  fight — 
and  before  the  red  light  of  the  flames  had 
faded,  not  a  living  soul  remained  in  the  en- 
campment except  the  horsemen  and  Mustafa, 
who  stood  on  an  open  space  grasping  his 
beloved  Sagara  to  his  breast,  and  still  shout- 
ing, "  Ali,  Ali !  " 

v  eng-eauce  pushed  to  this  extreme  is  not 
common  in  the  desert ;  but  instances  from 
time  to  time  occur.  The  object  of  the  at- 
tacking party  had  been  to  destroy  the  Ordan, 
root  and  branch  ;  but  some  few  of  the  men 
and  several  of  the  women  and  children 
escaped.  Having  ascertained  this  fact,  Ali 
determined  at  once  upon  a  retreat,  as  he 
knew  the  whole  country  would  at  once  be 
roused  against  him.  In  an  hour,  therefore, 
after  the  massacre,  his  little  mounted  band, 
with  Mustafa  and  Sagara,  were  climbing 
the  steep  slope  of  the  hill,  leaving  all  cum- 
brous booty  behind.  The  site  of  the  encamp- 
ment was  still  covered  with  particles  of  fire, 
and  a  heavy  canopy  of  smoke-  hung  aloft. 
Mustafa  looked  back  with  one  shudder  of 
horror  ;  but  Sagara  was  beside  him,  ready  to 


whisper  a  tale  of  outrage  and  misery  which 
he  would  not  hear  ;  and  he  soon  forgot  every- 
thing but  the  joy  of  reunion. 

Ali  had  formed  an  able  plan  of  retreat. 
Instead  of  making  direct  for  the  quarters  of 
his  own  tribe,  situated  at  a  great  distance,  he 
had  resolved  to  make  a  bend  to  the  west  as 
far  as  the  inhabited  tracts  of  Cyrenaica,  so  as 
to  throw  any  pursuers  off  the  scent.  By  the 
morning  the  party  reached  a  small  valley, 
where  was  a  reserve  of  men  and  camels. 
After  resting  awhile,  they  proceeded  about  a 
mile  to  the  south,  leaving  a  wide  track  on 
some  sandy  ground  ;  but  when  they  came  to 
a  hard,  stony  plain,  they  struck  back  diago- 
nally, and  soon  entering  the  gorge  of  a  moun- 
tain, were  concealed  from  pursuit.  Well  for 
them,  it  appeared  ;  for  one  of  their  party, who 
had  lingered  behind,  saw,  he  said,  a  cloud  of 
horsemen  with  glittering  spears  go  sweeping 
over  the  plain  towards  the  south.  The  stra- 
tagem of  Ali  was  completely  successful ;  and 
Mustafa  and  Sagara  had  thus  an  efficient 
escort  until  they  arrived  at  a  village  where 
they  were  known.  Here  they  parted  from 
Ali,  who  cast  a  very  covetous  glance  at  the 
slave-girl,  but  who  seemed  to  struggle  success- 
fully with  his  evil  passions  ;  and  in  due  time 
both  arrived  in  safety  at  Derna.  "  This," 
said  Mustafa,  in  conclusion,  "  happened  in 
the  spring.  You  may  be  well  assured  that  I 
shall  no  more  perform  my  journeys  by  land  ! 
and  that  I  have  a  great  objection  to  per- 
forming them  by  sea,  At  present,  I  have 
come  by  way  of  Malta,  in  the  great  English 
fire-ship  ;  but  it  is,  probably,  my  last  voyage. 
Peace  be  with  you  !  "  So  saying,  the  Man 
from  the  West  departed  ;  and  I  never  again 
saw  him.  I  learn,  however,  that  the  force 
of  habit  proved  too  strong  ;  and  that,  instead 
of  settling  down  quietly  at  Derna,  he  continues 
his  annual  voyages.  Let  us  hope  that  no 
cousin  of  Yunus  may  ever  lay  hold  of  him  ! 


YOUNG  FRANCE  AT  THE  EASEL. 


TRADITION  and  history  have  preserved  to 
us  the  manners  of  the  artist  schools  of  Venice 
and  of  Rome,  the  feuds  of  the  famous  Zuc- 
cati,  and  the  individual  habits  of  Roman 
painters  ;  but  few  in  England,  at  this  time, 
know  much  of  the  manners  or  character  of 
a  French  school  of  painting.  Nor  is  it  likely 
that  any  glimpse  of  the  reality  can  be  present 
to  an  English  mind  by  comparison  with  any- 
thing here.  We  have  an  Academy  at  Trafalgar 
Square,  it  is  true ;  but  we  have  no  private 
schools.  Indeed,  our  great  masters  seem  un- 
accountably loth  to  transmit  their  principles 
of  art — their  theories  of  form  and  composition, 
and  secrets  of  colouring,  to  the  ambitious  and 
too  often  misguided  generation  of  aspirants. 
They  might  learn  from  the  example  of  our 
continental  neighbours  that  tl^ere  is  no  shame, 
but  rather  much  profit,  in  teaching. 

Let  us  peep  for  a  moment  at  one  of  these 
ateliers,  which  of  old  existed  in  the  Rue 


150 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


LCon:lueted  by 


Mazarine  in  Paris.  The  students  there,  were 
a  gay  and  noisy  set,  as  formidable  in  numbers 
as  in  practical  wit,  and  somewhat  obnoxious 
to  the  neighbourhood.  Fancy,  for  instance,  a 
troop  of  them  issuing  from  their  studio,  at  a 
moment  of  rest,  forming  in  a  line  across  the 
street,  and  levying  black  mail  from  the  by- 
standers and  passengers,  for  the  benefit  of  an 
organ,  or  hurdy-gurdy  grinder.  Yet  so 
jestingly  and  pleasantly  was  the  money  ex- 
tracted from  the  Parisian  Cockneys,  that  none 
but  the  most  crusty  could  growl ;  although 
they  ran  risk  of  being  pelted  with  jokes  and 
with  mud.  These  artists  with  blouses,  when 
they  did  growl,  were  as  formidable  then  as 
those  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine  are  now. 
But,  on  other  occasions  they  might  be  seen 
enjoying  leisure,  at  other  hours,  in  a  quieter 
or  more  peaceful  way — some,  cleaning  their 
brushes  in  their  hands ;  others,  indulging  in 
penny  loaves  and  apples,  whilst  a  group  might 
perchance  be  gathered  round  one  or  two  of 
their  number,  who  indulged  in  the  practice  of 
that  amazing  dance  which  prevails  at  La 
ChaumieYe,  without  the  disadvantage  of  the 
policeman  or  gay  municipal  guard. 

The  atelier,  to  which  allusion  is  made,  was 
of  old  held  in  the  basement  of  the  Institut — 
a  place  not  so  prosy,  it  may  be  seen,  as  it  is 
generally  supposed  to  be.  Although  dull  letters 
flourished  on  the  first  floor,  gay  fine  arts  were 
active  in  the  basement ;  it  must  be  admitted, 
however,  that  doubtless  the  members  of  the 
Institute  would  haA'e  got  on  better  without 
the  artist  students.  But  having,  in  a  tit  of 
generosity,  permitted  their  lower  premises  to 
be  put  to  their  particular  use,  it  was  too  late 
to  retract ;  and  the  noisy  peculiarities  of  the 
boy-painters,  or  Kapins,  were  fully  developed. 

When  of  old,  Guillon,  Lethidre,  and  other 
followers  of  the  David  school,  occupied  the  same 
place,  they  plied  the  brush  in  silent  activity — 
and  their  canvases  made  as  little  noise  after 
they  were  produced,  as  during  production. 
Their  staid  diligence  was  not  largely  re- 
warded either  by  Fortune  or  Fame.  Those 
halcyon  days,  however,  were  past,  when 
a  hundred  and  fifty  students  congregated 
daily  to  indulge  in  noise  and  mirth.  For,  if 
they  gave  way  to  such  vagaries  as  have  been 
described,  in  the  public  street,  it  is  but  just  to 
admit  that  in-doors  such  things  would  betimes 
happen  as  might  startle  spectators. 

The  entrance  to  the  atelier  was  at  a  postern 
in  the  Rue  Mazarine — a  hole,  in  a  dark  ugly 
wall.  The  Institute  resembles,  in  this,  the 
Bibliotheque  of  Mazarine  ;  Avhich  is  vei-y  fine 
inside,  but  very  ugly  outside.  The  space  within, 
is  divided  into  two  vast  rooms,  in  each  of  which 
a  model  sat.  The  floors,  swept  but  once  a-week, 
were  full  of  holes,  from  which  bold  broods  of 
rats  emerged,  betimes,  to  feed  and  to  play.  The 
walls  were  wainscotted,  and  had  once  been 
grey  ;  but  the,  scrapings  of  dirty  palettes  had 
altered  their  primitive  tint ;  which,  dulled 
with  age,  and  overgrown  with  excrescences, 
had  acquired  a  mouldy  look  of  age.  Not, 


indeed,  that  it  was  lawful  that  the  students 
should  scrape  their  palettes,  and  dash  the 
proceeds  on  the  walls ;  for  that  was  a  desecra- 
tion punishable  by  fine  ;  but,  as  fines  were 
hard  to  levy,  they  were  seldom  imposed. 

The  walls  on  every  side  were  Irang  with 
canvases  in  various  stages  of  composition, — 
or  decomposition,  so  old  and  rusty  did  some 
of  them  appear.  Canvas,  paper,  kit-cat 
frames,  broken  stools,  and  crooked  easels, 
lay  about  in  great  confusion.  Cobwebs  lined 
the  corners  ;  a  stove,  whose  long  black  chim- 
neys wandered  about  the  room,  as  if  loth  to 
leave  it,  communicated  a  smoky,  not  ungenial 
warmth. 

In  a  large  frame,  that  hung  on  one  of  the 
walls,  were  the  portraits  of  all  the  celebrities 
of  the  atelier — heads  only — peering  out  in 
grotesque  confusion.  The  deadliest  enemies 
were  there  depicted  side  by  side, — the  stal- 
wart bully  beside  the  meek  fag, — the  weak 
beside  the  strong, — the  clever  beside  the 
feeble, — all  admirable  likenesses.  That  can- 
vas may  yet  become  well-known  in  future  art 
history. 

The  roll-call,  early  on  Monday  morning, 
assigned  to  each  the  place  that  he  might  take. 
Then,  the  living  model  had  to  be  placed  ;  and 
many  were  the  jokes  levelled  at  the  unfor- 
tunate individual,  as  he  strove  to  obey  the 
varied  injunctions  of  the  students.  He  was 
ordered  to  place  his  head — first,  on  this  side  ; 
then  on  that ;  thenhis  body  had  to  bearranged ; 
his  legs  and  arms  to  be  turned  and  bent,  until 
at  last  the  position  desired  was  fixed.  Poor 
models  ;  what  a  hard  life  they  lead  for  ten 
sous  an  hour  !  They  sit  four  hours  to  the 
students  ;  and  thus  their  pay  nearly  reaches 
an  English  pound  per  week. 

The  model  being  placed,  the  draughtsmen 
took  their  seats  on  low  stools ;  which  thus 
enabled  their  brother-painters  to  stand  or  sit, 
and  to  look  over  them,  just  as  in  battle  the 
front  rank  kneels,  to  let  the  rear  rank  fire.  The 
work  would  then  go  on ;  some  drawing,  others 
painting  :  whilst,  in  the  back-ground,  the  less 
advanced  might  be  seen  painfully  endeavour- 
ing to  copy  the  Discobolus,  or  Fighting  Gla- 
diator. One  might  almost  fancy  them  a  quiet 
set,  then ;  the  silence  being  occasionally 
broken  by  a  stanza  from  a  song,  morsels 
of  a  " complainte"  or  a  partial  chorus.  To 
the  poor  and  struggling  artist,  indeed,  the 
atelier  was  a  godsend  :  affording  warmth  and 
shelter  for  at  least  six  hours  of  the  day,  the 
teaching  of  a  first-rate  master,  and  the  advan- 
tages of  living  models,  for  the  small  sum  of 
twenty-three  francs  a-month:  of  which  eighteen 
were  for  the  teaching,  and  five  for  the  "  masse" 
as  it  was  called, — a  fund  from  which  to  replace 
brokeii  stools  and  easels,  and  to  pay  the 
models.  The  master,  indeed,  came  but  thrice 
a-week  ;  but  that  sufficed,  so  well  did  he 
exercise  command,  so  anxiously  was  he  obeyed. 
When,  with  thin  and  sinewy  form,  and  sharp 
and  piercing  eye,  he  entered,  all  would  be 
hushed,  and  you  might  hear  a  pin  fall.  He 


Charles  Dickens.] 


YOUNG  FKANCE  AT  THE  EASEL. 


151 


passed  from  stool  to  stool,  rebuking  the  idler 
with  scorn  ;  correcting  here  with  the  pencil, 
there  with  the  brush,  and  taking  some  defect 
on  the  canvas  of  the  ablest,  to  make  a 
theme  on  which  to  speak  and  descant  short 
words  on  art.  When  he  left,  how  pleased 
would  those  be  who  had  got  praise  !  how 
crest-fallen  those  who  had  got  what  was 
usually  called  a  "galop  !  " 

Nothing  strange  would  happen,  even  in  the 
intermediate  minutes  allowed  for  model  and 
student  alike  to  rest,  unless  the  day  were  marked 
by  the  introduction  of  what  was  called  a  nou- 
veau — a  new  pupil.  The  first  question  asked  of 
a  nouveaii  was  the  startling  one,  "  When  are 
you  to  stand  a  punch  1 "  and  then,  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  the  unfortunate  would 
be  pounced  upon,  and  subjected  to  a  most 
fiery  ordeal : — while  a  stalwart  fellow  quickly 
tied  the  hands  together,  a  second  would  pass 
them  over  the  victim's  bent- up  knees;  a  third, 
thrusting  the  pole  of  an  easel  in  the  guise 
of  a  skewer,  would  effectually  complete  the 
disablement.  Then,  came  a  disorderly  scene. 
The  victim  might  be  seen,  at  one  moment 
spinning  in  a  helpless  manner  on  the  ground, 
or  carried  in  triumph  round  the  room,  threat- 
ened with  a  poker  that  had  been  painted  of  a 
fiery  colour.  His  head  would  then  be  daubed 
all  over  with  Prussian  blue ;  and,  adorned  with 
a  bladder,  he  would  be  exposed  in  the  street 
outside  for  a  quarter-of-an-hour,  to  the  asto- 
nishment of  the  passers-by.  If  the  victim  were 
passive,  there  was  but  little  sport  ;  but  the 
simulated  red-hot  poker  rarely  failed  to  raise 
the  ire  and  to  excite  a  struggle,  and  to  give 
play  and  amusement  to  his  persecutors.  A 
copious  drenching  usually  followed  all  these 
inflictions,  and  restored  the  noiiveau  to  his  self- 
possession.  But  what  a  figure !  It  was  then 
you  might  see  of  what  a  mercurial  tempera- 
ment the  mind  of  the  student  was  composed. 
The  victim  of  these  persecutions  became 
suddenly  the  victim  of  their  care  and  solici- 
tude. While  one  broke  up  canvas  frames  and 
stools  to  feed  the  fire  that  was  to  dry  his 
clothes,  another  warmed  water  to  wash  away 
the  paint.  Restoratives  were  freely  applied ; 
the  patient  was  made  quite  comfortable  ;  and 
the  Rapins  were  ready  to  commit  similar  ex- 
cesses on  other  new  comers,  in  which  the 
victim  of  this  week  might  become,  not  un- 
likely, the  persecutor  of  the  next.  So  goes 
the  world. 

It  was  strange  to  see  with  what  awe  the 
approach  of  the  master  was  regarded.  If  the 
tumult  were  at  its  height,  the  wheels  of  his 
carriage  heard  at  the  door,  caused  a  stillness 
as  by  enchantment.  The  lazy  took  a  fit  of 
diligence,  and  resumed  their  seats,  and  the 
noisiest  of  the  whole  received  the  sarcastic 
reproaches  of  De  la  Roche  with  a  meekness  so 
great  as  to  change  his  aspect,  and  to  make  one 
doubt  his  very  identity. 

The  most  curious  character  in  the  place, 
however,  was  the  old  man  to  whom  was  en- 
trusted the  roll-call  and  management  of  these 


turbulent  fellows.  The  persecutions  which' 
he  endured  ;  the  jokes  and  sarcasms  that 
were  made  at  his  expense,  and  which  he 
bore  with  an  equanimity  that  only  provoked 
the  evil;  must  have  tended  to  make  the 
poor  fellow  a  complete  martyr.  The  unfor- 
tunate man  who  held  this  post,  technically 
called  massier,  was  twice  cursed — he  was  at 
once  a  bad  painter  and  a  bad  musician.  In 
the  first  capacity,  he  might  be  seen  at  the 
Louvre,  painting  a  wretched  copy ;  and  in 
the  last,  playing  the  clarionet  in  a  band  of 
National  Guards.  This  duality  of  accomplish- 
ment brought  numberless  jokes  upon  him  ;  but 
what  drove  him  mad  at  last,  was  a  series  of 
frescoes  which  adorned  the  walls  of  the  atelier, 
all  painted  in  his  honour.  In  one  place,  he 
was  to  be  seen  learning  the  rudiments  of  the 
clarionet  under  the  tuition  of  a  drum-major  ; 
in  another,  he  was  studying  the  art  of  drawing. 
Elsewhere,  in  ludicrous  proportions,  he  figured 
in  the  band  of  his  legion.  Then,  he  shone 
prosperous,  in  the  exalted  post  of  massier  to 
the  atelier,  surrounded  by  bags  of  gold.  In 
the  principal  fresco,  he  was  to  be  seen  driving 
a  carriage  and  four  into  Belgium  ;  the  roof 
laden  with  his  bags  of  money.  The  execu- 
tion of  frescoes  occupied  the  leisure  hours 
of  the  atelier,  after  the  model  had  departed. 
These  quiet  studies  were  now  and  then  di- 
versified, however,  by  a  clamorous  rat  hunt, 
or  a  match  at  fencing. 

Often,  when  the  merry  young  band  of 
students  were  in  no  humour  for  noisy  sport, 
they  would  chat  together,  and  pay  models 
to  sit  in  groups,  or  give  what  were  called 
"fetes  d' expression."  At  the  Institut  of  the 
Beaux  Arts,  a  prize  was  awarded  every 
year  for  the  best  head,  expressing  a  certain 
form  of  grief,  horror,  joy,  or  laughter ;  hence 
the  desire  to  study  such  expressions.  A  true 
smile,  a  true  look  of  horror,  or  even  a  genuine 
expression  of  repose,  cannot,  however,  be 
bought  in  any  market.  In  all  studies  from 
a  model,  there  is  unavoidable  defect.  The 
model  may  be  placed  in  the  attitude  of  a 
man  walking,  or  of  a  foot-racer — and,  at  the 
moment  of  his  assuming  the  position,  the 
muscles  have,  no  doubt,  the  proper  tension  ; 
but,  leave  him  for  an  hour  to  make-believe, 
and  very  soon  the  muscles  all  become  relaxed. 
Besides,  he  is  making-believe,  at  the  best. 
Study  of  nature  requires,  not  only  acute 
observation  and  sharp  correct  vision,  but 
memory. 

Outside  the  walls  of  their  common  meeting- 
place,  the  students  were  quiet  enough,  whether 
they  laboured  at  copies  in  the  Louvre,or  played 
at  billiards  in  the  neighbouring  cafe.  Only 
they  were  not  quiet  when  a  nouveau  was  in- 
duced to  give  the  "punch,"  concerning  which 
his  memory  had  been  so  kindly  jogged  on  his 
arrival.  Copious  libations  then  took  place, 
and  often  ended  in  quarrels.  The  most 
melancholy  of  these  feasts  was  one — in  the 
remembrance  of  many  an  artist  still  exist- 
ing— in  which  an  unfortunate  fellow,  who 


152 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


played    host    before    he    was  well    out    of 

his   childhood,  AVJIS   urged   to  driuk  himself 

into    a    fever,    and    died    in  his    mother's 
anus. 


THE  TALE  UNFINISHED. 

In  some  green  quiet  grave,  brother, 

We  would  thou  liadst  been  laid, 
Where  gentle  flowers  wept  their  dew, 

And  softened  sunshine  play'd  ; 
Where  solemn  trees  kept  murmuring 

Their  tremulous  good-bye, 
And  streamlets'  silver  tongues  should  sing 

Thy  death-psalm  tenderly. 

Alas  !  Death  bore  thee  down,  brother, 

In  his  most  angry  mood, 
Commanding,  in  alliance  fierce, 

The  fire  to  meet  the  flood. 
Was  it  some  warning  gave  thee  aid 

Of  fiery  wreck  to  tell  ? 
All,  brother,  Fancy's  dream  hath  had 

Fulfilment  terrible ! 

Thine  olive-branch  was  lost,  brother, 

'Mid  that  unequal  strife, 
When  furious  Death  was  hand  to  hand 

With  strong,  despairing  Life. 
Oh  !  one  cloud  riseth  from  that  wreck 

That  over  England  low'rs  ; 
Perchance  that  sea  whose  pearls  we  seek 

Was  covetous  of  ours. 

Perhaps  the  hour  that  prayer,  brother, 

Rose  up  at  home  for  thee, 
The  hope  of  that  unconscious  love 

Was  sinking  in  the  sea  ; 
And  none  can  tell  how  sadly  bright, 

Through  all  that  stormy  blaze, 
One  far-off  flume,  thine  own  hearth-light, 

Was  present  to  thy  gaze. 

And  all  thy  plensant  books,  brother, 

How  shall  we  read  them  now  ? 
That  wreck  between  us  and  the  page 

Will  drive  its  burning  prow  : 
And  we  must  close  the  book,  and  pause 

O'er  memory's  tablet  pale, 
Inscribed  to  him  whose  lifetime  was 

A  sad,  unfinished  tale. 


ONE  OF  THE  EVILS  OF  MATCH- 
MAKING. 

THE  existence  in  the  world  of  a  curious 
form  of  disease,  which  had  been  manifested 
in  the  human  body  since  the  invention  of 
lucifer  matches,  and  caused  by  fumes  from 
the  phosphorus  used  in  their  manufac- 
ture, was  first  made  known  to  the  public 
in  1848,  by  means  of  an  article  in  the 
British  and  Foreign  Medico -Chirurgical 
Review.  Before  that  time  it  had  been  ob- 
served and  written  upon  in  Germany,  where 
the  first  manufacture  of  lucifer  matches  dates 
some  five  or  ten  years  earlier  than  in  England. 
The  liability  to  this  disorder  of  persons  en- 
gaged in  making  lucifers,  is  not  extremely 
jrreat :  probably  there  have  not  been  more 


than  a  hundred  and  fifty  cases  in  the  whole 
time  (which  we  may  call  roughly  twenty 
years)  since  lucifer  matches  have  been  used. 
The  Germans  had  fifty-two  on  record  in  1848, 
and  if  we  had  not  been  startled  by  a  detail  of 
nearly  fourteen  from  one  factory  at  Man- 
chester, we  should  have  estimated  the  whole 
number  of  cases  at  about  a  hundred.  The 
phosphorus,  it  is  agreed  on  all  hands,  does  not 
act  injuriously  on  the  constitution  generally. 
The  fumes  do  not  necessarily  affect  the  lungs, 
as  we  might  have  supposed.  The  Ger- 
man workers  affirm  that  their  general  health 
does  not  suffer  in  the  least,  and  experience 
in  London  goes  beyond  that,  to  affirm  that 
it  is  even  improved  after  attendance  at  the 
factory.  It  is  ascertained  also,  and  this  is 
important  to  remember,  that  exposure  for  a 
day  or  a  month  will  not  produce  the  phos- 
phorus disease  :  it  rarely  breaks  out  on  any 
person  who  has  been  less  than  four  years  at 
the  factory ;  most  of  those  who  suffer  have 
worked  previously  for  a  longer  time. 

Most  writers  have  been  induced  to 
suppose  that  the  disease  begins  with  aching 
in  a  tooth  that  has  previously  been  more 
or  less  imperfect,  or  in  people  whose  gums 
are  not  firmly  adherent  to  the  bone.  An 
unsound  constitution,  especially  scrofula,  at 
any  rate,  favours  the  development  of  the 
disease.  The  next  symptom  is  a  decaying 
of  the  jawbone.  Pieces  of  it,  probably  as 
large  as  peas,  work  themselves  out.  The 
disease  has  destroyed  its  vitality  ;  for  bone 
also  lives  and  requires  its  blood-vessels  and 
its  other  apparatus.  When  bone  is  dead,  an 
admirable  provision  is  made  by  which  the 
healthy  parts  combine  to  cast  it  out.  The 
surgeon  generally  takes  care  to  extract  the 
disease  artificially  before  it  has  become  so 
violent  as  to  threaten  life.  Occasional  deaths 
are  the  result  of  this  affection,  but  commonly 
there  is  no  more  than  great  suffering  for  a 
certain  time,  and  then  a  permanent  and 
grievous  disfigurement.  Many  sufferers,  on 
the  other  hand,  have  stated  that  constitutional 
ailments  with  which  they  were  previously 
afflicted,  have  abated  greatly  when  the  jaw- 
disease  set  in.  It  is  also  a  fact,  that  the  entire 
loss  of  the  lower  jaw  in  youth  does  not  in- 
volve always  its  permanent  disappearance. 
Bone  does  not,  however,  appear  to  be  so  readily 
reproduced  after  its  destruction  by  phos- 
phorus as  when  destroyed  by  other  causes. 

A  writer  in  the  Medical  Review,  paid,  in 
1848,  an  unexpected  visit  to  the  Lucifer 
Manufactory  in  Princes  Square,  Finsbury. 
Fifteen  girls,  fifty  boys,  and  eleven  men  were 
then  at  work  there,  some  of  whom  had  been 
engaged  upon  the  factory  for  eight  and  even 
ten  years.  No  case  of  the  disease  had  occurred 
among  them  ;  all  were  in  good  health.  They 
were  required  to  purify  themselves  from 
phosphorus  by  washing  their  hands,  on 
entering  and  on  leaving  the  place,  in  alkaline 
water  (phosphoric  vapour  is  an  acid  neu- 
tralised by  alkali).  Those  who  worked  at 


Charlet  Dickens.] 


ONE  OF  THE  EVILS  OF  MATCH-MAKING. 


153 


the  dipping  had  sponges  fixed  before  their 
mouths  ;  and  some  have  suggested  that  such 
sponges  might  be  moistened  with  an  alkaline 
solution.  An  expensive  system  of  ventilation 
had  then  recently  been  carried  out  upon  the 
premises,  and  all  worked  well. 

Before  we  pass  to  a  report  of  our  own  visit 
to  the  factory  at  Bow,  we  must  add  two  or 
three  more  facts  to  the  previous  information 
by  which  we  had  been  induced  to  turn  our 
face  in  that  direction.  We  must  give  a  sum- 
mary of  the  intelligence  transmitted  for  our 
use  from  Manchester. 

The  fourteen  cases  mentioned  by  our  cor- 
respondent have  all  arisen,  he  believes,  in  the 
same  factory.  The  work  of  this  factory  used 
to  be  carried  on  in  two  small  rooms,  which 
have  recently,  for  better  ventilation,  been 
thrown  into  one.  No  complaint  of  any  kind 
has  been  made  by  sufferers  against  the  pro- 
prietor, who  has  himself  mourned  for  the 
death  of  a  near  relation,  in  whom  the  disease 
contracted  in  the  factory  proved  fatal.  At 
this  factory  the  matches  manufactured  are 
of  the  common  kind,  and  the  preparation 
for  the  dipping  is  contained  in  iron  bowls, — 
phosphorus,  chlorate  of  potass,  and  glue. 

The  narrative  supplied  to  us  of  one  or  two 
of  these  cases,  will  assist  us  to  a  practical  un- 
derstanding of  some  of  the  facts  already  stated. 
Names  we,  of  course,  falsify. 

Annie  Brown  is  twenty  years  of  age,  of  pale 
and  scrofulous  aspect.  She  went  to  work  at 
the  lucifer-factory,  when  she  was  nine  years 
old,  and  after  she  had  worked  for  about  four 
years,  the  complaint  began,  like  a  toothache. 
Her  teeth  had  all  been  sound  before  that 
time  (she  says  ;  but  it  was  impossible  for  her 
to  know  more  than  that,  at  any  r,ate,  they 
had  not  troubled  her  by  aching).  She  was 
occupied  in  putting  the  lids  on  the  boxes.  She 
could  smell  the  phosphorus  at  first,  but  soon 
grew  used  to  it.  At  night,  she  could  see 
that  her  clothes  were  glowing  on  the  chair 
where  she  had  put  them  ;  her  hands  and  arms 
were  glowing  also.  She  used  to  wash  her 
hands,  and  to  attend  to  cleanliness.  (The  water 
in  which  such  hands  are  washed,  ought  to  be 
made  alkaline  with  soda ;  pure  water  does 
not  easily  remove  the  phosphorus.)  On  un- 
covering her  face,  we  perceived  that  her 
lower  jaw  is  almost  entirely  wanting  ;  at  the 
side  of  her  mouth  are  two  or  three  large  holes. 
The  jaw  was  removed  at  the  Infirmary  seven 
years  ago. 

Maggie  Black  is  twenty-three  years  old  ; 
she  used  to  sort  the  matches  when  they  had 
been  dipped  and  dried.  After  two  or  three 
years  her  complaint  began  like  toothache. 
She  had  one  tooth  drawn,  but  the  gum  after- 
wards gathered  and  discharged  outside.  The 
operatives  used  to  work  in  two  rooms,  and  the 
place  does  not  smell  so  badly  since  they  have 
been  both  thrown  into  one.  She  has  undergone 
five  operations.  Her  under  jaw  being  nearly 
gone,  the  oval  shape  of  her  face  is  destroyed. 
At  the  sama  time,  her  upper  features  show 


that  she  would  be  by  nature  a  good-looking 
girl.  She  is  obliged  to  live  upon  soft  food, 
and  is  employed  now  in  making  boxes,  out 
of  the  way  of  the  fumes. 

Robert  Smith  is  twenty-one  years  old,  and 
worked  six  years  before  he  began  to  suffer  ; 
he  was  a  dipper.  He  has  now  no  teeth  in  his 
lower  jaw.  of  which  a  great  part  is  destroyed. 
He  mixed  the  preparation  before  dipping :  the 
matches  were  previously  dipped  in  sulphur. 
He  lived  near  the  factory,  and  could  smell  the 
fumes  even  outside  its  walls  when  the  wind 
blew  in  the  right  direction.  His  clothes 
glowed  at  night,  and  the  room  seemed  in 
parts  to  contain  white  smoke.  He  knows  of 
fourteen  who  have  had  the  disease  ;  two  of 
them  died.  He  had  a  good  appetite  at  the 
factory,  and  was  well  in  all  respects  except 
his  mouth.  The  walls  of  the  factory  glow 
after  the  gas  has  been  put  out. 

The  correspondent  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  these  cases  informs  us  that,  after  an  opera- 
tion for  this  disease  at  Saint  Bartholomew's 
Hospital,  the  students  were  informed  by  the 
operating  surgeon,  that  saucers  filled  with  oil 
of  turpentine — a  solvent  of  phosphorus — 
placed  among  the  work-people,  would  absorb 
the  vapour  of  phosphorous  acid,  by  which  the 
disease  is  caused.  And  this  precaution  is 
adopted  in  some  London  factories. 

We  have  now  stated  the  information  which 
induced  us  to  go  out  and  use  our  eyes  at 
Bow. 

Where  is  Bow  1  In  the  unfashionable 
East.  To  go  to  Bow,  you  must  go  down 
Whitechapel  way,  and  Bow  is  farther  to  the 
eastward  than  Whitechapel.  But  then,  so  is 
Persia.  If  a  man  living  in  London  wishes  to 
go  to  Bow,  let  him  go  past  the  Whitechapel 
shambles  and  the  hay-carts,  to  Whitechapel 
gate.  Then  he  must  walk,  under  a  clear  blue 
sky,  like  that  which  favoured  us  on  our  own 
first  journey  to  Bow.  The  great  breadth  of  the 
highway,  and  the  picturesque  variety  of  the 
small  houses  lining  it  on  either  side,  tend  very 
much  to  make  one  cheerful. 

After  a  great  deal  of  walking,  we  got  to 
suburban  terraces,  and  villas,  and  little 
cottages  with  large  bells,  awful  in  "  Kitchen  " 
and  "  Visitors  "  gentility.  The  gardens  before 
the  houses  rich  in  blossoming  almond-trees  ; 
under  one  railway,  and  in  the  next  half 
minute  over  another  ;  a  little  bit  of  genteel 
suburb,  and  then  suddenly  the  thoroughly  old- 
fashioned  village  of  Bow. 

Bow's  pardon  must  be  begged  if  it  be  not  a 
village.  There  is  a  good  old-fashioned  church, 
with  a  great  crumbling  square  tower  and  a 
flag-staff ;  and  there  are  old  shops  and  houses 
up  one  side  of  the  church,  and  down  the  other 
side  of  the  church  to  Bow  Bridge  ;  over  the 
bridge  we  looked  down  upon  a  fine  piece  of 
mud,  and  ifc  took  us  from  Bow  to  a  road  lined 
with  unaccountable-looking  factories  and 
workers'  cottages,  not  unlike  a  slip  trans- 
planted out  of  the  far  suburbs  of  Manchester. 
Not  many  paces  brought  us  at  length  to  the 


154 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


closed  doors  of  Messrs.  Bell  and  Black,  which 
courteously  opened  to  receive  us. 

It  became  clear  to  us  at  the  first  glance 
that  we  had  got  into  a  place  unsuited  to  the 
growth  of  phosphorus  disease.  Instead  of  a 
crowded  building  in  the  town,  there  is  attain- 
able, in  this  far  suburb,  abundance  of  ground 
space,  on  which  detached  buildings  can  be 
erected.  We  saw  no  upper  stories  ;  there 
was  a  court-yard,  with  materials  lying  about 
a  water- tank,  buildings  here  and  there  with 
high  roofs,  doors  open,  here  and  there  some- 
body passing  from  one  place  to  another.  It 
was  obvious  that  here  there  were  to  be  had 
space  and  air.  We  found  upon  inquiry, 
what  indeed  we  pretty  well  knew,  that  here 
there  had  been  no  case  of  phosphorus  disease, 
though  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  mouths  are 
breathing  daily  on  the  premises,  besides  nearly 
the  same  number  engaged  outside  in  making 
match-boxes,  &c. 

Entering  the  nearest  door,  we  found  an 
apartment  alive  with  girls  and  boys  ;  a  spa- 
cious building,  with  a  roof  of  high  pitch, 
skylights,  windows,  and  an  open  door.  Not- 
withstanding the  large  number  of  matches 
there  under  the  fingers  of  the  young  popula- 
tion, we  could  detect  only  the  faintest  odour 
of  the  phosphorus.  Had  there  been  upper 
rooms,  the  fumes  would  rise  into  them ;  here, 
however,  they  can  only  pass  away  into  the 
open  air.  The  dipping-house  is  placed  at  a 
distance  of  more  than  a  hundred  yards  from 
any  other  building.  This  precaution  has 
enabled  the  proprietors  to  insure  against  fire 
the  other  portion  of  the  works.  Other 
factories  having  less  space  for  the  fulfilment 
of  this  condition,  this  is  the  only  one  about 
London  for  which  an  Insurance  policy  is 
granted.  It  is  lofty,  and  admits  air  abun- 
dantly. We  were  glad  to  obtain  from  Messrs. 
Bell  and  Black  such  knowledge  as  throws 
light  upon  the  present  and  the  future  pros- 
pects of  the  phosphorus  disease.  We  learnt 
that  where  it  exists  in  England,  it  is  produced 
only  in  factories  that  make  the  cheapest 
form  of  match.  In  all  the  better  sort  of 
matches  the  quantity  of  phosphorus  used, 
as  compared  with  other  ingredients,  is  very 
much  less  than  it  used  formerly  to  be. 
Of  course  there  is  still  phosphorus,  and 
there  are  phosphorous  acid  fumes  ;  but  the 
difference  is  very  great  between  the  quantity 
of  phosphorus  used  in  the  improved  matches 
of  the  present  day,  and  the  old-fashioned 
cheap  matches.  The  cheapness  of  the  matches 
compels  also  an  undue  economy  of  house-room, 
and  so  farther  aggravates  the  evil. 

It  is  in  the  drying-house  that  the  evolution 
of  phosphorous  fume  is  greatest.  The  house 
is  like  all  the  others,  lofty,  airy,  clean  ;  it 
differs  from  the  others  in  containing  no 
stationary  work-people.  The  matches  fume 
there  by  themselves,  and  are  only  disturbed 
when  those  who  are  appointed  for  the 
purpose  come  to  fetch  them.  Our  sense  of 
smell  is  acute,  but  so  slight  was  the  trace 


of  the  peculiar,  garlicky,  phosphoric  odour  in 
this  room,  although  it  contained  a  very  large 
number  of  matches,  that  many  might  have 
walked  about  therein  without  perceiving  it. 
Most  of  the  matches  that  we  noticed  in  this 
room  were  our  polite  and  familiar  friends  the 
Wax  Vestas,  hung  ignominiously  head  down- 
wards. We  next  betook  ourselves  to  a  large 
room  devoted  exclusively  to  their  preparation, 
just  as  the  first  room  had  been  devoted  to 
their  humbler  cousins. 

We  feel  at  once  that  we  have  come  into 
polite  society,  when  we  have  got  into  the 
large  saloon,  used  for  the  assemblies  of  those 
delicate  white  creatures,  the  Vestas.  Th« 
room  is,  like  the  others,  large,  lofty,  and 
clean,  with  incombustible  walls  and  floor. 
The  Christmas  holly  hangs  upon  the  walls 
yet ;  the  attendants  on  the  vestas,  all  young 
girls,  are  noticeably  clean  and  neat.  The 
young  priests  of  the  temple  of  the  wooden 
lucifers  were  boys  and  girls,  some  tidy,  some 
untidy,  according  to  their  tastes  and  means. 
Here  no  unclean  touch  is  suffered  to  pollute 
the  pure  white  of  the  wax  that  is  to  maintain 
the  vestal  fire  in  English  houses.  The  girls 
in  this  room  all  look  very  cheerful,  very 
healthy. 

In  this  room  the  same  thing  is  being  done 
with  wax  that  we  saw  done  before  with  wood. 
The  untipped  little  tapers  are  being  distri- 
buted into  the  frames.  We  watch  a  damsel 
busy  at  this  work  ;  whereupon  she  smiles  and 
turns  on  so  much  extra  steam  into  her  fingers, 
that  each  little  stick  of  wax  falls  into  its 
appointed  groove  without  more  apparent 
trouble  on  her  part  than  a  swift  passage  of 
her  hand  across  the  frame.  To  another  hand 
the  vestas  are  much  less  obedient ;  they  will 
not  go  into  their  places,  and  require  much 
tedious  adjustment.  Swift-fingered  maidens 
— aged  from  about  twelve  to  twenty — can 
earn  nine  shillings  a-week,  or  even  more ; 
the  slowest  fingers  earning  about  six.  There 
is  in  each  room  one  appointed  to  record,  as 
they  are  reported,  all  the  respective  items  of 
aompleted  work.  An  incessant  snapping, 
audible  in  this  room,  soon  arrests  attention  ; 
— there  might  be  somewhere  underground  a 
Lilliputian  commonwealth  holding  grand  na- 
tional rejoicings,  and  discharging  fireworks. 
To  be  sure,  somebody  is  always  treading  on  a 
fallen  match  ;  bad  as  it  is  to  tread  upon  the 
fallen,  we  confess  that  we  ourselves  produced 
two  or  three  vindictive  explosions  on  the 
part  of  vestas  which  our  feet  unwittingly  tor- 
mented ;  this,  however,  is  not  the  chief  source 
of  the  snapping.  When  we  come  to  the  girls 
who  are  swiftly  removing  the  dried  matches 
from  the  frames  and  counting  them  into 
boxes,  we  find  that  there  are  in  every  frame 
some  half-dozen  vestas  more  snappish  than 
the  rest,  which  fire  up  at  the  quick  touch  of 
the  maidens'  fingers,  and  would  like  to  punish 
them  if  possible.  Of  the  vestas,  however,  as 
of  other  beings  who  are  too  quick  in  their 
temper,  the  maxim  of  the  provoker  seems  to 


Charles  Dickens,.1 


OFFICIAL  EMIGRATION. 


155 


be,  that  it  is  of  no  use  for  them  to  put  them- 
selves into  a  heat.  They  are  put  out  and 
laid  aside,  and  nothing  more  is  thought 
about  them.  A  little  heap,  consisting  of  the 
corpses  of  angry  vestas,  who  have  thus  been 
brought  to  confusion  and  disgrace,  lies  beside 
many'  of  the  frames  from  which  the  girls  are 
picking  out  the  finished  matches.  No  instance 
seems  "to  be  known  in  which  the  whole  frame 
of  a  society  of  vestas  is  shaken  by  a  simul- 
taneous explosion.  Any  outburst  of  that 
nature  could  be  easily  suppressed,  and  if  it 
were  required  to  throw  cold  water  upon  such 
a  movement,  there  is  a  large  tank  in  the.  yard 
lying  close  to  the  doors  of  all  the  buildings. 
No  accidents  by  fire,  no  ignitions  of  frocks 
and  aprons,  have  up  to  this  date  taken  place ; 
although  the  factory  has  been  established 
many  years.  Those  who  are  very  young 
among  us  cannot  look  back  to  the  time  when 
its  proprietor  first  sent  forth  the  notion  of  wax 
vestas  into  an  approving  world,  and  he  was 
at  that  time,  as  he  is  now,  a  Bell  of  Bow. 

The  first  vestas  were  larger  than  those  now 
made,  and  comparatively  dear,  on  account  of 
the  less  perfect  nature  of  the  machinery  at  that 
time  employed.  The  process  is  very  simple  ; 
and.  that  we  may  understand  it,  we  are  intro- 
duced to  a  great  font  in  the  middle  of  the  build- 
ing. Its  cover  is  raised,  and  it  is  found  to  contain 
a  white  cake  of  wax ;  asort  of  bride-cake,  which 
results  out  of  the  match-making  of  yester- 
day. This  wax  is  a  compound  of  spermaceti, 
and  other,  cleanly  and  hard  materials,  the  use 
of  which  is  necessary,  not  only  to  the  cleanli- 
ness and  elegance  of  the  resulting  vesta,  but 
to  its  retention  of  a  firm  and  upright  bearing 
under  the  attacks  of  summer.  The  "  spurious 
imitations  "  of  which  the  proprietors  complain, 
are  made  with  a  cheaper  composition ;  in  which 
there  is  much  tallow,  and  these  conduct  them- 
selves in  hot  weather  after  so  dissolute  a  way, 
as  to  bring  the  vestal  name  into  discredit. 

A  large  ball  of  beautiful  white  cotton  is 
next  produced ;  we  are  then  shown  how 
threads  of  this,  fastened  to  the  great  raised 
wheel  at  one  end  of  the  room,  pass  over  a  ledge 
depending  from  the  ceiling,  and  descend  into 
the  font  or  trough.  By  being  drawn  under  a 
roller  at  the  bottom  of  this  trough,  the  threads 
are  made  to  dip  through  the  whole  body  of 
the  wax  ;  and,  before  they  emerge,  they  pass 
through  holes  in  a  metallic  plate,  like  the 
holes  used  in  wire-drawing.  These  holes  con- 
fine, press,  and  smooth  the  surface  of  the 
finally  resulting  cord  of  well-waxed  thread 
which,  when  cut  into  lengths  and  tipped, 
goes  by  the  name  of  vesta. 

The  dipping  process  produces  wick  so 
rapidly,  that  it  requires  six  days  to  ma- 
nufacture into  vestas  the  quantity  of  wax 
wick  made  in  four.  This  part  of  the  busi- 
ness of  the  factory,  therefore,  is  only  in  ope- 
ration on  four  days  in  the  week.  On  each 
of  these  days  twenty-four  balls,  each  con- 
taining three  pounds  of  fine  white  cotton,  are 
prepared  for  conversion  into  vestas.  Being 


curious  to  know  how  many  miles  of  wax- 
vesta  might  be  issued  weekly  to  the  public 
from  this  factory,  which,  though  the  most 
important,  is  not  the  only  one  in  London,  we 
weighed  an  ounce  of  cotton  wick,  and  then, 
measuring  it,  found  that  it  contained  forty-two 
yards.  Here  was  a  sum  :  if  an  ounce  of  cotton 
wick  contains  forty-two  yards,  and  twenty- 
four  three-pound  balls  are  worked  up  into 
vestas  in  one  day,  there  being  four  days  in  a 
vestal  week,  how  many  miles  are  manu- 
factured in  a  year  1  The  quantity  made  in 
summer  is  greater  than  we  have  said  ;  but  at 
the  rate  given,  it  will  be  found  that  the  waxen 
cord  cut  up  yearly  into  vestas  by  this  single 
factory  would,  if  undivided,  stretch  from 
England  to  America — and  back  again. 

The  inquiries  made  concerning  the  compa- 
rative briskness  of  trade  in  each  department, 
at  different  seasons  of  the  year,  elicited  a  reply 
different  to  that  which  was  received  by  us  at 
Wisker's  Gardens.*  There,  the  demand  for 
wooden  matches  doubled  in  summer  ;  here  it 
falls  off  one-half.  The  difference  is  striking, 
but  easily  accounted  for.  There,  the  matches 
made  were  of  a  very  cheap  kind,  used  almost 
entirely  by  the  poor.  In  summer,  when 
there  are  few  fires,  these  matches  are  in 
demand  for  lighting  pipes  and  candles,  and 
for  other  uses,  to  which  vestas  are  commonly 
applied  by  those  who  can  afford  to  be  more 
dainty.  The  wooden  matches  made  at  Bow 
are  of  a  higher  price  and  quality,  and  find 
their  way  less  into  the  houses  of  the  poor 
than  into  the  kitchens  of  the  middle  and 
upper  classes.  Then,  since  in  summer  there 
are  fewer  fires  to  light,  the  demand  at  the 
factory  for  wooden  matches  is  diminished  by 
one-half.  The  consumption  of  vestas,  how- 
ever, becomes  trebled.  The  lady  who,  to  seal 
her  letter,  lighted  a  taper  at  the  fire  in  winter, 
seals  her  summer  correspondence  by  the  aid 
of  vesta-matches.  They  are  the  substitute 
for  the  domestic  fire  in  lighting  lamps  and 
candles.  All  those  causes  which,  at  Wisker's 
Gardens,  doubled  the  quantity  of  lucifers 
made  for  the  poor,  operate,  at  Bow,  in  tre- 
bling the  demand  for  wax  vestas  on  the  part 
of  those  who  are  comparatively  rich. 


CHIPS. 


OFFICIAL   EMIGRATION. 

IN  consequence  of  the  misconstruction  (for 
which  we  are  in  no  degree  responsible)  of  a 
sentence  in  the  minutes  of  a  conversation 
which  passed,  some  time  ago,  between  Earl 
Grey  and  a  Colonial  remonstrant  against  con- 
vict transportation  to  Van  Diemen's  Land,  it 
was  erroneously  stated,  in  Number  ninety- 
seven  of  this  publication,  that  Earl  Grey,  the 
then  Minister  for  the  Colonies,  had  charac- 
terised the  emigrants  sent  or  assisted  out  by 
the  Emigration  Commissioners  as  "  the  refuse 

*  See  vol.  i.,  p.  186. 


156 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  the  workhouses."  We  have  no  doubt  of 
Earl  Grey's  having  been  entirely  misappre- 
hended iu  this  mutter.  The  reports  of  the 
Board  for  the  years  referred  to  (1849  and 
1850),  which  we  have  since  perused,  show, 
that,  with  certain  exceptions,  (chiefly  orphan 
girls  from  the  Irish  workhouses),  emigrants 
sent  away  under  the  auspices  of  the  Emi- 
gration Commissioners  were  not  drawn  from 
that  class  at  all.  It  is  certain  that  the  reports 
from  the  destinations  of  Government  emi- 
grants are,  on  the  whole,  favourable  to  them 
personally,  and  testify  to  the  diligence  and 
judgment  with  which  they  have  been  selected. 

So  much  as  to  the  matter  of  fact ;  but, 
although  the  "  refuse "  of  workhouses  can 
never  be  a  desirable,  or,  indeed,  practicable 
source  for  emigrants  ;  yet,  under  certain 
limitations,  workhouses  are  not  the  worst 
feeders  of  the  Colonial  labour  market.  In- 
deed, it  is  not  at  all  certain  whether  able- 
bodied  paupers,  or  even  the  least  venal 
among  convicts,  do  not  turn  out  better  colo- 
nists than  persons  who  are  able  to  muster  a 
portion  of  the  expense  of  voyage  and  outfit, 
and  who  get  the  rest  from  the  Emigration 
Commissioners.  The  steady,  hard-working 
labourer  has  very  little  chance  of  raising  the 
three  or  four  pounds  necessary  to  take  him 
out  of  the  scene  of  his  local  privations ;  but 
the  restless  rogue,  who  is  continually  giving 
all  sorts  of  trouble  to  all  sorts  of  parochial 
officers  and  private  families,  is  readily  "  as- 
sisted" to  the  antipodes  by  them  with  sub- 
scriptions. A  steady,  well-conducted  man 
seldom  requires  to  emigrate  from  necessity  : 
he  gets  well  employed  at  home.  Many  may 
and  do  choose  to  emigrate,  but  they  seldom 
have  occasion  to  do  so  with  the  assistance  of 
the  Board.  Again,  a  large  proportion  of  con- 
victs sentenced  to  transportation,  consist  of 
men  not  interior  in  any  respects  to  the  average 
of  the  working-classes.  They  have  been  led  by 
sudden  or  temporary  temptation  into  crime ; 
but,  after  undergoing  the  system  of  prison 
discipline  now  in  force,  prove,  when  removed 
to  another  part  of  the  globe,  well-conducted 
and  useful  settlers. 

Of  course,  it  would  be  a  miracle  if,  out  of 
the  million  and  a  half  of  passengers  shipped 
for  the  Colonies  (either  directly  by  the  Com- 
missioners or  under  their  general  supervision), 
duriug  the  last  six  years,  the  Emigration 
authorities  had  not  been  grossly  deceived  in 
some,  and  had  not  made  mistakes  about  others. 
But  investigation  has  proved  to  us.  that  the 
trust  reposed  in  them  in  the  application  of 
the  funds  for  emigration,  set  aside  from  Colo- 
nial land  sales,  has  been  faithful  and  judicious. 
That  they  have  been  more  vigilant  than  those 
concerned  in  voluntary  and  independent  emi- 
gration, is  clearly  proved  by  a  parliamentary 
return  just  issued.  It  appears  that  from  1847 
to  1851  (both  years  inclusive),  seven  thousand 
one  hundred  and  twenty-nine  emigrant  vessels 
sailed  from  the  United  Kingdom.  Of  the  five 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty-four  of  these 


ships  which  were  despatched  from  ports  under 
the  superintendence  of  the  Board,  thirty  were 
wrecked  ;  the  per-centage  of  loss  being  one  in 
every  one  hundred  and  ninety-nine  ships  ;  but, 
of  the  nine  hundred  and  thirteen  ships  de- 
spatched free  of  their  supervision,  nearly  three 
times  that  proportion  were  wrecked ;  namely 
— thirteen,  or  one  iu  every  seventy  vessels. 
Of  the  two  hundred  and  fifty-two  ships  sent 
directly  out  and  chartered  by  the  Commis- 
sioners, only  one  was  lost.  As  to  passengers, 
out  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  and  a  half  of 
souls,  no  fewer  were  lost,  by  shipwreck  alone, 
than  one  thousand  and  forty-three  ;  but  not  a 
single  life  was  lost  by  the  ships  chartered  by 
the  Land  and  Emigration  Commissioners. 

The  misfortune  inseparable  from  Official 
Emigration  is,  that  it  offers  fewer  facilities 
and  less  encouragement  to  voluntary,  well- 
conditioned,  and  intelligent  emigrants,  than  to 
the  less  estimable  classes  of  the  "community. 
It  is  fortunate  for  the  former,  that  it  is 
within  the  range  of  the  new  system  of  Family 
and  Loan  Colonisation. 


A  MELANCHOLY  PLACE. 

IN  the  list  of  melancholy  offices — not  a  very 
numerous  list,  we  are  glad  to  say — which 
have  to  be  filled  by  certain  individuals,  who 
undertake  to  perform  the  corresponding 
duties — some,  from  affection ;  some,  as  a  matter 
of  principle ;  some,  from  compulsion ;  and  the 
rest  for  a  fee  or  salary — there  are  few  that 
convey  a  more  sombre  impression  to  our 
imagination  than  the  very  ancient  post  of  the 
Curfew-Toller.  It  is  of  so  time-honoured  a 
standing  that,  as  extremes  meet,  time  has 
since  gone  such  lengths  as  to  forget  the  date 
of  its  origin.  Though  most  historians  at- 
tribute the  establishment  of  the  tyrannical 
law  of  the  Curfew,  to  William  the  Conqueror, 
there  does  not  appear  to  be  an  adequate 
authority  for  the  statement.  That  so  mono- 
tonous, despotic,  and  dolorous  a  duty,  however, 
as  the  duty  of  ordering  all  grown-up  people  off 
to  bed,  like  children,  or  creatures  in  mena- 
geries, at  the  tolling  of  the  bell,  would  be 
accepted  from  any  liking  for  the  place,  is 
beyond  belief ;  we  are  therefore  obliged  to 
arrive  at  the  conclusion,  that  it  was  on  account 
of  the  fees  or  salary  attached  to  it.  Well  ; 
we  may  suppose  that  a  similar  influence 
operated  throughout  the  whole  course  of 
"  the  good  old  times,"  since  we  find  that  the 
"  place "  has  never  been  vacant,  down  to 
the  present  day ! 

In  the  article  entitled  A  Tower  of 
Strength,  published  in  our  one  hundred  and 
fourth  Number,  fifth  volume,  page  fifteen, 
we  were  so  unfortunate  as  to  omit  all  mention 
of  the  Curfew-Toller.  We  now  beg  the 
reader  to  pardon  the  oversight,  and  to  do  us 
the  favour  to  imagine  him  seated  in  a  snug 
private  apartment  beneath  his  belfry,  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  in  company  with  the  Gen- 
tleman Headsman,  over  a  glass  of  fine  old  port : 


Charles  l)icken>.] 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  STUDENT. 


157 


each  with  a  piece  of  crape  round  one  arm,  and 
drinking  to  the  memory  of  the  past.  "  In 
silence,"  we  should  add ;  because,  as  no  curfew- 
bell  is  now  rung,  and  no  heads  are  cut  off,  it 
might  seem,  to  common  and  profane  minds 
having  no  reverence  for  the  customs  of  our 
ancestors,  that  such  "  places  "  are  not  exactly 
wanted. 

But  eveiy  true  lover  of  his  country,  and  of 
its  glorious  constitution,  which  admits  of  every 
form  of  construction,  and  furnishes  for  every- 
thing every  justification  that  can  be  needed, 
will  see  that  such  places  ought  always  to  exist. 
While,  therefore,  we  think  that  a  nice  little 
antiquarian  party,  composed  of  the  Gentleman 
Headsman,  the  Curfew-Toller,  the  Grand 
Falconer,  and  the  Keeper  of  the  Eoyal  Buck- 
hounds,  might  be  assembled  in  the  curfew- 
beli'ry  (a  quiet  nook  in  its  ruins,  or  a  tent  on 
its  ancient  site)  of  the  Tower,  to  celebrate 
the  days  when  their  several  salaries  were 
coloured,  and  sometimes  very  highly,  by  cor- 
responding duties,  may  we,  at  the  same  time, 
seize  the  opportunity  of  suggesting  that  two 
other  places  should  be  restored, — the  represen- 
tatives of  whom  should  be  allowed  to  take 
their  seats  at  the  convivial  table  ;  to  wit — 
the  Court  Fool,  and  the  Gentleman  Bear- 
Keeper  of  the  Tower  ? 

For  the  revival  of  the  place  of  Fool,  we 
need  offer  no  justification,  as  his  utility,  in 
conjunction  with  the  others  previously  named, 
is  obvious  ;  touching  the  Bear-Keeper,  how- 
ever, a  word  or  two  may  seem  necessary.  All 
\ve  have  to  do,  is  to  show  a  "precedent," 
and  then  everything  will  flow  in  its  natural 
course. 

In  1252,  we  find  that  the  sheriffs  of  London 
were  commanded  by  the  King  to  pay  four- 
pence  a  day — "  for  our  white  bear  in  the 
Tower  of  London,  and  his  keeper ;"  and  the 
writer  of  Zoological  Anecdotes  assures  us, 
that  in  the  following  year  the  sheriffs  were 
directed  to  "provide  a  muzzle  and  an  iron 
chain  to  hold  him,  when  out  of  the  water ; 
and  also  a  long  and  strong  rope  to  hold  him, 
when  fishing  in  the  Thames." 

The  curfew  bell- rope,  and  the  Tower-Bear's 
fishing  rope,  each  in  a  graceful  coil,  might 
thus  be  hung  up,  as  trophies  and  memorials, 
against  the  walls  of  the  wassail-room,  side  by 
side  with  the  Grand  Falconer's  gloves,  a 
buck's  head  and  antlers,  and  the  somewhat 
rusty  axe  of  the  Gentleman  Headsman. 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  STUDENT. 

THE  authors  of  books  on  zoological  subjects, 
which  have  so  frequently  issued  from  the 
press  of  late  years,  and  which  are  continually 
appearing,  may  be  separated,  for  the  most 
part,  into  two  classes  —  those  who  hunt 
and  slay,  and  those  who  observe  and  study. 
The  passion  of  the  former  is  the  excitement 
of  the  chase  to  destroy  ;  the  great  pleasure 
of  the  latter  is  in  the  preservation  of  the 


creature,  and  the  accurate  noting  down  of  all 
its  characteristics.  At  the  head  of  the  former, 
by  way  of  instance,  we  must  place  Mr. 
Gordon  Gumming  and  Sir  W.  Cornwallis 
Harris  ;  at  the  head  of  the  latter,  no  one  will 
hesitate  to  place  White  of  Selborne,  and 
Professor  Owen.  If  it  be  objected  that  White 
is  not  an  author  of  very  recent  date,  then 
we  shall  name  the  Reverend  Leonard  Jenyns, 
to  whose  patient  and  indefatigable  study, 
during  many  years,  we  are  indebted  for  his 
delightful  and  instructive  "  Observations  on 
Natural  History."  Rymer  Jones  is  another 
name  that  instantly  starts  to  our  pen ;  we 
have,  however,  sufficiently  indicated  the  class 
we  mean.  It  is  not  to  be  understood  that 
either  class  is  of  an  exclusive  kind — that  the 
hunters  never  observe,  and  that  the  observers 
never  kill — since  the  labour  of  each  is  often 
"  a  mingled  yarn."  We  define  the  extremes 
of  these  two  classes. 

Our  taste  by  no  means  leans  to  the  san- 
guinary ;  nor  do  we  think  that  the  great 
majority,  who  are  not  themselves  hunters, 
and  who,  at  least,  may  be  supposed  to  sit 
down  to  read  in  "  cool  blood,"  can  feel  grati- 
fied by  stories  in  which  remorselessness  is 
the  most  prominent  characteristic  ;  while  the 
narrator  is  so  blinded  by  the  very  memory  of 
his  ardour,  that  he  does  not  in  the  least  per- 
ceive he  is  writing  his  own  condemnation. 
The  compiler  of  a  recently  published  book, 
called  Zoological  Notes  and  Anecdotes,  quotes 
an  account  of  a  giraffe  hunt,  from  the 
"  Portraits  of  the  Game  and  Wild  Animals  of 
South  Africa,"  by  Sir  Cornwallis  Harris,  and 
designates  it  as  a  "  spirit-stirring  adventure." 
What  sort  of  spirit  it  stirs  in  us,  our  readers 
will  not  find  it  difficult  to  conjecture. 

Sir  Cornwallis  Harris  had  for  weeks  sought 
in  vain  to  get  a  shot  at  the  tallest  quadruped  of 
the  earth — a  giraffe.  One  day  he  saw  what  he 
took  to  be  a  large  branchless  stump  of  some 
withered  tree  in  the  distance  ;  but  presently 
it  moved  along  above  the  tops  of  the  thicket, 
and  he  now  distinguished  a  stately  giraffe 
gliding  among  the  trees,  "  its  graceful  head 
nodding  like  a  lofty  pine."  He  set  spurs  to 
his  horse,  and  soon  found  himself,  "  half 
choked  with  excitement,"  close  upon  the 
heels  of  the  giraffe,  who  went  "  sailing  before 
him  "  with  velocity,  "  like  some  tall  ship  upon 
the  ocean's  bosom."  The  half-choked  sports- 
man dismounts  to  fire,  and  "  the  mottled 
carcase  presenting  a  fair  and  inviting  mark," 
he  has  "  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  two  balls 
tell  roundly"  upon  the  back  of  his  towering 
victim.  They  are  not  sufficient ;  so  he  re- 
mounts, and  again  pursues.  He  and  his 
horse  tumble  into  a  hole,  by  which  his  rifle 
is  broken  ;  he  scrambles  up  again,  however, 
and  binding  his  rifle-barrel  to  the  stock  with 
a  handkerchief,  once  more  gives  chase.  Mean- 
while the  weary  and  no  less  innocent  giraffe 
had  stood  still  to  allow  of  his  approach.  The 
hunter  is  now  in  a  state  of  wild  excitement 
at  finding  that  the  lock  of  his  rifle  will  not  act : 


158 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


I  in  vain  he  looks  around  for  a  stone,  and  seeks  in 
every  pocket  for  his  knife,  "  with  which,  either 
to  strike  the  copper  cap,  or  hamstring  the 
colossal  but  harmless  animal,"  who  stood 
waiting  for  his  doom.  The  reader  will  rejoice 
to  hear  that  the  giraffe  escapes.  A  few  days 
afterwards,  however,  Sir  Cornwallis  Harris 
suddenly  comes  upon  a  herd  of  thirty  giraffes, 
and  his  blood  "courses  like  quicksilver  through 
his  veins"  as  he  gallops  after  them.  Coming 
up  with  the  fugitives,  he  singles  out  their 
"  lordly  chief,"  and  "  applying  the  muzzle  of 
the  rifle  towards  his  dappled  shoulder,  draws 
both  triggers." 

The  conclusion  of  the  affair  is  given  in  these 
words  : — "  Mute,  dignified,  and  majestic,  stood 
the  unfortunate  victim,  occasionally  stooping 
his  elastic  neck  towards  his  persecutor,  the  tears 
trickling  from  the  lashes  of  his  dark  humid 
eye,  as  broadside  after  broadside  was  poured 
into  his  brawny  front : 

"  His  drooping  head  sinks  gradually  low, 
And  through  his  side  the  last  drops  ebbing  slow, 
From  the  red  gash,"  &c. 

Presently  a  convulsive  shivering  seized  his 
limbs,  his  coat  stood  on  end,  his  lofty  frame 
began  to  totter,  and,  at  the  seventeenth  dis- 
charge from  the  deadly  grooved  bore,  "  like  a 
falling  minaret,  bowing  his  graceful  head  from 
the  skies,  his  proud  form  was  prostrate  in  the 
dust."  "  Never  shall  I  forget  the  intoxicating 
excitement  of  the  moment  !  At  last,  then, 
the  summit  of  my  ambition  was  attained, 
and  the  towering  giraffe  laid  low.  Tossing  my 
turbanless  cap  into  the  air,  alone  in  the  wild 
wood,  I  hurraed  with  bursting  exultation, 
and  unsaddling  my  steed,  sunk,  exhausted 
with  delight,  beside  the  noble  prize  I  had 
won." 

All  this  is  very  pretty  and  improving, — 
especially  the  poetry.  Whether  the  poetry 
and  the  bursting  exultation  go  quite  well 
together,  is  a  point  the  curious  reader  will 
consider,  perhaps. 

Far  be  it  from  us  to  require  of  those  en- 
gaged in  the  excitement  of  the  chase,  the 
inward,  or  self-governed  enthusiasm  of  the 
scientific  observer  and  student  of  nature.  We 
would  not  say  to  a  man,  in  a  moment  of  mad- 
ness, "  My  friend !  you  should  moderate  your 
transports ; "  but  we  would  say  to  every 
member  of  the  great  family  of  man  :  Re- 
member, that  when  we  destroy  life  of  any 
kind,  we  destroy  something  which  we  did  not 
give,  cannot  restore,  do  not  understand — 
which  has  many  principles  and  elements 
exactly  like  our  own — which  demands  of 
us,  when  we  take  it  without  provoca- 
tion or  need  of  self-preservation,  that  we 
should  not  cast  aside  our  common  human 
feelings. 

How  very  different  is  the  effect  upon 
our  minds,  where  the  hunter  meets  with 
a  wild  beast — whom  we  may  regard  as  an 
antagonist  worthy  of  his  prowess — where 
there  is  a  doubt  as  to  the  result,  and  who  is, 


moreover,  the  first  assailant !  When  a  hunter 
lies  clown  before  his  night-fire,  surrounded  by 
his  friends,  and  a  lion  leaps  in  among  them 
and  carries  oft"  his  man — the  chase  of  that 
royal  savage,  the  contest,  and  the  death — con- 
stitute an  adventure  of  that  legitimate  excite- 
ment which  commands  everybody's  sympathy. 
Even  the  pain  we  feel  at  the  sufferings  and 
horror,  if  not  the  death,  of  the  man  carried 
off,  is  somewhat  tempered  in  our  emotions  by 
the  recollection  that  he  was  a  hunter,  and 
came  there  to  kill  the  lion  ;  so  that  if  the 
lion  knew  that  fact  (and  we  cannot  tell  but 
instinct  may  go  so  far),  he  would  argue  that 
his  assault  was  "all  fair,"  and  a  thing  to  be  ex- 
pected by  those  who  intruded  on  his  domains. 
But,  when  lions,  or  any  other  wild  beasts,  are 
wantonly  attacked  and  destroyed  for  no  other 
purpose  than  to  afford  an  exciting  amuse- 
ment, we  think  it  is  time  those  delights 
of  a  barbarous  age  were  discountenanced 
among  civilised  nations. 

Of  the  force  of  character,  however,  which 
some  of  these  scenes  display,  no  doubt  can 
be  entertained.  The  strength  and  courage  of 
the  lion  is  so  great  that,  although  he  is  seldom 
four  feet  in  height,  he  is  more  than  a  match 
for  fierce  animals  of  three  or  four  times  his 
size,  such  as  the  buffalo.  He  will  even  attack 
a  rhinoceros  or  an  elephant,  if  provoked.  He 
possesses  such  extraordinary  muscular  power, 
that  he  has  been  known  to  kill  a.nd  carry  off 
a  heifer  of  two  years  old  in  his  mouth,  and, 
after  being  pursued  by  herdsmen  on  horse- 
back for  five  hours,  it  has  been  found  that  he 
has  scarcely  ever  allowed  the  body  of  the 
heifer  to  touch  the  ground  during  the 
whole  distance !  But  here  is  an  instance 
of  strength  in  a  man — a  different  sort  of 
strength — which  surpasses  all  we  ever  heard 
of  a  lion  : — 

Three  officers  in  the  East  Indies — Captain 
Woodhouse,  Lieutenant  Delamain,  and  Lieu- 
tenant Laing — being  informed  that  two  lions 
had  made  their  appearance,  in  a  jungle,  at  some 
twenty  miles'  distance  from  their  cantonment, 
rode  off  in  that  direction  to  seek  an  engage- 
ment. They  soon  found  the  "  lordly  strangers/' 
or,  natives,  we  should  rather  say.  One  of  the 
lions  was  killed  by  the  first  volley  they  fired  ; 
the  other  retreated  across  the  country.  The 
officers  pursued,  until  the  lion,  making  an 
abrupt  curve,  returned  to  his  jungle.  They 
then  mounted  an  elephant,  and  went  in  to 
search  for  him.  They  found  him  standing 
under  a  bush,  looking  directly  towards  them. 
He  sought  no  conflict,  but,  seeing  them 
approach,  he  at  once  accepted  the  first 
challenge,  and  sprang  at  the  elephant's  head, 
where  he  hung  on.  The  officers  fired  ;  in 
the  excitement  of  the  onset  their  aim  was 
defeated,  and  the  lion  only  wounded.  The 
elephant  meanwhile  had  shaken  him  off,  and, 
not  liking  such  an  antagonist,  refused  to  face 
him  again.  The  lion  did  not  pursue,  but 
stood  waiting.  At  length  the  elephant  was 
persuaded  to  advance  once  more  ;  seeing 


Charles  Dickens.l 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  STUDENT. 


159 


which,  the  lion  became  furious,  and  rushed 
to  the  contest.  The  elephant  turned  about  to 
retreat,  and  the  lion  springing  upon  him  from 
behind,  grappled  his  flesh  with  teeth  and 
claws,  and  again  hung  on.  The  officers  fired, 
while  the  elephant  kicked  with  all  his  might ; 
but,  though  the  lion  was  dislodged,  he  was 
still  without  any  mortal  wound,  and  retired 
into  the  thicket,  content  with  what  he  had 
done  in  return  for  the  assault.  The  officers 
had  become  too  excited  to  desist ;  and  in  the 
fever  of  the  moment,  as  the  elephant,  for  his 
part,  now  directly  refused  to  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  the  business,  Captain  Wood- 
house  resolved  to  dismount,  and  go  on  foot 
into  the  jungle.  Lieutenant  Delamain  and 
Lieutenant  Laing  dismounted  with  him,  and 
they  followed  in  the  direction  the  lion  had 
taken.  They  presently  got  sight  of  him,  and 
Captain  Woodhouse  fired,  but  apparently 
without  any  serious  injury,  as  they  saw  "  the 
mighty  lord  of  the  woods  "  retire  deeper  into 
the  thicket  '•  with  the  utmost  composure." 
They  pursued,  and  Lieutenant  Delamain  got 
a  shot  at  the  lion.  This  was  to  be  endured 
no  longer,  and  forth  came  the  lion,  dashing 
right  through  the  bushes  that  intervened,  so 
that  he  was  close  upon  them  in  no  time.  The 
two  lieutenants  were  just  able  to  escape  out 
of  the  jungle  to  re-load,  but  Captain  Wood- 
house  stood  quietly  on  one  side,  hoping  the 
lion  would  pass  him  unobserved.  This  was 
rather  too  much  to  expect  after  all  he  had 
done.  The  lion  darted  at  him,  and  in  an 
instant,  "  as  though  by  a  stroke  of  lightning," 
the  rifle  was  broken  and  knocked  out  of  his 
hand,  and  he  found  himself  in  the  grip  of 
the  irresistible  enemy  whom  he  had  chal- 
lenged to  mortal  combat.  Lieutenant  Dela- 
main iired  at  the  lion  without  killing  him,  and 
then  again  retreated  to  re-load.  Meantime, 
Captain  Woodhouse  and  the  lion  were  both 
lying  wounded  on  the  ground,  and  the  lion 
began  to  craunch  his  arm.  In  this  dreadful 
position  Captain  Woodhouse  had  the  presence 
of  mind,  and  the  fortitude,  amidst  the  horrible 
pain  he  endured,  to  lie  perfectly  still — know- 
ing that  if  he  made  any  resistance  now,  he 
Avould  be  torn  to  pieces  in  a  minute.  Finding 
all  motion  had  ceased,  the  lion  let  the  arm  drop 
from  his  mouth,  and  quietly  crouched  down 
with  his  paws  on  the  thigh  of  his  prostrate 
antagonist.  Presently  Captain  Woodhouse, 
iinding  his  head  in  a  painful  position,  un- 
thinkingly raised  one  hand  to  support  it, 
whereupon  the  lion  again  seized  his  arm,  and 
craunched  it  higher  up.  Once  more,  not- 
withstanding the  intense  agony,  and  yet  more 
intense  apprehension  of  momentary  destruc- 
tion, Captain  Woodhouse  had  the  strength  of 
will  and  self-command  to  lie  perfectly  still. 
He  remained  thus,  until  his  friends  discover- 
ing his  situation,  were  hastening  up.  but  upon 
the  wrong  side,  so  that  their  balls  might 
possibly  pass  through  the  lion,  and  hit  him. 
Without  moving,  or  manifesting  any  hasty 
excitement,  he  was  heard  to  say,  in  a  low 


voice,  "  To  the  other  side  ! — to  the  other  side ! " 
They  hurried  round.  Next  moment  the  mag- 
nanimous lion  lay  dead  by  the  side  of  a  yet 
stronger  nature  than  his  own. 

Diedrik  Miiller,  during  his  hunting  time 
in  South  Africa,  as  related  in  the  work  pre- 
viously quoted,  came  suddenly  upon  a  lion. 
The  lion  did  not  attack  him,  but  stood  still — 
as  though  he  would  have  said,  "  Well,  what 
do  you  want  here  in  my  desert  1  "  Miiller 
alighted  from  his  horse,  and  took  deliberate 
aim  at  the  lion's  forehead.  Just  as  he  drew  the 
trigger,  his  horse  gave  a  start  of  terror,  and 
the  hunter  missed  his  aim.  The  lion  sprang 
forward  ;  but,  finding  that  the  man  stood 
still — for  he  had  no  time  either  to  remount 
his  horse,  or  take  to  his  heels — the  lion 
stopped  within  a  few  paces,  and  stood  still 
also,  confronting  him.  The  man  and  the 
lion  stood  looking  at  each  other  for  some 
minutes  ;  the  man  never  moved  ;  at  length 
the  lion  slowly  turned,  and  walked  away. 
Miiller  began  hastily  to  re-load  his  gun.  The 
lion  looked  back  over  his  shoulder,  gave  a 
deep  growl,  and  instantly  returned.  Could 
words  speak  plainer  ?  Muller,  of  course,  held 
his  hand,  and  remained  motionless.  The  lion 
again  moved  off,  warily.  The  hunter  began 
softly  to  ram  down  his  bullet.  Again  the  lion 
looked  back,  and  gave  a  threatening  growl. 
This  was  repeated  between  them  until  the 
lion  had  retired  to  some  distance,  when  he 
bounded  into  a  thicket. 

Impressed  in  various  ways  by  these  exciting 
scenes  of  savage  life  and  death,  how  pecu- 
liarly soothing  and  quieting — we  might  say, 
humanising — is  the  effect  produced  on  the 
mind  and  feelings  by  turning  to  a  work  like 
the  "  Observations  in  Natural  History,"  where 
we  find  a  benevolent  and  indefatigable  country 
clergyman  lising  before  daybreak,  and  wan- 
dering about  the  dewy  fields,  and  through 
the  misty  woods,  and  down  quiet  green  lanes, 
noting  all  objects,  signs,  and  tokens,  by  which 
the  nature  and  habits  of  living  creatures 
are  displayed.  "  I  have  occasionally  had  the 
curiosity,"  says  Mr.  Jenyns,  "  to  note  down 
the  exact  time  at  which  the  different  species 
of  birds  are  first  heard  on  a  fine  summer's 
morning."  On  a  certain  day  he  heard  the 
skylark  up  and  singing  at  two  in  the  morning  ; 
next,  at  twenty  minutes  after  two,  he  heard 
the  cock  crow  ;  at  three  o'clock  the  thrush 
sang ;  at  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty  minutes 
after  each  other,  came  the  song  and  cry  of  the 
yellowhammer,  the  swallow,  the  blackbird, 
the  duck,  ring-dove,  rook,  &c.  On  another 
morning  the  cock  was  up  first,  but  the  sky- 
lark was  again  the  first  of  the  singing  birds  ; 
then  came  the  rooks  (a  few)  cawing  doubt- 
fully, as  if  not  quite  awake ;  the  thrush  singing, 
the  ring-dove  cooing,  &c.  On  another  occa- 
sion, the  cock  was  up  and  crowing  at  fifty-one 
minutes  after  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  ;  then 
the  skylark  rose  and  sang,  the  ring-dove 
cooed  at  two  o'clock,  the  duck  quacked,  the 
blackbird  sang,  the  redbreast,  swallow,  thrush, 


160 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


all  heard  ;  at  half-  past  two  "  blackbirds  every- 
\vhere  singing,"  &c. 

A  very  curious  question  is  started  by  the 
worthy  vicar  of  Swaffham  Bulbec  (the  author 
of  the  above  "  Observations ")  on  the  mor- 
tality of  birds.  The  mortality  must  be  enor- 
mous every  year,  yet  how  seldom  in  our 
country  rambles  do  we  find  a  dead  bird.  One, 
now  and  then,  in  the  woods  or  hedgerows,  is 
the  utmost  seen  by  anybody,  even  if  he  search 
for  them.  Very  few,  comparatively,  are  de- 
stroyed by  mankind.  Only  a  few  species  are 
killed  by  sportsmen  ;  all  the  rest  cannot  live 
long,  nor  can  they  all  be  eaten  by  other  birds. 
Many  must  die  from  natural  causes.  Immense 
numbers,  especially  of  the  smaller  birds,  are 
born  each  year,  yet  they  do  not  appear  to 
increase  the  general  stock  of  the  species. 
Immense  numbers,  therefore,  must  die  every 
year ;  but  what  becomes  of  the  bodies  ? 
Martins,  nightingales,  and  other  migratory 
birds,  may  be  supposed  to  leave  a  great 
number  of  their  dead  relations  in  foreign 
countries  ;  this,  however,  cannot  apply  to  our 
own  indigenous  stock.  Mr.  Jenyns  partly 
accounts  for  this  by  saying,  that  no  doubt  a 
great  many  young  birds  fall  a  prey  to  stronger 
birds  soon  after  leaving  the  nest,  and  probably 
a  number  of  the  elder  birds  also ;  while  the 
very  old  are  killed  by  the  cold  of  winter  ; 
or,  becoming  too  feeble  to  obtain  food,  drop 
to  the  earth,  and  are  spared  the  pain  of 
starvation  by  being  speedily  carried  oif  by 
some  hungry  creature  of  the  woods  and 
fields.  Besides  these  means  for  the  disposal  of 
the  bodies,  there  are  scavenger  insects,  who 
devour,  and  another  species  who  act  as 
sextons,  and  bury  the  bodies.  During  the 
warm  months  of  summer,  some  of  the  burying 
beetles  will  accomplish  "  the  -humble  task 
allotted  them  by  Providence,"  in  a  surprisingly 
short  time.  Mr.  Jenyns  has  repeatedly, 
during  a  warm  spring,  placed  dead  birds  upon 
the  ground,  in  different  spots  frequented  by 
the  necrophorus  vespillo,  and  other  allied 
beetles,  who  have  effected  the  interment  so 
completely  in  four-aiid-twenty  hours,  that 
there  was  a  difficulty  in  finding  the  bodies 
again. 

All  this  goes  a  great  way  to  account  for  our 
so  very  seldom  seeing  any  dead  birds  lying 
about,  notwithstanding  the  immense  mortality 
that  must  take  place  every  year ;  but  it  cer- 
tainly is  not  satisfactory  ;  for,  although  the 
birds  of  prey,  and  those  which  are  not  devoured 
by  others,  are,  comparatively,  small  in  num- 
ber, how  is  it  that  none  of  these  are  ever 
found  ?  Once  in  a  season,  perhaps,  we  may 
find  a  dead  crow,  or  a  dead  owl  (generally  one 
that  has  been  shot),  but  who  ever  finds  hawks, 
ravens,  kites,  sparrow-hawks,  or  any  number 
of  crows,  out  of  all  the  annual  mortality  that 
must  occur  in  their  colonies?  These  birds 
are  for  the  most  part  too  large  for  the  sexton 
beetle  to  bury  ;  and,  quickly  as  the  foxes, 
stoats,  weasels,  and  other  prowling  creatures 
would  nose  out  the  savoury  remains,  or  the 


newly-fallen  bodies,  these  creatures  only  in- 
habit certain  localities — and  dead  birds  mav 
be  supposed  to  fall  in  many  places.  Still,  they 
are  not  seen. 

A  distinction  has  been  made  since  the 
time  of  White  of  Selborne,  between  in-door 
and  out-of-door  naturalists.  It  is  not  made 
invidiously,  as  each  class  may  be  said,  in 
general,  to  depend  upon  the  other ;  few  men 
unite  the  two  qualifications  of  indefatigable 
search  and  observation  out  of  doors,  and 
laborious  and  patient  examination,  compa- 
rison, classification,  and  so  forth,  in  sedentary 
seclusion.  Both  are  students  of  Nature,  but 
the  out-of-door  naturalists  may  be  said  to  take 
her  at  first  hand.  Of  this  latter  class  is  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Jenyns,  a  worthy  follower  of 
White  ;  and  his  book  furnishes  a  truthful 
record  of  many  years  of  actual  out-of-door 
observations. 

Passing  over  his  remarks  on  the  mason  wasp, 
who  builds  a  nest  for  its  eggs,  and  then  leaves 
in  it  an  imprisoned  caterpillar  for  the  young 
to  feed  upon  as  soon  as  hatched  by  the  warm 
season  ;  on  the  bees,  who,  he  found,  got  drunk 
with  the  narcotic  juices  or  odours  of  dahlias ;  on 
his  seeing  thrushes  carry  snails  to  knock 
their  heads  upon  a  stone,  and  thus  crack 
them  for  eating  ;  on  his  being  able  to  distin- 
guish the  season  by  the  sounds  of  animals  in 
the  fields,  and  insect  life  in  the  air  (Humboldt 
says  he  could  tell  what  o'clock  it  was  by  the 
hum  of  the  insects,  and  the  different  sensa- 
tions of  their  poisonous  stings  !)  ;  and  on  the 
stockdove,  in  whose  crop  he  found  seeds 
which  had  begun  to  sprout ;  we  will  take 
the  following  delightful  story  about  a  pair  of 
robins : — 

A  pair  of  robins  built  their  nest  in  the  old 
ivy  of  a  garden  wall,  and  the  hen  shortly 
afterwards  sat  in  maternal  pride  upon  four 
eggs.  The  gardener  came  to  clip  the  ivy; 
and,  not  knowing  of  the  nest,  his  shears  cut 
off  a  part  of  it,  so  that  the  four  eggs  fell  to 
the  ground.  Dropping  on  leaves,  they  were 
not  broken.  Notice  being  attracted  by  the 
plaintive  cries  of  the  hen  bird,  the  eggs  were 
restored  to  the  nest,  which  the  gardener  re- 
paired. The  robins  returned,  the  hen  sat  upon 
the  eggs,  and  in  a  few  days  they  were  hatched. 
Shortly  afterwards,  the  four  little  ones  were 
all  found  lying  upon  the  ground  beneath, 
cold,  stiff,  and  lifeless.  The  gardener's  repairs 
of  the  nest  had  not  been  according  to  the 
laws  of  bird- architecture,  and  a  gap  had 
broken  out.  The  four  unfledged  little  ones 
were  taken  into  the  house,  and,  efforts  being 
made  to  revive  them  by  warmth,  they  pre- 
sently showed  signs  of  life,  recovered,  and 
were  again  restored  to  the  nest.  The  gap 
was  filled  up  by  stuffing  a  small  piece  of 
drugget  into  it.  The  parent  robins,  perched 
in  a  neighbouring  tree,  watched  all  these 
operations,  without  displaying  any  alarm  for 
the  result,  and, as  soon  as  they  were  completed, 
returned  to  the  nest.  All  went  on  well  for 
a  day  or  two  ;  but  misfortune  seemed  never 


Charlen  Dickens.] 


THE  HUNTER  AND  THE  STUDENT. 


161 


weary  of  tormenting  this  liitle  family.  A 
violent  shower  of  rain  fell.  The  nest  being 
exposed,  by  the  close  clipping  of  the  ivy 
leaves,  the  drugget  got  sopped,  the  rain  half 
filled  the  nest,  and  the  gardener  found  the 
four  little  ones  lying  motionless  in  the  water. 
Once  more,  they  were  taken  away,  dried  near 
the  tire,  and  placed  in  the  nest  of  another 
bird  fixed  in  a  tree  opposite  the  ivy.  The 
parent  birds  in  a  few  minutes  occupied  the 
nest,  and  never  ceased  their  attentions  until 
the  brood  were  able  to  fly,  and  take  care  of 
themselves. 

The  story  we  have  already  related  of 
Diedrik  Miiller's  lion,  is  surpassed  by  an- 
other of  a  similar  kind,  which  we  take  to  be 
about  the  best  lion- story  that  zoological 
records  can  furnish. 

A  hunter,  in  the  wilds  of  Africa,  had  seated 
himself  on  a  bank  near  a  pool,  to  rest,  leaving  his 
gun,  set  upright  against  a  rock,  a  few  feet  behind 
him.  He  was  alone.  Whether  he  fell  asleep, 
or  only  into  a  reverie,  he  did  not  know,  but 
suddenly  he  saw  an  enormous  lion  stand- 
ing near  him,  attentively  observing  him. 
Their  eyes  met,  and  thus  they  remained, 
motionless,  looking  at  each  other.  At  length 
the  hunter  leaned  back,  and  slowly  extended 
his  arm  towards  his  gun.  The  lion  instantly 
uttered  a  deep  growl,  and  advanced  nearer. 
The  hunter  paused.  After  a  time,  he  very 
gradually  repeated  the  attempt,  and  again 
the  lion  uttered  a  deep  growl,  the  meaning 
of  which  was  not  to  be  mistaken.  This 
occurred  several  times  (as  in  the  former 
case),  until  the  man  was  obliged  to  desist 
altogether.  Night  approached ;  the  lion 
never  left  him  the  whole  night.  Day  broke  ; 
the  lion  still  was  there,  and  remained 
there  the  whole  day.  The  hunter  had 
ceased  to  make  any  attempt  to  seize  his  gun, 
and  saw  that  his  only  hope  was  to  weary 
the  lion  out  by  the  fortitude  of  a  passive 
state,  however  dreadful  the  situation.  All 
the  next  night  the  lion  remained.  The 
man,  worn  out  for  want  of  sleep,  dared  not 
to  close  his  eyes,  lest  the  lion,  believing  him 
to  be  dead,  should  devour  him.  All  the 
provision  in  his  wallet  was  exhausted.  The 
third  night  arrived.  Being  now  utterly 
exhausted,  and  having  dropped  off  to  sleep, 
several  times,  and  as  often  come  back  to  con- 
sciousness with  a  start  of  horror  at  finding  he 
had  been  asleep,  he  finally  sunk  backward, 
and  lay  in  a  dead  slumber.  He  never  awoke 
till  broad  day,  and  then  found  that  the  lion 
was  gone. 

On  the  question,  of  "best"  stories  of  ani- 
mals, there  are  so  many  excellent  stories  of 
several  species  that  the  superlative  degree 
may  be  hard  to  determine.  Setting  down 
the  above,  however,  as  the  best  lion-story, 
we  will  give  what  we  consider  to  be  (up  to 
this  time)  the  best  elephant-story.  In  one  of 
.the  recent  accounts  of  scenes  of  Indian  war- 
fare (the  title  of  the  book  has  escaped  us, 
:and  .perhaps  we  met  with  the  narrative  in  a 


printed  letter),  a  body  of  artillery  was  de- 
scribed as  proceeding  up  a  hill,  and  the  great 
strength  of  elephants  was  found  highly  ad- 
vantageous in  drawing  up  the  guns.  On  the 
carriage  of  one  of  these  guns,  a  little  in  front 
of  the  wheel,  sat  an  artilleryman,  resting 
himself.  An  elephant,  drawing  another  gun, 
was  advancing  in  regular  order  close  behind. 
Whether  from  falling  asleep,  or  over- fatigue, 
the  man  fell  from  his  seat,  and  the  wheel  of 
the  gun-carriage,  with  its  heavy  gun,  was 
just  rolling  over  him.  The  elephant  compre- 
hending the  danger,  and  seeing  that  he 
could  not  reach  the  body  of  the  man  with 
his  trunk,  seized  the  wheel  by  the  top, 
and,  lifting  it  up,  passed  it  carefully  over 
the  fallen  man,  and  set  it  down  on  the  other 
side. 

The  best  dog-story — though  there  are  a 
number  of  best  stories  of  this  honest  fellow — 
we  fear  is  an  old  one  ;  but  we  cannot  forbear 
telling  it,  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  may 
not  have  met  with  it  before.  A  surgeon  found 
a  poor  dog,  with  his  leg  broken.  He  took 
him  home,  set  it,  and  in  due  time  gave  him 
his  liberty.  Off  he  ran.  Some  months  after- 
wards the  surgeon  was  awoke  in  the  night  by 
a  dog  barking  loudly  at  his  door.  As  the  bark- 
ing continued,  and  the  surgeon  thought  he  re- 
cognised the  voice,  he  got  up,  and  went  down 
stairs.  When  he  opened  the  door,  there  stood 
his  former  patient,  wagging  his  tail,  and  by  his 
side  another  dog — a  friend  whom  he  had 
brought — who  had  also  had  the  misfortune  to 
get  a  leg  broken.  There  is  another  dog- story 
of  a  different  kind,  told  by  Mr.  Jenyns,  which 
we  think  very  amusing.  A  poodle,  belonging 
to  a  gentleman  in  Cheshire,  was  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  church  with  his  master,  and  sitting 
with  him  in  the  pew  during  the  whole  service. 
Sometimes  his  master  did  not  come  ;  but  this 
did  not  prevent  the  poodle,  who  always  pre- 
sented himself  in  good  time,  entered  the  pew, 
and  remained  sitting  there  alone  :  departing 
with  the  rest  of  the  congregation.  One  Sun- 
day, the  dam  at  the  head  of  a  lake  in  the 
neighbourhood  gave  way,  and  the  whole  road 
was  inundated.  The  congregation  was  there- 
fore reduced  to  a  few  individuals,  who  came 
from  cottages  close  at  hand.  Nevertheless, 
by  the  time  the  clergyman  had  commenced 
reading  the  Psalms,  he  saw  his  friend  the 
poodle  come  slowly  up  the  aisle,  dripping 
with  water :  having  been  obliged  to  ssvim 
above  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  get  to  church. 
He  went  into  his  pew,  as  usual,  and  remained 
quietly  there  to  the  end  of  the  service.  This 
is  told  on  the  authority  of  the  clergyman 
himself. 

A  hungry  jackdaw  once  took  a  fancy  to 
a  young  chicken  which  had  only  recently 
been  hatched.  He  pounced  upon  it  accord- 
ingly, and  was  carrying  it  off,  \vhen  the 
hen  rushed  upon  him,  and  beat  him  with 
her  wings,  and  held  him  in  her  beak,  until  the 
cock  came  up,  who  immediately  attacked  the 
jackdaw,  and  struck  him  so  repeatedly  that  he 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


was  scarcely  able  to  effect  his  escape  by  flight. 
But  the  best  hen-story  is  one  in  Mr.  Jenyns' 
"Observations."  A  lien  was  sitting  on  a 
number  of  eggs  to  hatch  them.  An  egg  was 
missing  every  night  :  yet  nobody  could  con- 
jecture who  had  stolen  it.  One  morning, 
after  several  had  been  lost  in  this  way,  the 
hen  was  discovered  with  ruffled  feathers,  a 
bleeding  breast,  and  an  inflamed  countenance. 
By  the  side  of  the  nest  was  seen  the  dead 
body  of  a  large  rat,  whose  skull  had  been 
fractured — evidently  by  blows  from  the  beak 
of  the  valiant  hen,  who  could  endure  the  vile 
act  of  piracy  no  longer. 

Mr.  Jenyns  relates  a  good  owl-story.  He 
knew  a  tame  owl,  who  was  so  fond  of  music 
that  he  would  enter  the  drawing-room  of  an 
evening,  and,  perching  on  the  shoulder  of  one 
of  the  children,  listen  with  great  attention  to 
the  tones  of  the  pianoforte  :  holding  his  head 
first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other,  after  the 
manner  of  connoisseurs.  One  night,  suddenly, 
spreading  his  wings,  as  if  unable  to  endure  his 
rapture  ?ny  longer,  he  alighted  on  the  keys, 
and,  (hiving  away  the  fingers  of  the  performer 
with  his  beak,  began  to  hop  about  upon  the 
keys  himself,  apparently  in  great  delight 
with  his  own  execution.  This  pianist's  name 
was  Keevie.  He  was  born  in  the  woods  of 
Northumberland,  and  belonged  to  a  friend  of 
the  Keverend  Mr.  Jenyns. 

Good  bear-stories  are  numerous.  One  of 
the  best  we  take  from  the  "  Zoological  Anec- 
dotes." At  a  hunt  in  Sweden,  an  old  soldier 
was  charged  by  a  bear.  His  musket  missed 
fire,  and  the  animal  being  close  upon  him,  he 
made  a  thrust,  in  the  hope  of  driving  the 
muzzle  of  his  piece  down  the  bear's  throat. 
But  the  thrust  was  parried  by  one  of  the 
huge  paws  with  all  the  skill  of  a  fencer,  and 
the  musket  wrested  from  the  soldier's  hand, 
who  was  forthwith  laid  prostrate.  He  lay 
quiet,  and  the  bear,  after  smelling,  thought 
he  was  dead,  and  then  left  him  to  examine 
the  musket.  This  he  seized  by  the  stock,  and 
began  to  knock  about,  as  though  to  dis- 
cover wherein  its  virtue  consisted,  when  the 
soldier  could  not  forbear  putting  forth  one 
hand  to  recover  his  weapon.  The  bear  imme- 
diately seized  him  by  the  back  of  the  head, 
and  tore  his  scalp  over  his  crown,  so  that  it 
fell  over  the  soldier's  face.  Notwithstanding 
his  agony,  the  poor  fellow  restrained  his  cries, 
and  again  pretended  death.  The  bear  laid 
himself  upon  his  body,  and  thus  remained, 
until  some  hunters  coming  up  relieved  him 
from  this  frightful  situation.  As  the  poor 
fellow  rose,  he  threw  back  his  scalp  with  his 
hand,  as  though  it  had  been  a  peruke,  and 
ran  frantically  towards  them,  exclaiming — 
'•'  The  bear  !  the  bear  ! "  So  intense  was  his 
apprehension  of  his  enemy,  that  it  made  him 
oblivious  of  his  bodily  anguish.  He  eventually 
recovered,  and  received  his  discharge  in  con- 
sequence of  his  loss  of  hair.  There  is  another 
bear-story  in  this  work,  which  savours — just 
a  little — of  romance.  A  powerful  bull  was 


attacked  by  a  bear  in  a  forest,  when  the  bull 
succeeded  in  striking  both  horns  into  his 
assailant,  and  pinning  him  to  a  tree.  In  this 
situation  they  were  both  found  dead — the 
bear,  of  his  wounds  ;  the  bull,  (either 
fearing,  or,  from  obstinate  self-will,  refusing, 
to  relinquish  his  position  of  advantage)  ot 
starvation ! 

The  best  cat-and-mouse  story  (designated 
"  Melancholy  Accident — a  Cat  killed  by  a 
Mouse")  is  to  be  found  in  "The  Poor  Artist," 
the  author  of  which  seems  to  have  derived  the 
story  from  a  somewhat  questionable  source, 
though  we  must  admit  the  possibility.  "  A  cat 
had  caught  a  mouse  on  a  lawn,  and  let  it  go 
again,  in  her  cruel  way,  in  order  to  play  with 
it ;  when  the  mouse,  inspired  by  despair,  and 
seeing  only  one  hole  possible  to  escape  into — • 
namely,  the  round  red  throat  of  the  cat,  very 
visible  through  her  open  mouth — took  a  bold 
spring  into  her  jaws,  just  escaping  between 
her  teeth,  and  into  her  throat  he  struggled 
and  stuffed  himself ;  and  so  the  cat  was 
suffocated."  It  reads  plausibly ;  let  us  ima- 
gine it  was  true. 

The  best  spider-and-fly  story  we  also  take 
from  the  last-named  book.  "  A  very  strong, 
loud,  blustering  fellow  of  a  blue-bottle  fly 
bounced  accidentally  into  a  spider's  web. 
Down  ran  the  old  spider,  and  threw  her  long 
arms  round  his  neck ;  but  he  fought,  and 
struggled,  and  blew  his  drone,  and  fuzzed, 
and  sung  sharp,  and  beat,  and  battered,  and 
tore  the  web  in  holes— and  so  got  loose.  The 
spider  would  not  let  go  her  hold  round  him 
— and  the  fly  flew  away  with  the  spider!" 
This  is  related  on  the  authority  of  Mr. 
Thomas  Bell,  the  naturalist,  who  witnessed 
the  heroic  act. 

SMITHFIELD  EACES. 

KEEN  lovers  of  the  glories  of  the  turf  are 
not  to  be  dejected  by  a  foggy  morning.  Friday 
opened  with  a  cutting  north-east  wind,  a 
grey  sky,  and  a  heavy  atmosphere  ;  but  our 
glass  stood  at  fair  weather  (the  works  having 
been  removed,  as  we  afterwards  ascertained, 
by  a  high-spirited  boy,  then  home  for  the 
holidays)  ;  so  we  assumed  our  sporting  attire, 
and  sallied  forth,  light  at  heart,  for  the  enjoy- 
ments of  the  day.  Everybody  knows  that  the 
road  to  the  races  is  usually  enjoyed  more 
keenly  than  the  contests  of  the  horses  upon 
the  course  ;  and  on  this  occasion  the  journey 
was  not  altogether  a  dull  one.  Omnibuses, 
loaded  with  well- pomatumed  clerks,  were 
crawling  along  the  way ;  a  few  carriages, 
filled  with  "nobs,"  were  here  and  there  hem- 
med-in  by  the  equipages  of  our  turf  friends, 
and  sparkling  dialogues  of  a  technical  nature, 
as  to  the  skill  and  appearance  of  all  parties, 
were  going  forward  briskly.  It  was  a  happy 
sight,  however,  to  notice  the  real  sporting 
boys  on  their  way  to  the  races,  in  turn-outs 
of  various  degrees  of  elegance.  In  the  Black- 
friars  .Road,  particularly,  the  sight  was  one  to 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SMITHFIELD  RACES. 


163 


thrill  the  pulses  with  delight.  Here  we  noticed 
many  animals  that  appeared  to  have  under- 
gone a  severe  training  in  omnibuses  and 
other  hackney  vehicles  ;  but  some  of  the  don- 
keys looked  fresh,  though  we  were  afraid  that 
the  choice  "  spirits"  who  were  mounted  upon 
them  were  working  them  a  little  too  fast 
before  reaching  the  ground.  As  the  day 
advanced,  and  we  neared  Smithlield  Race- 
course (the  scene  of  so  many  glories  !)  the 
clouds  cleared  off ;  and,  encouraged,  in  all 
probability,  by  the  appearance  of  the  sun, 
considerable  numbers  of  the  fair  sex  (apples 
and  herrings  having  been  removed  fro'/i  their 
private  trucks  for  the  occasion)  made  their 
appearance,  seated  upon  these  elegant  open 
vehicles,  and  advanced  rapidly  in  the  direction 
of  the  exciting  scene.  On  we  went,  at  a  split- 
ting pace  —  down  the  Blackt'riars  Road — to 
the  New  Cut  we  have  now  come  again — we 
have  reached  the  Bridge — crossed  Fleet  Street 
— and  then,  at  a  tremendous  pace,  we  pass 
the  varied  beauties  of  Fsrringdon  Street,  and 
enter  the  spacious  and  delightful  Smithfield — 
the  sacred  ground  of  the  City. 

The  scene  that  met  our  enraptured  sight 
was  one  of  the  liveliest  description.  All  was 
gaiety — life  !  Near  the  Hospital  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, a  considerable  trade  in  choice 
delicacies  was  briskly  going  forward.  The 
more  robust  were  manifesting  a  partiality  for 
particularly  juicy  mutton-pies  ;  and  throwing 
occasional  glances  of  ill-suppressed  contempt 
fit  the  dandies  of  the  scene,  who  were  flirting 
with  the  effeminate  periwinkle.  Gentlemen, 
very  properly  bent  upon  showing  due  atten- 
tion to  the  gentler  portion  of  creation,  were 
observed  to  reserve  a  quantity  of  the  drink, 
of  which  they  had  made  themselves  proprie- 
tors, and  before  handing  the  bright  vessel, 
out  of  which  their  faces  had  recently  emerged, 
to  the  nearest  lady,  to  pass  the  cuff  of  their 
coat  vigorously  round  its  rim.  In  and  near 
the  drinking-booths,  commonly  called  public- 
houses,  the  shouts  of  happy  laughter  sounded 
upon  the  enraptured  ear.  Knots  of  eager 
turf-men  were  eagerly  balancing  the  virtues 
of  various  horses.  As  yet,  however,  we  could 
see  only  groups  of  the  gay  visitors — the  im- 
posing length  of  the  course  was  yet  beyond 
our  sight.  We  advanced  rapidly  ;  and  in  a 
few  minutes  we  had  a  noble  coup  aatU  of  the 
entire  course.  Across  the  noble  tield  of  Smith 
a  line  was  formed,  flanked  on  either  side  by 
specimens  of  the  "  noble  animal,"  so  hand- 
somely commended  by  Mavors  in  his  memo- 
rable Spelling-book.  From  the  point  we  had 
now  reached,  we  could  observe  upon  the 
character  of  every  animal. 

The  various  virtues  of  the  noble  steeds  defy 
particular  description  ;  but  to  show  the  liberal 
spirit  in  which  the  proceedings  are  conducted, 
it  is  as  well  to  state  at  once  that  the  races 
were  open  to  horses  of  twenty  years  old  and 
upwards.  The  loss  of  an  eye  did  not  inca- 
pacitate an  animal  from  appearing'  on  the 
course  ;  broken  knees  were  peculiarities  that 


did  not  excite  close  attention  ;  and  lameness 
was  only  a  subject  for  comment  when  of  a 
serious  nature.  All  these  ills  to  which  horse- 
flesh is  heir  were  fully  and  picturesquely 
developed  by  the  animals  entered  for  Smith- 
field  Races.  When  we  first  arrived  upon  the 
ground,  the  gentlemen  of  the  turf  were  engaged 
in  the  examination  of  the  mouths,  knees,  and 
hoofs  of  the  heroes  of  the  day.  Much  money 
(of  a  copper  currency)  appeared  to  be  changing 
hands,  and  many  horses  changed  owners. 
Blind  Tom,  the  property  of  Mr.  Jem  Toddles, 
of  Fly  Court,  Walworth,  whose  exploits  in 
that  gentleman's  cart  are  too  well  known  to 
need  recapitulation,  was  transferred  to  Mr. 
Scrubb,  of  Cow  Lane,  for  the  extraordinary 
sum  of  fifty  shillings.  We  have  no  doubt  that 
we  shall  shortly  hear  of  Blind  Tom  again — 
rumour,  indeed,  says  that  he  is  enteretl  at  a 
suburban  pound  for  a  considerable  sum 
already — we  always  predicted  great  things  of 
him.  He  certainly  did  his  work  at  Smith- 
field,  trotting  the  entire  length  of  the  course 
with  ease — having  only  one  man  behind  to 
urge  him,  and  one  to  his  head  to  pull — in  less 
than  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  In  his  backing, 
however,  lies  his  great  strength,  particularly 
when  in  harness.  It  would  be  impossible, 
within  reasonable  limits,  to  particularise  the  ex- 
ploits of  all  the  animals  on  this  glorious  day ;  we 
must  therefore  content  ourselves  with  noting 
down  one  or  two  of  the  more  wonderful  feats. 
Blind  Tom  had  hardly  been  trotted  away  by 
his  new  owner,  when  a  discussion  began 
among  the  gentlemen  of  the  course  as  to  the 
courage  of  the  Camber  well  Roarer.  It  was 
said  by  his  zealous  champion  that  he  had 
trotted  easily  from  Covent  Garden  to  Rye 
Lane,  with  half-a-ton  of  potatoes  at  his  heels, 
in  less  than  forty  minutes ;  whereas  his 
opponents  obstinately  persisted  in  an  asser- 
tion that  his  lame  off  leg  would  make  such 
an  accomplishment  impossible.  Hereupon 
his  owner  explained  that  the  Roarer  was 
lame  in  three  legs,  and  that  when  he  first 
started  on  a  journey  the  off  fore-leg  was  stiff 
and  made  him  limp,  but  that  when  he  got 
warm  this  stiffness  wore  off,  and  then  the  two 
hinder  legs  began  to  trouble  him  ;  so  that  the 
animal  must  be  used  to  these  little  incon- 
veniences, and  could  probably  do  as  much 
as  more  showy  beasts.  We  took  an  unpre- 
judiced view  of  the  Roarer,  and  observed  that 
he  had  been  well  broken — especially  about 
the  knees.  His  most  vindictive  slanderers 
could  not  have  said  that  he  was  overloaded 
with  flesh.  The  discussion  as  to  his  merits 
and  defects  grew  hot,  and  many  emphatic 
compliments  were  interchanged  by  the 
parties  at  issue.  That  disagreeable  com- 
pound known  as  "  wholesome  truth "  was 
bandied  about  without  the  slightest  reserve  ; 
and  curious  legal  points,  as  to  how  many 
times  each  party  had  transgressed  the  laws 
of  his  country,  were  graphically  and  pointedly 
raised.  At  last  it  was  decided  that  the 
animal  should  show  his  quality. 


164 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


His  proud  owner  laid  aside  his  short  pipe, 
and  proceeded  to  tug  at  the  Roarer's  head. 
Seeing  that  this  single  effort  was  not  pro- 
ductive of  any  astonishing  locomotion,  an 
experienced  bystander  was  kind  enough  to 
recommend  the  application  of  a  stick — a 
recommendation  which  was  promptly  and 
energetically  acted  upon.  This  happy  com- 
bination of  incentives  induced  the  Roarer 
to  clear  his  stall,  and  display  his  proportions 
upon  the  course.  Without  more  delay  than 
that  usually  necessary  for  the  conscien- 
tious administration  of  a  preliminary  cudgel- 
ling, the  Roarer  left  the  starting-point.  He 
went  as  easily  forward  as  the  lameness  in  his 
fore-leg  would  allow  him.  Gentlemen  betted 
familiar  measures  of  malt  and  hops  on  his 
chances  of  surviving  the  day's  proceedings  ; 
but,  being  continually  reminded  by  the  re- 
peated threats  of  his  owner  that  it  was  the  time 
to  display  his  prowess,  the  Roarer  contrived, 
at  more  than  one  point,  to  break  into  a  trot  ; 
shaking  his  entire  anatomy.  Without  re- 
lenting for  a  moment,  however,  the  Roarer's 
owner  dogged  his  heels  with  an  upraised 
stick,  at  every  jerk  of  which  the  hind- 
quarters of  the  animal  sank.  The  Roarer 
fetched  no  less  than  sixty  shillings,  including 
a  stipulated  supply  of  beer  to  be  paid  for 
by  the  fortunate  purchaser,  for  the  consump- 
tion of  the  late  owner,  supposed  to  be 
rendered  melancholy  by  the  loss  of  his  noble 
property. 

Considerable  excitement  was  caused,  at  a 
late  period  of  the  day,  by  the  appearance  of 
Solemn  Joe  upon  the  course.  This  jet-black 
steed  was  a  particular  favourite.  His  pace 
was  not  so  remarkable  for  its  speed  as  for  its 
evenness.  He  still  held  his  head  erect,  and 
preserved  all  the  grace  of  his  fine  contour. 
It  was  reported  by  malicious  detractors  that 
he  was  a  bay  mare  that  had  ti-ied  "  our  infal- 
lible hair-dye  "  only  once.  He  was  to  be  dis- 
posed of  without  reserve  ;  his  owner  having 
relinquished  the  performance  of  funerals,  and 
entered  upon  the  more  cheerful  business  of 
pastrycook.  Solemn  Joe  fetched  the  extra- 
ordinary sum  of  five  pounds — a  false  tail  being 
thrown  into  the  bargain.  His  sire  was  a 
famous  trotter  in  his  time  (as  a  sporting 
"  nob  "  of  Smithfield  confidentially  informed 
us)  ;  and  his  hoofs  were,  after  his  death, 
carved  into  snuff-boxes  by  his  grateful  owner. 
Solemn  Joe  was  bought  by  Mr.  Muggins  of 
Clerkenwell  (who  had  the  funeral  of  a  highly 
genteel  ''  party "  on  hand,  and  wished  to 
create  an  impression  in  the  neighbourhood), 
and  left  the  ground  attached  to  the  tail-board 
of  his  new  master's  cart. 

Other  horses  figured  prominently  in  the 
day's  sport ;  and  it  would  be  possible  to 
lengthen  out  our  notice  of  the  scene  consider- 
ably, but  we  prefer  to  enlarge  upon  the  most 
interesting  incidents,  and  to  omit  altogether 
those  which  could  not  interest  the  sporting 
world  generally.  The  liberal  minds  that  pre- 
side over  Smithfield  Races,  seeing,  as  all 


enlightened  men  must  see,  that  the  turf  is 
one  of  the  most  valuable  institutions  of  this 
great  country,  and  feeling  that  its  privileges 
should  be  extended  to  all  classes  of  the  com- 
munity, have  opened  their  lists,  not  only  to 
horses,  without  regard  to  their  age  or  to  their 
personal  disabilities,  but  also  to  the  donkey. 
Hence  the  owners  of  horses — as  Mr.  Jem 
Toddles — are  confronted  and  compelled  to 
mix  with  the  less  fortunate  possessors  of 
that  animal,  libelled  in  the  popular  song, 
which  has  poetically  imagined,  for  many 
years,  the  extreme  case  that  "  it  wouldn't 
go." 

We  made  our  way  to  the  arena — a  remote 
corner  of  the  ground — set  aside  for  the  exhi- 
bition of  animal  prowess.  Here  we  at  once 
recognised  many  of  the  ladies  whom  we  had 
noticed  on  the  road,  still  seated  upon  their 
open  vehicles  ;  engaged,  in  some  instances, 
in  the  vigorous  administration  of  summary 
punishment  to  their  offspring,  or  testing,  with 
an  undisguised  relish,  the  excellence  of  the 
neighbouring  beer-taps.  The  expressions  of 
admiration  that  burst  from  the  lips  of  the 
bystanders  when,  after  severe  castigation,  and 
a  few  suggestive  hints  from  a  pointed  stick, 
a  donkey  attained  to  a  canter ;  the  firmness 
with  which  certain  of  the  animals  refused  to 
move  aleg  ;  the  choice  vocabulary  and  the  keen 
faces  of  the  boys  who  had  donkies  for  dis- 
posal ;  are  the  prominent  points  of  the  donkey 
scene  that  occur  to  us  at  the  present  moment. 

But  the  road  home  claims  a  short  descrip- 
tion. Horses  of  every  kind,  dejected  by 
every  species  of  ailment,  afflicted  with  the 
most  varied  action,  and  presenting  the  most 
melancholy  contrasts,  moved  away  at  the 
back  of  carts  —  were  led  slowly  by  serious 
purchasers — were  mounted  by  daring  urchins, 
whom  we  expected  to  see  divided  into  two 
equal  pieces  every  time  the  animals  trotted — 
or  wei-e  harnessed  in  the  most  remarkable 
vehicles.  Pushing  their  way  amid  these 
varieties  of  horse-flesh,  donkeys  were  seen, 
urged  by  the  blows  of  vigorous  costermongers- 
or  their  wives.  The  general  conversation 
with  which  the  various  travellers  endeavoured 
to  enliven  the  journey,  was  of  a  technical 
character,  which  few  sporting  men  would 
understand.  Amid  this  din  and  bustle,  we 
were  forced  to  remain  some  time,  in  the 
course  of  which  we  learned  that  ten  pounds 
is  a  high  price  for  a  horse  bought  at  Smith- 
field  Races.  We  also  learned  that  the  races 
are  held  at  the  risk  of  many  lives  and  limbs 
of  Her  Majesty's  liege  subjects.  We  did  not 
learn  that  the  Police,  co-operating  with  the 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Animals,  are  the  vigilant  Stewards  of  the 
Course  ;  but  we  should  be  very  happy  to 
receive  the  information.  It  is  high  time  that 
the  law  of  kindness  were  extended  to  the 
Brute  creation — more  brutally  treated,  but 
too  often,  in  England,  than  is  good  for  an 
Englishman's  heart  or  an  Englishman's 
pride. 


Published  »t  Ihr  Office.  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BHADBUIT  &  Kvins,  Tfhitefri»n,  Londo». 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."— SHAKESFEA 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


ill.] 


SATURDAY,  MAY   8,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id. 


OPEN-AIR  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


SATURDAY  in  Holy  Week,  and  Easter  Mon- 
day, were  the  days  on  which  I  went  a-fairiug 
this  year. 

On  the  Hampstead  road,  by  London,  there 
is  a  place  called  Chalk  Farm.  There  was  a 
farm  here,  and  chalk  too,  once  upon  a  time,  no 
doubt  :  probably  when  the  adjacent  hill  bore 
primroses  instead  of  a  gymnasium  ;  but,  both 
farm  and  chalk  have  long  since  disappeared, 
leaving  us  in  their  stead  plenty  of  dust,  a 
railway  bridge  with  a  prospect  of  the  railway, 
a  circular  stable  for  high-mettled  locomotives, 
and  a  big  white  chalk-faced  tavern.  Chalk 
Farm  was  a  famous  place  in  days  of  yore.  It 
is  on  record  that  Jack  Straw  baited  there  on 
his  way  to  and  from  the  hostelry  that  bears 
his  name.  Many  a  bold  highwayman  cocking 
his  stolen  laced  hat  fiercely  over  his  purloined 
periwig,  and  with  shiny  (and  purloined)  jack- 
boots bestriding  his  ill-gotten  grey  mare 
with  a  crop-tail,  has  here  refreshed  himself 
previous  to  a  raid  on  the  bagmen,  the  post- 
eh.-sises,  or,  haply,  even  the  mail-coaches 
travelling  on  the  Great  North  Road.  Many 
a  "  hard-favoured  man  in  a  grey  roquelaure 
and  netherlings  of  blue  drugget,  with  a  cast 
in  his  eye,"  has  here  made  appointments  with 
wealthy  City  tradesmen  who  had  been  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  lose  a  portion  of  their  stock-in- 
trade,  and  who  have  here  received  the  "eighty 
yards  of  ligured  lutestring,"  or  the  "  thirteen 
cards  of  gold  lace,  four  guineas  the  ell,"  which 
had  so  unaccountably  disappeared  from  their 
warehouses,  and  for  the  recovery  of  which 
they  had  advertised  in  Gazettes,  Advertisers, 
and  Ledgers,  twenty  guineas  reward,  and  "  no 
questions  asked."  Here,  long  before  there 
was  a  Regent  or  a  Regency  Park,  long  before 
Camdeu  had  kindly  given  his  name  to  a 
town,  long  before  the  London  and  Birming- 
ham Railway  was  either  born  or  thought  of, 
many  a  bloody  duel,  with  rapier  or  hair- 
trigger,  was  fought.  Many  a  gentleman, 
whose  nice  sense  ot  honour  did  not  debar  him 
from  the  cogging,  the  loading,  or  the  sleeving 
of  dice,  or  the  carrying,  at  ecarte,  of  three 
queens  in  his  hat,  and  the  fourth  in  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  has  here  avenged  that 
honour  (injured  perhaps  by  oak  or  whipcord 
of  opinionated  pigeon)  by  "  pinking "  or 
"  winging  "  his  antagonist.  Many  a  good  tall 


fellow  has  driven  from  a  drunken  brawl  to 
Chalk  Farm,  i:  the  early  morning,  while  the 
birds  were  singing,  and  before  the  smoke 
bhirred  the  sunshine  ;  and  has  come  home  on 
a  shutter,  stark,  bloody,  shot  dead. 

But  there  are  no  Jac-k  Straws,  no  plundered 
merchants,  no  highwaymen,  and  no  duels, 
now,  at  Chalk  Farm.  There  is  still,  however, 
a  Fair  there,  twice  a-year  :  at  Easter  and 
at  Whitsuntide.  To  that  fair,  last  Easter 
Monday,  I  went. 

It  was  a  very  hot  (for  April)  day,  to  begin 
with  :  tempered  by  a  bitter  easterly  wind, 
eddying  round  corners  viciously,  catching 
nursemaids  cunningly,  and  drifting  them  all, 
drapery,  ribbons,  parasols,  and  baby,  against 
old  gentlemen  of  inysogynic  appearance  ; 
smiting  little  boys  on  the  hip,  and  savagely 
sending  their  caps  into  interminable  space, 
and  their  hoops  between  the  legs  of  grown-up 
people.  But  such  a  sun  !  such  a  genial, 
blazing,  here-I-am-  again-after -six-months'- 
absence,  holiday  -makers'  sun;  such  a  blue 
sky ;  such  staring  white  robes  the  houses 
have  put  on,  and  such  apparently  endless 
crowds  hurrying  to  Chalk  Farm  Fair  ! 

The  Fair  ground  was  not  extensive,  on 
this  Easter  Monday.  It  was  an  anomalous, 
irregular-shaped  patch  of  broken  ground, 
resembling  a  dust-heap  on  a  large  scale,  some- 
what ;  bounded  on  the  North  by  Primrose 
Hill ;  on  the  South,  by  the  Railway  Bridge  ; 
on  East  and  West,  and  on  all  intermediate 
points  of  the  compass,  by  unfinished  houses, 
and  fantastic  traceries  of  scaffold-poles.  There 
were  booths  where  the  traditional  king.-, 
queens,  and  cocks  in  gilt  gingerbread  were 
dispensed  ;  and  where,  in  gaily  decorated  tin 
canisters,  the  highly-spiced  nuts  appealed  to 
the  senses  of  the  holiday-makers.  There  were 
shabby  little  pavilions,  stuck  all  over  in  front 
with  the  profiles  of  gentlemen  with  very  black 
features  and  coats,  and  very  white  shirt- 
collars :  together  with  a  stock  officer  in  mous- 
taches, a  vermilion  habit,  and  epaulettes 
like  knockers ;  the  whole  being  intended  to 
give  you  an  extensive  idea  of  the  resources 
of  the  "  Royal  Chalk  Farm  Artist's  Studio," 
where  you  could  have  your  portrait  taken  by 
the  instantaneous  magic  process  for  sixpence 
— a  fact  which  the  artist  himself  (in  a 
wide-awake  hat  and  a  blouse)  seemed  never 
weary  of  reiterating.  There  were  Royal 


VOL.  V. 


Ill 


186 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Pavilion  Theatres,  and  Royal  Cobourg  Sa- 
loons, and  Royal  Amphitheatres,  win-re  tlie 
old  story  of  woebegone  clowns,  dirt,  rouge, 
tarnished  spangles,  and  soiled  fleshings,  was 
told  for  the  thousandth  time.  There  were  a 
"giant  and  a  dwarf,"  some  "bounding  brothers," 
a  "bottle  equilibrist,"  a  "strong  man/'  a 
"  professor  of  necromancy,"  and  a  "  sword 
and  ribbon  swallower."  There  were  weighing- 
machines,  "  sticks"  (the  speculation  of  swarthy 
gipsies),  at  which  you  might  throw  for  pin- 
cushion prizes  and  never  get  any;  there 
were  Swiss  bell-ringers,  Ethiopian  Serenaders, 
juveniles,  who  turned  over  three  times,  or 
threw  "  cartwheels "  for  a  penny  ;  sellers  of 
cakes,  sweet-stuff,  tarts,  damaged  fruits,  slang 
songs,  whistles,  catcalls,  and  penny  trumpets. 
Finally,  there  were  many  swings,  round- 
abouts, and  turnovers,  which,  crammed  to 
overflowing  with  men,  children,  and  women, 
revolved,  oscillated,  or  performed  demi-sum- 
mersaults  incessantly ;  the  motive-power  being 
given  by  brawny  varlets  in  corduroys  and 
ankle-jacks.  Add  to  all  this  a  little  fortune- 
telling,  a  little  fighting,  and  a  great  deal  of 
music,  noise,  and  bellowing,  with  a  great  deal 
of  dust  to  cap  all,  and  you  will  have  a 
fairish  notion  of  Chalk  Farm  Fair  on  Easter 
Monday. 

Well,  the  astute  reader  will  say,  Cui  lono, 
this  oft-told  tale  1  Are  these  things  new  to 
us  1  Have  they  not  been  since  Fairs  were  ? 
Have  we  never  been  to  Greenwich,  to  Stepney, 
to  Knott  Mill,  to  Glasgow  Fairs  1  Stop  a 
moment :  I  have  but  treated  of  the  scene. 
A  word  about  the  people  who  were  there  ! 

Imagine  in  this  broken,  dusty,  confined 
patch  of  building-ground,  a  compact,  wedged- 
in,  fighting,  screeching,  yelling,  blaspheming 
crowd.  All  manner  of  human  rubbish  licensed 
to  be  shot  there.  There  was  more  crime,  more 
depravity,  more  drunkenness  and  blasphemy ; 
more  sweltering,  raging,  and  struggling  in 
the  dusty,  mangy  backyard  of  a  place,  than 
in  a  whole  German  principality.  There  were 
more  wild  beasts  in  it  (not  Wombwell's)  than 
Mr.  Gordon  Cummin  g  would  light  upon  in 
a  summer's  day,  and  a  South  African  forest. 
You  could  not  move,  or  try  to  move,  ten  paces 
without  hearing  the  Decalogue  broken  in  its 
entirety — the  whole  Ten  Tables  smashed  at  a 
blow.  By  sturdy  ruffians,  with  dirty  "  kings- 
man  "  'kerchiefs  twisted  round  their  bull- 
necks  like  halters,  with  foul  pipes  stuck  in 
their  mouths,  and  bludgeons  in  their  hands, 
jostling  savagely  through  the  crowd,  six  and 
eight  abreast,  with  volleys  of  oaths  and 
drunken  songs.  By  slatternly,  tawdry,  bold- 
faced women,  ever  and  anon  falling  to 
fighting  with  one  another ;  and  in  a  ring 
formed  by  a  "  fancy,"  composed  of  pick- 
pockets, costermongers,  and  other  intense 
blackguards,  clawing,  biting,  pulling  each 
other's  hair,  rending  each  other's  garments, 
giving  in  at  last  breathless,  almost  sightless, 
all  besmeared  with  blood  and  dust.  By  some 
of  the  defenders  of  their  country  with  their 


side-belts  (happily  bayonetless)  all  robbed  of 
pipeclay,  and  besmirched  with  beer-stains.  By 
beggars  and  tramps,  shoeless  boys  and  girls, 
thieves,  low  prize-fighters,  silly  "  gents,"  and 
here  and  there,  perhaps,  a  decent  mechanic, 
or  little  tradesman,  who  had,  taken  his  family 
to  the  Fair,  in  sheer  ignorance,  and  expectation 
of  some  innocent  entertainment  out  of  doors. 

Heaven  knows,  I  grudge  not  the  workers 
their  few  holidays,  nor  would  I  for  a  moment 
attempt  to  interfere  with  the  amusements  of 
the  English  people — otherwise  than  to  in- 
crease them  fifty-fold.  I  love  to  see  the 
poorer  classes  enjoy  themselves.  There  is 
no  prettier  sight  to  me  than  the  river  (even 
on  a  Sunday),  crowTded  with  steamers,  more 
crowded  still  with  holiday-makers  dressed  in 
their  best.  I  glory  in  Gravesend  "  eaten  out  " 
on  a  hot  summer  evening  ;  in  the  crowded 
parks,  with  the  merry  voices  of  children  ; 
in  Chelsea'  and  Kew,  Richmond  and  Hamp- 
ton Court ;  in  the  snug  families  of  plea- 
sure-seekers —  father  in  a  tail-coat  that 
morning  intensely  blue,  but  now  somewhat 
dusty,  and  bearing  the  exhausted  provision- 
basket — mother  in  a  bright  dress,  a  bright 
shawl,  a  brighter  bonnet,  and  a  parasol  the 
brightest  of  all,  soothing  a  stout  baby,  quite 
worn-out  and  flaccid  with  the  unwonted  dissi- 
pation of  the  day — children  tired,  quietly 
satisfied,  or  elated  with  the  homoeopathic 
"  drinks "  of  mild  porter  administered  to 
them  :  with,  may-be,  one  little  misanthrope, 
who  has  pinched  his  sister  Eliza,  and  tried 
to  poke  his  finger  through  the  tapestry  in 
Hampton  Court  Great  Hall ;  and  who  has 
made  faces  at  waiters,  and  cried  at  sentinels, 
and  has  been  threatened  times  out  of  number 
with  "  catching  it."  All  these,  with  the 
decent  young  men  and  women  cosily  sweet- 
hearting  ;  the  simple-minded  youths,  so  gor- 
geously apparelled,  so  careful  of  their  apparel, 
and  so  harmless ;  the  sensible  mechanics,  with 
their  wives ;  the  pleasure-vans,  the  suburban 
tea-gardens  ;  aye,  and  the  dry  skittle-grounds, 
and  bowling-alleys,  and  quoits,  and  field- 
billiards,  I  delight  to  witness !  Though  the 
sons  of  St.  Crispin  may  indulge  themselves  a 
little  on  Saint  Monday,  and  the  tailors  may 
object  to  work  on  a  Tuesday,  and  the  car- 
penters may  "knock  off"  on  a  Saturday,  am  I, 
who  also  occasionally  indulge  and  object  and 
knock  off,  to  blame  them  ?  Am  I  to  grudge 
them  their  amusements  1  Heaven  forbid  ! 
but  Heaven  save  us,  likewise,  from  many 
fairs  like  that  I  have  mentioned  on  the  road 
to  Hampstead ! 

Also  from  Battersea  Fields  on  a  Sunday 
morning  and  afternoon,  all  the  year  round ! 
With  the  exception  of  the  ground  being  more 
extensive,  and  of  shows  and  theatres  being 
absent ;  but,  with  the  addition  of  gambling 
for  halfpence,  pigeon-shooting,  and  the  most 
brutal  cruelty  to  animals,  in  the  shape  of  dog 
and  cock  fighting,  and  horse  and  donkey 
racing,  or  rather  torturing ;  they  are  as  bad 
as,  even  worse  than,  the  fair. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


OPEN-AIR  ENTERTAINMENTS. 


167 


This  is  in  the  natural  depravity  of  the 
common  people,  of  course  !  It  is  not  at  all 
because  real  education  is  wanted,  or  because 
the  common  folk  must  get  their  open-air- 
entertainments  by  stealth  and  while  the  law 
is  winking,  or  because  anybody — saint  or 
sinner,  pot  or  kettle — proceeds  on  the  pro- 
digious assumption  that  the  question  lies  be- 
tween the  worst  amusements  and  none  ; 
between  the  declarations  of  a  pet  prisoner 
gnashing  his  teeth  at  sour  grapes,  and  the 
striving  fancy  that  there  is  in  most  of  us, 
which  even  a  lecture  or  a  steain-engine  will 
not  always  satisfy  !  No  doubt. 

And  now,  good  people,  for  the  first  fair  I 
saw  this  holiday  time — I  have  been  treating 
all  this  time  of  the  second — a  fair  on  the 
Saturday  following  Good  Friday  ;  a  fair  at 
Lewes,  some  eight  or  nine  miles  inland  from 
Brighton. 

I  was  at  this  last-named  place  early  on  the 
Saturday  morning,  on  business.  There  was 
but  little  wind,  and,  when  the  sun  shone, 
which  it  did  almost  without  cessation  through- 
out the  day,  it  was  as  hot  as  though  the 
day  were  July.  My  business  was  over  by 
a  little  after  ten  o'clock.  I  strolled  a  few 
minutes  on  the  cliff,  admiring  the  pretty 
Amazons  and  the  bold  riding-masters,  so 
conscious  of  their  proud  position.  I  held 
mute  converse  with  one  of  the  most  me- 
lancholy monkeys  I  have  ever  beheld, 
crouching  mournfully  before  an  organ  on 
which  a-  child  of  sunny  Italy  was  grinding 
dolefully  an  anatomical  preparation  (so  cada- 
verous was  it)  of  the  Marseillaise.  In  the 
midst  of  the  hot,  dusty  Steyne,  with  its  brown 
herbage,  and  waterless  fountain,  and  fareless 
cabs,  and  membei'less  club  and  princeless 
palace,  it  looked  (the  monkey,  I  mean)  like  the 
ghost  of  George  the  Fourth  lamenting  over 
the  ruins  of  the  Pavilion.  He  (the  monkey) 
spat  on  the  penny  I  gave  him,  for  luck,  or 
seemed  to  do  so;  and  I  left  him  scratching  his 
head  with  an  aspect  of  the  most  dreadfully 
woebegone  perplexity.  I  looked  in  at  the 
Town  Hall,  where  the  Judge  of  the  County 
Court  was  giving  a  dreary  decision  about  a 
smoky  chimney ;  I  looked  in  at  the  Police  Court, 
where  an  agricultural  labourer  (with  at  least 
fourteen  pounds  of  hardened  clay  on  each  of 
his  boots)  was  under  examination,  charged 
with  breaking  another  A.  L.'s  head  (he  might 
have  been  his  twin  brother,  he  was  so  like 
him,  clay  and  all),  with  a  bench,  or  a  four- 
legged  table,  or  some  light  article  of  that  sort, 
in  a  beer-shop.  But  I  did  not  incline  to 
Brighton,  that  hot  Saturday  morning.  Brill's 
bath,  Wright's  library,  bathing-machines, 
shell-picking,  beach-wandering,  or  the  Ocean 
Queen  yacht,  with  its  three  cruises  a-day  at 
a  shilling  per  head,  had  no  charms  for  me. 
I  determined  to  walk  to  the  station  and  go 
back  to  London. 

The  first  feat  I  accomplished,  just  as  the 
clock  struck  the  half-hour  after  ten.  I  found 
the  station  crammed  with  people  —  men, 


women,  and  children — in  their  holiday  clothes. 
Sussex  in  general,  and  Brighton  in  particular 
had  come  out  in  immense  strength.  Coventry 
had  done  its  duty  nobly,  for  the  ribbons  were 
prodigious.  Manchester  had  not  flinched,  and 
the  display  of  printed  cottons  was  enormous. 
There  were  married  couples  with  their 
families,  loving  couples,  old  men  and  young. 
"  Ha  !  "  I  said  to  myself,  "  I  see — a  fair  !  " 

I  was  confirmed  in  my  impression  by  the  sight 
of  bottles,  and  baskets,  and  bundles.  "  A  fair," 
I  said,  "certainly  !  Where  are  they  going?" 
"  To  Lewes,"  said  the  guard,  with  a  knowing 
wink.  Now,  I  wanted  a  little  pleasure,  a 
little  excitement,  for  I  was  dull ;  hipped,  to 
tell  the  truth,  by  the  heat,  and  the  dust,  the 
smoky-chimney  decision,  and  the  melancholy 
monkey  in  the  Steyne.  I  will  go  to  Lewes 
and  seethe  fair!  I  thought.  I  put  my  London 
return  ticket  in  my  pocket,  and  bought  a 
return  ticket  to  Lewes.  The  train  was  very 
full,  and  to  Lewes  I  went — to  the  FAIR. 

The  newspapers  said  there  were  between 
three  and  four  thousand  persons  present,  and 
they  know  best ;  to  my  mind  and  to  my 
eyes  there  were  ten  thousand  living  souls 
screaming,  fighting,  roaring  with  gipsy  jollity 
in  front  of  LEWES  GAOL,  where  the  fair  was 
held.  Besides  the  crowds  of  holiday-makers 
who  had  come  with  me  from  Brighton,  there 
were  thousands  more  who  had  poured  in 
from  the  whole  country-side  —  from  Hove, 
Chiddingley,  Patcham,  Allinghurst,  Hay- 
ward's  Heath — even  from  Chichester  on  the 
one  side,  and  Crawley  and  Reigate  on  the 
other.  It  was  a  rare  sight !  Stout  yeomen 
on  horseback,  with  flowers  in  their  coats  and 
in  their  horses'  headstalls  ;  lounging  dragoons 
from  the  cavalry  barracks  on  the  Lewes  road  ; 
women  in  crowds,  gaily  dressed,  very  merry, 
holding  up  their  little  children  to  see  the 
show ;  white-haired  old  agriculturists  in 
snowy  smock  frocks,  and  leaning  on,  sticks  ; 
picturesque  old  dames  in  scarlet  cloaks,  that 
might  have  been  worn  by  their  grandmothers 
when  George  the  First  was  king  ;  tribes  of 
brown-faced  urchins,  farm-labourers,  bird- 
catchers,  and  bird-scarers  ;  crowds  of  navvies, 
rough  customers — ugly  customers  to  say  the 
truth — very  chalky  indeed,  striped  night- 
capped,  gigantic-shoed,  and  carrying  little 
kegs  of  beer  slung  by  their  sides.  Also, 
gangs  of  true  genuine  British  scamps,  the 
genuine  agricultural  vagabonds  —  incorri- 
gible poachers,  irreclaimable  drunkards  at 
wakes  and  feasts,  enlisting  in  foot-regiments 
and  deserting  the  day  afterwards — hawking 
crockery-ware,  or  doing  dawdling  work  in 
Kent — sometimes,  in  hopping  time — brawlers 
in  ale-houses — not  averse  to  a  little  bit  of 
burglary  on  the  quiet,  with  crapes  over  their 
faces  and  shirts  over  their  clothes.  Also  a 
great  many  policemen  on  horseback,  and  on 
foot.  What  could  so  many  of  them  be  wanting, 
now,  at  a  fair  ? 

At  a  fair,  too,  where  there  were  hawkers  of 
cakes  and  fruit ;  where  there  were  games  and 


168 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


sports  going  on  as  at  any  other  fair ;  where 
mirth  aud  jollity  seemed  universally  to  reign, 
where  they  were  calling  for  sale  "  Apples, 
oranges,  ginger-beer,  and  bills  of  the  play." 
Yes  !  bills  of  the  play  !  I  saw  one,  printed 
on  play-bill  paper,  with  a  rude  woodcut  at 
the  top ;  indifferently  printed,  very  indif- 
ferently spelt.  I  read  it.  "  The  lust  dying 
speech  and  confession  of  Sarah  Ann  French, 
executed  at  Lewes  for  the  murder  of  her 
husband  at  Chiddiugley."  This  was  the 
play.  This  was  the  sight  the  people  had 
come  to  see :  had  waited  from  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning  to  get  a  good  place  at. 

All  the  public-houses  and  beer-shops  (Lewes 
boasts  a  fair  proportion)  were  crowded.  The 
taps  were  continually  at  work  ;  such  business 
had  not  been  done  since  the  day  the  railway 
was  opened.  Eager  conversations  were  carried 
on  in  these  hostelries.  Had  the  criminal  con- 
fessed ?  "Did  her  spuk?"  the  agriculturists 
asked.  Old  stagers  related  their  impressions 
and  reminiscences  of  former  murders  and  hang- 
ings. Of  Holloway ;  of  Corder,  Maria  Martin, 
and  the  Bed  Barn  ;  of  men  hanged  for  setting 
fire  to  hayricks,  for  smuggling,  and  for  bur- 
glary; of  criminals  who  had  gone  to  the  gal- 
lows singing  psalms,  or  who  had  been  hanged 
in  chains,  or  brought  to  life  again  by  the  first 
touch  of  the  surgeon's  anatomising  knife.  Most 
of  the  better  class  of  shops  in  the  High  Street 
were  closed ;  their  inmates  were  either  afraid 
of  the  rough  visits  of  the  mob  returning  from 
the  execution,  or  they  were  gone  to  see  it 
themselves.  I  wandered  to  and  fro,  noting 
these  things  ;  wishing  to  go  away,  a  hundred 
times ;  turning,  as  many  times,  my  feet 
towards  the  station  ;  but,  ever  finding  myself, 
as  twelve  o'clock  approached,  with  my  back 
against  a  wall,  and  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
black  stones  of  the  piison,  the  awful  scaffold, 
and  the  hot  sun  shining  over  all. 

All  this  time  the  shouting,  and  singing,  and 
cake  aAd  fruit  vending,  were  going  on  with 
redoubled  vigour  in  the  crowd,  getting  denser 
every  moment.  Now,  bets  begin  to  be  laid 
whether  the  prisoner  would  die  game  or  not, 
and  odds  were  freely  taken  ;  the  proceedings 
being  diversified  by  a  fellow  screeching  out  a 
doggerel  ballad  on  the  culprit's  life  and  crimes, 
to  the  tune  of  "  Georgy  Barnwell,"  and  by 
a  few  lively  fights. 

And  all  this  time,  I  suppose,  they  were 
trying  to  infuse  as  much  strength  into  the 
wretched  woman  inside  the  gaol  as  would  be 
sufficient  to  enable  her  to  come  out  and  be 
hanged  without  assistance.  All  this  time,  I 
suppose,  (for  I  have  no  certain  knowledge  on 
this  subject)  there  was  the  usual  hand-shaking, 
and  the  usual  worthy  governors  hoping  that 
everything  had  been  done  to  make  the  pri- 
soner "  comfortable  "  (comfortable,  God  help 
her !)  ;  and  the  usual  ordinaries  praise- 
worthily  endeavouring  to  pour  into  ears  deaf 
with  the  surdity  of  death,  tidings  of  Heaven's 
mercy  and  salvation. 

I  stood   writh  my  back  against  the  wall, 


now  completely  jammed  and  wedged  in — very 
sick,  and  trying  vainly  to  shut  my  eyes. 
There  was  a  dull  buzzing  singing  in  my  ears, 
too,  in  addition  to  the  noise  of  the  crowd. 

Which  rose  to  a  roar,  to  a  yell,  a,s  some  one 
came  out  upon  the  scaffold.  But  it  was  not 
the  principal  performer.  It  was  a  man,  who, 
shading  his  eyes  with  one  of  his  large  hands, 
glanced  curiously,  though  coolly,  at  the  crowd, 
and  stamped  on  the  planking,  and  cast  scruti- 
nising glances  at  the  divers  component  parts 
of  the  apparatus  of  death.  This  was  the 
executioner.  He  knew  his  trade,  said  his 
admirers  in  the  crowd,  did  Calcraft 

Another  roar  :  a  howl.  Hootings,  groans, 
and  screams  of  fainting  women.  The  crowd 
swaying  to  and  fro  ;  the  glazed  hats  and  batons 
of  the  struggling  policemen  shining  in  the  sun 
like  meteors. 

Two  men  brought,  out  and  up,  a  bundle  of 
clothes — so  it  seemed  to  me,  for  I  am  natu- 
rally short-sighted,  and  was,  besides,  giddy  and 
confused. 

It  was  propped  up  by  some  one,  while  the 
man  with  the  large  hands  nimbly  moved  them 
about  the  bundle.  Then  it,  and  he,  stood 
side  by  side  ;  and,  on  the  bundle,  was  some- 
thing white — the  cap,  I  suppose — which  I 
have  seen  hundreds  of  times  since  :  which  I 
shall  see  to  my  dying  day  :  which  I  can  see 
now,  close  I  my  eyes  ever  so  much,  as  I  bend 
over  this  paper.  There  was  no  roaring,  but 
a  dead,  immutable  silence.  One  sharp  rattling 
cry  there  was,  of  "  Hats  oil  ! "  (whether  in 
reverence  and  awe,  or  to  see  the  show  the 
better,  I  know  not)  ;  another  cry  there  was, 
a  gasp,  rather,  from  thousands  of  breasts,  as 
the  drop  came  lumbering  down,  and  the 
executioner,  (you  would  almost  have  thought 
he  would  have  fallen  with  his  victim)  who 
had  stepped  nimbly  on  one  side,  gazed  on  his 
work  complacently.  Then  the  elements  of  the 
crowd,  swaying  more  than  ever,  made  a  great 
rush  to  the  beer-houses,  or  refreshed  them- 
selves from  their  own  private  stores — yelling, 
screaming,  and  laughing  heartily  ;  then,  the 
cake  and  fruit  trades  recommenced,  and  ap- 
ples, oranges,  and  bills  of  the  play  were  cried 
vigorously. 

The  moral  lesson  would  be  invaluable,  no- 
doubt,  to  the  little  children,  who  played  at 
"  hanging"  for  a  week  afterwards ;  to  the 
professional  gentlemen,  who  had  been  picking- 
pockets  at  the  gallows-foot ;  to  the  mothers, 
who  promised  their  children  that  if  they  were 
good  they  should  go  and  see  the  next  man 
hung  ;  to  the  mass  of  readers  of  the  narrative 
in  the  newspapers ;  to  the  boys,  who  would 
ask  at  the  Circulating  Libraries  if  the  New- 
gate Calendar  was  in  hand  ;  to  the  hawkers 
and  patterers,  then  reaping  harvest  from 
the  sale  of  last  dying  speeches  and  con- 
fessions ;  to  the  Railway  Company,  who  had 
not  done  so  badly  by  their  early  trains  that 
Saturday  morning  ;  to  the  crowd  in  general, 
who  saw  so  brave  a  show,  free,  gratis,  for 
nothing.  I  came  back  to  Brighton  again,  and 


CliHrU-«  Dickcns.l 


MY  LITTLE  FBENCH  FRIEND. 


169 


the  train  was  full  of  enthusiastic  sight-seers. 
Every  minute  particle  of  the  horrible  cere- 
mony was  enumerated,  discussed,  commented 
upon  ;  but,  I  can  conscientiously  declare  that 
I  did  not  hear  one  word,  one  sentiment, 
expressed,  which  could  lead  me  to  believe 
that  any  single  object  for  which  this  fair  had 
been  professedly  made  public,  had  been 
accomplished. 

This,  of  course,  is,  likewise,  in  the  natural 
depravity  of  the  people.  Verily,  they  are  a 
bad  people  these  English  !  And,  touching 
the  great  open-air  entertainment  provided 
for  them  by  their  rulers,  this  last-mentioned 
Fair,  they  are  the  great  phenomenon  of  the 
world  ;  being  an  effect  entirely  without  a 
cause !  MR.  GROTE  is  evidently  mistaken 
in  supposing  that  the  Athenian  Govern- 
ment never  presented  what  is  in  itself  so 
moral  and  improving  a  spectacle,  but  always 
inflicted  capital  punishment  in  private. 
To  believe  that  it  was  found  necessary,  be- 
cause of  their  corrupting  influences,  to  make 
executions  private  in  New  South  Wales, 
not  long  ago,  would  be  to  attain  the  height 
of  credulity.  Shall  we  talk  of  any  want 
of  real  education,  or  of  recognised  open-air 
entertainments,  and  decry  these  great  moral 
lessons,  in  a  breath  ? 


MY  LITTLE  FRENCH  FRIEND. 


MADEMOISELLE  HONORINE  is  a  teacher  of  her 
own  language  in  a  cathedral  town  south  of  the 
Loire,  celebrated  for  the  finest  church  and  the 
longest  street  in  France  ;  at  least,  so  say  the 
inhabitants,  who  have  seen  no  others.  The 
purest  French  is  supposed  to  be  spoken  here- 
abouts, and  the  reputation  thus  given  has 
for  many  years  attracted  hosts  of  foreigners 
anxious  to  attain  the  true  accent  formerly  in 
vogue  at  the  court  of  the  refined  Catherine 
de  Medici.  It  is  true  that  this  extreme  grace 
of  diction  and  tone  is  not  acknowleged  by  Pari- 
sians ;  who,  when  they  had  a  court,  imagined 
the  best  French  was  spoken  in  the  capital 
where  that  court  resided  ;  and  they  have 
been  long  in  the  habit  of  sneering  at  the 
pretensions  of  their  rivals ;  who,  however, 
amongst  foreigners,  still  keep  their  middle- 
age  fame. 

Mademoiselle  Honorine  is  not  a  native  of 
this  remarkable  town ;  and  the  French  she 
teaches  is  of  a  different  sort,  for  she  comes 
from  a  far-off  province,  by  no  means  so  re- 
markable for  purity  of  accent.  She  is  an 
Alsatian,  and  her  natal  town  is  no  other  than 
Vancouleurs,  where  the  tree  under  which 
Joan  of  Arc  saw  angels  and  became  inspired, 
once  existed. 

As  may  be  imagined,  Mademoiselle  Hono- 
rine is  proud  of  this  accident  of  birth,  and 
tells  with  much  exultation  of  having,  at  the 
•age  of  fifteen,  some  thirty-five  years  ago,  borne 
the  part  of  La  Pucelle  in  the  grand  pro- 
cession to  Domremy,  formerly  an  annual  fes- 
tival. She  relates  that  she  attracted  universal 


attention  on  that  occasion,  chiefly  from  the 
circumstance  of  her  hair,  which  is  now  of 
silvery  whiteness,  having  been  equally  so 
then,  much  to  the  admiration  of  all  who  be- 
held her. 

"I  was  always,"  she  remarks,  with  satisfied 
vanity,  "  celebrated  for  my  hair,  and  I  had  at 
all  times  a  high  colour  and  bright  eyes ;  so 
that,  though  some  people  preferred  the  beauty 
of  my  sisters,  I  always  got  more  partners  than 
they  at  all  our  fetes.  It  is  true  they  all  mar- 
ried, and  no  one  proposed  to  me,  except  old 
Monsieur  de  Monzon,  who  suffered  from  the 
gout  and  a  very  bad  temper  ;  but  I  had  no 
respect  for  his  character,  and  though  he  was 
rich,  and  I  might  have  been  a  chdtdaine, 
instead  of  such  a  poor  woman  as  I  am,  still 
I  refused  him,  for  I  preferred  my  liberty  ;  and 
that,  also,  was  the  reason  I  left  my  uncle's 
domain,  because  I  like  independence.  We 
used,  my  aunt,  my  uncle,  and  I,  to  spend  most 
of  our  time  at  his  country  place,  going  out 
every  day  lark-catching,  which  we  did  with 
looking-glasses  :  they  held  the  glasses  and 
lured  the  birds,  while  I  was  ready  with  the 
net  to  throw  over  them.  My  uncle,  however, 
was  always  scolding  me  for  talking  and 
frightening  the  birds  away  ;  so  I  got  tired  of 
this  amusement  and  of  the  dependence  in 
which  I  lived." 

The  independence  preferred  by  Made- 
moiselle Houorine  to  lark-catching  and 
snubbing,  consists  in  giving  lessons  to  the 
English.  As,  of  late,  we  islanders  have  been 
as  hard  to  catch  as  the  victims  of  the  looking- 
glasses,  her  occupation  is  not  lucrative  ;  and 
although  she  sometimes  devotes  her  energies 
to  the  arts,  in  the  form  of  twisted-coloured 
paper  tortured  into  the  semblance  of  weeping 
willows  and  nondescript  flowers,  yet  these 
specimens  of  ingenuity  do  not  bring  in  a  very 
large  revenue.  In  fact,  her  income,  when 
I  knew  her,  could  not  be  considered  enormous ; 
for,  to  pay  house-rent,  board,  washing,  and 
sundry  little  expenses,  she  possessed  twelve 
francs  a-month  :  yet  with  these  resources, 
nevertheless,  she  contrived  to  do  more  bene- 
volent and  charitable  acts  than  any  person 
I  ever  met  with.  She  has  always  halfpence 
for  the  poor's  bag  at  church — always  farthings 
for  certain  regular  pensioners,  who  expect  her 
donation  as  she  passes  them,  at  their  begging 
stations,  on  her  way  to  her  pupils.  Moreover, 
on  New-year's  day,  she  has  always  the  means 
of  making  the  prettiest  presents  to  a  friend 
who  for  years  has  shown  her  countenance, 
and  put  little  gains  in  her  way. 

She  obtains  six  francs  per  month  from  a 
couple  of  pupils,  whose  merit  is  as  great  in 
receiving,  as  hers  in  giving,  lessons.  These 
are  two  young  workwomen  who  desire  to 
improve  their  education,  and  daily  devote  to 
study  the  only  unoccupied  hour  they  possess. 
From  six  o'clock  till  seven,  Mademoiselle 
Honorine,  therefore,  on  her  return  from  the 
five  o'clock  mass — which  she  never  misses 
— calls  at  the  garret  of  these  devotees,  and 


170 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


imparts  her  instruction  in  reading  and  writing 
to  the  zealous  aspirants  for  knowledge. 

"  1  -would  not,"  she  says,  "  miss  their  lessons 
for  the  world  ;  because,  you  see,  I  have  thus 
always  an  eye  upon  their  conduct,  and 
have  ;ui  opportunity  of  throwing  in  a  little 
good  advice,  and  making  them  read  good 
books," 

As  these  young  damsels  go  out  to  their 
work  directly  after  the  lesson  is  over — taking 
breakfast  at  a  late  hour  in  the  day — Made- 
moiselle Honorine  provides  herself,  before 
starting  to  the  five  o'clock  mass,  with  a  bit  of 
dry  bread,  which  she  puts  in  her  pocket,  ready 
to  eat  when  the  moment  of  hunger  arrives. 
She  never  allows  herself  any  other  breakfast ; 
and,  as  she  drinks  only  cold  water,  no  ex- 
penditure of  fuel  is  necessary  for  this  in  her 
establishment.  Except  it  occurs  to  any  of 
her  pupils — few  of  whom  are  much  richer 
than  her  earliest-served — to  offer  her  some 
refreshment  to  lighten  her  labours,  Made- 
moiselle Honorine  contrives  to  walk,  and 
talk,  and  laugh,  and  be  amusing  on  an 
empty  stomach,  till  dinner-time,  when  she 
is  careful  to  provide  herself  with  an  apple 
and  another  slice  of  bread,  which  she  enjoys 
in  haste,  and  betakes  herself  to  other  occu- 
pations, chiefly  unremunerative  —  such  as 
visiting  a  sick  neighbour,  reading  to  a  blind 
friend,  or  taking  a  walk  on  the  fashionable 
promenade  with  an  infirm  invalid,  who 
requires  the  support  of  an  arm. 

Fire  in  France  is  an  expensive  luxury  which 
she  economises — uot  that  she  indulges,  when 
forced  to  allow  herself  in  comfort,  in  much 
besides  turf  or  pine-cones,  with  perhaps  a 
sprinkling  of  faggot- wood  if  a  friend  calls  in. 
She  is  able,  however,  to  keep  a  little  canary  in 
a  cage,  who  is  her  valued  companion ;  and  she 
nourishes,  besides,  several  little  productive 
plants  in  pots,  such  as  violets  aud  resida ; 
chiefly,  it  must  be  owned,  with  a  view  of 
having  the  means  of  making  floral  offerings, 
on  birthdays  and  christenings,  to  her  very 
numerous  acquaintances. 

She  is  never  seen  out  of  spirits,  and  is  wel- 
comed as  an  object  of  interest  whenever  she 
flits  along  with  her  round,  rosy,  smiling  face, 
shrined  hi  braids  of  white  hair,  and  set  off  with 
a  smart  fashionable-shaped  bonnet ;  for  she 
likes  being  in  the  fashion,  and  is  proud  of  the 
slightness  of  her  waist,  which  her  polka  shows 
to  advantage.  The  strings  of  her  bonnet,  and 
the  ribbons  and  buttons  of  her  dress,  are 
sometimes  very  fresh,  aud  her  mittens  are 
sometimes  A'ery  uncommon :  this  she  is  par- 
ticular about,  as  she  shows  her  hands  a  good 
deal  in  accompanying  herself  on  the  guitar, 
which  she  does  with  much  taste,  for  her  ear 
is  very  good  and  her  voice  has  been  musical. 
There  are  few  things  Mademoiselle  Houo- 
rine  cannot  do  to  be  useful.  She  can  play  at 
draughts  and  dominos,  can  knit  or  net, 
knowing  all  the  last  new  patterns  ;  her  satin 
stitch  is  neatness  itself.  It  is  suspected  that 
she  turns  some  of  these  talents  to  advantage ; 


but  that  is  a  secret,  as  she  considers  '•• 
dignified  to  be  known  only  as  a  teacher. 

She  had  a  curious  set  of  pupils  when  I 
became  acquainted  with  her.  Those  whom  I 
knew  were  English  ;  who  were,  rather  late  in 
their  career,  endeavouring  to  become  profi- 
cients in  a  tongue  positively  necessary  for 
economical,  useful,  or  sentimental  purposes, 
as  the  case  might  be,  but  which  in  more  early 
days  they  had  not  calculated  on  requiring. 

They  were  of  those  who  encourage  late 
ambition — 

"  And  from  the  dregs  of  life  think  to  receive 
What  the  first  sprightly  running  could  not  give." 

The  first  of  these  was  a  bachelor  of  some 
fifty-five,  formerly  a  medical  practitioner,  now 
retired,  and  living  in  a  lively  lodging,  in  a 
premier  that  overlooked  the  Loire ;  which 
reflected  back  so  much  sun  from  its  broad 
surface  on  a  bright  winter's  day,  that  the 
circumstance  greatly  diminished  his  expenses 
in  the  dreaded  article  of  fuel — a  consideration 
with  both  natives  and  foreigners.  Economy 
was  strictly  practised  by  Dr.  Drowler.  Never- 
theless, as  he  was  very  gallant,  and  loved  to 
pay  compliments  to  his  fair  young  French 
friends,  whom  he  did  not  suspect  of  laughing 
at  him,  he  became  desirous  of  acquiring  greater 
facility  in  the  lighter  part  of  a  language 
which  served  him  indifferently  well  in  the 
ordinary  concerns  of  his  bachelor  house-keep- 
ing. He  therefore  resolved  to  take  advantage 
of  the  low  terms  and  obliging  disposition  of 
Mademoiselle  Honoriue,  aud  placed  himself 
on  her  form.  There  was  much  good-will  on 
both  sides,  and  his  instructress  declared  that 
she  should  have  felt  little  fear  of  his  ultimate 
success,  but  for  his  defective  hearing  ;  which 
considerably  interfered  with  his  appreciation 
of  those  shades  of  pronunciation  which  might 
be  necessary  to  render  him  capable  of  charm- 
ing the  attentive  ears  of  the  young  ladies,  who 
were  on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation  to  hear 
what  progress  he  had  made  in  the  language 
of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 

Another  of  Mademoiselle  Honorine's  charges 
was  Mrs.  Mumble,  a  widow  of  uncertain 
age,  whose  early  education  had  been  a  good 
deal  left  to  nature  ;  and  who — her  income 
being  small — had  sought  the  banks  of  the 
poetical  Loire,  (in,  she  told  her  Somersetshire 
friends,  the  south  of  France)  to  make,  as 
she  expressed  it,  "both  ends  meet."  "One 
lesson  a  week  at  a  franc"  she  reflected, 
"won't  ruin  me,  and  I  shall  soon  get  to  speak 
their  language  as  well  as  the  best  of  'em." 
Mademoiselle  Honorine  herself  would  not 
have  despaired  of  her  pupil  arriving  at  some- 
thing approaching  to  this  result,  could  she 
have  got  the  better  of  a  certain  indistinct- 
ness of  utterance  caused  by"  the  loss  of  several 
teeth. 

Miss  Dogherty  was  a  third  pupil ;  a  young 
lady  of  fifty,  with  very  youthful  manners, 
and  a  slight  figure.  She  had  laboured  long 
to  acquire  the  true  "Porris  twang,"  as  she 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  CITY  OF  SUDDEN  DEATH. 


171 


termed  it ;  but,  finding  her  efforts  unavail- 
ing, she  had  resolved  during  her  winter  in 
Touraiue,  to  devote  herself  to  the  language, 
drawing  it  pure  from  the  source  ;  and  agreed 
to  sacrifice  ten  francs  per  month,  in  order, 
by  daily  hours  of  devotion,  to  reach  the  goal. 
An  inveterate  Tipperary  accent  interfered 
slightly  with  her  views,  but  she  hit  on  an 
ingenious  expedient  for  concealing  the  defect ; 
this  was,  never  to  open  her  mouth  to  more 
than  half  its  size  in  speaking  ;  and  always  to 
utter  her  English  in  a  broken  manner,  which 
might  convey  to  the  stranger  the  idea  of  her 
being  a  foreigner.  She  had  her  cards  printed 
as  Mademoiselle  Durt6,  which  made  the 
illusion  complete. 

But  these  pupils  were  not  to  be  entirely  relied 
on  for  producing  an  income — Mademoiselle 
Honorific  could  scarcely  reckon  on  the  ad- 
vantages they  presented  for  a  continuance, 
sanguine  as  she  was.  In  fact,  she  may  be 
said  to  have,  as  a  certainty,  only  one  per- 
manent pupil,  whom  she  looks  upon  as  her 
chief  stay,  and  her  gratitude  for  this  source 
of  emolument  is  such,  that  she  is  always  ready 
to  evince  her  sense  of  its  importance  by 
adopting  the  character  of  nursemaid,  classical 
teacher — although  her  knowledge  of  the  dead 
languages  is  not  extensive — or  general  gover- 
ness, approaching  the  maternal  character  the 
nearer  from  the  compassion  she  feels  for  the 
pretty  little  orphan  English  boy,  who  lives 
under  the  care  of  an  infirm  old  grandmother. 
With  this  little  gentleman,  whose  domicile 
is  situated  about' two  miles  from  her  own,  at 
the  top  of  a  steep  hill,  she  walks,  and  talks, 
and  laughs,  and  teaches,  and  enjoys  herself  so 
much,  that  she  considers  it  but  right  to 
reward  him  for  the  pleasure  he  gives  her  by 
expending  a  few  sous  everyday  in  sweetmeats 
for  his  delectation  ;  this  sum  making  a  con- 
siderable gap  in  the  monthly  salary  his 
grandmother  is  able  to  afford.  However,  her 
disinterestedness  is  not  thrown  away  here, 
and  I  learn  with  singular  satisfaction  that 
Mademoiselle  Honorine  having  been  detected 
in  the  act  of  devouring  her  dry  crust,  by  way 
of  breakfast,  and  her  pupil  having  won  from 
her  the  confession  that  she  never  had  any 
other,  a  cup  of  hot  chocolate  was  always 
afterwards  prepared  and  offered  to  her  by  the 
little  student  as  soon  as  she  entered  his  study. 
When  I  had  an  opportunity  of  judging — a 
fact  which  more  than  once  occurred  to  me — 
of  the  capabilities  of  Mademoiselle  Honorine's 
appetite,  I  was  gratified,  though  surprised,  to 
find  that  nothing  came  amiss  to  her ;  that 
she  could  enjoy  anything  in  the  shape  of  fish, 
flesh,  or  fowl,  and  drank  a  good  glass  of  Bor- 
deaux, or  even  Champagne,  with  singular  glee. 

It  happened,  not  long  since,  that  the  friend 
who  had  revealed  to  me  the  secret  of  her 
manner  of  life,  was  suddenly  called  vipon  to 
pay  a  sum  of  money  on  some  railway  shares 
she  possessed  ;  and,  being  unprepared,  was 
lamenting  in  the  presence  of  Mademoiselle 
Honoriue,  the  inconvenience  she  was  put  to. 


The  next  day,  the  lively  little  dame  ap- 
peared with  a  canvas  bag  in  her  hand,  con- 
taining no  less  a  sum  than  five  hundred-- 
francs. "Here,"  she  said,  smiling,  "is  the  exact 
sum  you  want.  It  is  most  lucky  I  should 
happen  to  have  as  much.  I  have  been  col- 
lecting it  for  years  ;  for,  you  know,  in  case  of 
sickness,  one  likes  to  avoid  being  a  burden 
to  one's  friends.  It  is  at  your  service  for  as 
long  a  time  as  you  like,  and  you  will  relieve 
me  from  anxiety  in  taking  it  into  your 
hands."  It  was  impossible  to  refuse  the  offer  ; 
and  the  good  little  woman  was  thus  enabled  to 
repay  the  many  kindnesses  she  had  received, 
and  to  add  greatly  to  her  own  dignity;  of 
which  she  is  very  tenacious. 

"Ah  !  "  said  a  Parisian  lady  to  her  one  day, 
after  hearing  of  her  thousand  occupations 
and  privations,  "  how  do  you  contrive  to  live  ; 
and  what  can  you  care  about  life  ?  I  should 
have  had  recourse  to  charcoal  long  ago,  if  I 
had  been  in  your  situation.  Yet  you  are 
always  laughing  and  gay,  as  if  you  dined  on 
foiegras  and  truffles  every  day  of  your 
existence ! " 

"  So  I  do,"  replied  the  little  heroine — "  at 
least  on  what  is  quite  as  good — for  I  have  all 
I  want,  all  I  care  about,  never  owing  a  sous, 
and  being  a  charge  to  no  one.  Besides,  I  have 
a  secret  happiness  which  nothing  can  take 
away ;  and,  when  I  go  into  the  church  of  a 
morning  to  mass,  I  thank  God  with  all  my 
heart  for  all  the  blessings  he  gives  me,  and, 
above  all,  for  the  extreme  content  which 
makes  all  the  world  seem  a  paradise  of  en- 
joyment. I  never  know  what  it  is  to  be 
dull,  and  as  for  charcoal,  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  it  in  a  foot-warmer,  but  that  is 
all  the  acquaintance  I  am  likely  to  make 
with  it." 

"Poor  soul ! "  returned  the  Parisienne,  "how 
I  pity  you  !  " 


THE  CITY  OF  SUDDEN  DEATH. 


WE  are  at  Naples  ;  and,  before  us,  is  a  stand 
of  Neapolitan  cabs.  We  make  a  bargain 
with  the  driver  of  one  of  these  vehicles  to  be 
taken  to  Pompeii,  are  cheated,  and  get  in. 
The  animals  in  front,  shaking  themselves 
under  their  tawdry,  jingling  harness,  start 
off  at  a  pace  which  I  should  have  deemed 
incredible  in  anything  but  a  Hansom.  One 
dirty  street  follows  another  dirty  street  ;  one 
noxious  smell  succeeds  another  noxious  smell ; 
and  we  find  ourselves  fast  hurrying  through 
the  city  of  the  living  in  the  direction  of  the 
City  of  the  Dead. 

The  first  circumstance  to  which  I  wish  to 
call  attention  is,  that  we  are  sitting  in  an 
open  carriage  on  the  eighth  of  January,  with- 
out a  great-coat,  in  light  summer  clothing1, 
and  yet  we  perspire.  Can  this  be  the  same 
world  as  that  which  we  have  left  behind  us  1 
Is  it  possible  that,  at  the  distance  of  a  few 
days'  journey,  our  relatives  are  shivering  and 
shaking  over  a  fire  :  that  the  letters  which 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


we  write  at  the  open  window  will  be  read  over 
the  hob  ;  that  the  silent  toast  that  we  drink 
,in  iced  Capri  is  returned  to  us  in  scalding 
punch  ?  While  the  sun  is  shining  upon  us 
in  this  unaccountable  manner,  and  remindirig 
us  of  Hyde  Park  in  the  middle  of  June,  we 
are  not  easily  persuaded  that  the  tip  of  the 
beloved  Amelia's  nose  is  at  this  moment 
slightly  tinged  with  blue ;  or  that  dear  George 
is  standing  before  the  mantelpiece  with  up- 
lifted coat-tails,  and  keeping  the  fire  from 
his  shivering  wife. 

Here  we  are  on  the  Santa  Lucia,  skirting 
the  blue  sea.  Not  that  it  looks  quite  so 
vividly  blue  as  in  the  pictures,  though  ;  but 
how  incomparably  beautiful,  as  it  glides  to- 
wards us,  calm  and  untroubled,  past  the 
American  frigate  lying  in  the  bay  !  There  is 
none  of  that  marine  smell  peculiar  to  sea-side 
places  ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  from  the  side 
of  the  land,  one's  olfactory  nerves  are  regaled 
to  an  unusual  extent.  The  fact  is,  that  the 
expression  "  bella  Napoli "  must  be  taken  with 
some  slight  limitation.  Look  up  at  the 
houses,  and  down  at  the  pavement,  and 
round  at  the  people,  and  you  will  see  at  once 
what  I  mean.  The  sky,  the  sea,  Vesuvius, 
the  islands  in  the  bay,  are  the  only  objects 
which  do  not  at  once  recall  soap  and  water 
I  to  the  mind  as  refreshing  images.  To  the 
patriotic  painter  Avho  would  wish  to  represent 
his  native  city  under  an  emblematical  form, 
I  would  venture  to  suggest  a  perfect  Venus 
with  a  dirty — a  vwy  dirty  face. 

At  what  a  rate  the  rascal  is  whirling  us 
on  !  His  whip  sounds  like  a  detonating  ball. 
Past  the  King's  palace,  with  its  swarthy 
sentinels  pacing  in  the  sun  ;  past  the  mag- 
nificent theatre  of  San  Carlos  ;  past  the 
Ministry  of  State  ;  past  the  Castel  Nuovo, 
with  its  frowning  battlements  ;  down  to  the 
sea  again,  and  right  through  the  crowds  of 
lazy  lazzaroni  and  fishermen.  We  are  among 
the  habitations  of  the  lower  orders  ;  and 
what  a  motley  group  is  this  which  passes  and 
repasses  before  us  !  Marvellously  constructed 
little  chaises,  slung  high  up  in  the  air,  full 
to  overflowing  inside,  and  with  half-a-dozen 
ragged  fellows  clinging  on  behind,  the  whole 
apparatus  drawn  along  by  a  solitary  lean 
horse  ;  the  carts  of  the  peasantry,  with  an 
ox  and  an  ass,  or  an  ox  and  a  mule,  or  an 
ox  and  a  horse  yoked  together ;  the  carriages 
of  the  rich,  with  the  chasseur  in  full  uni- 
form, and  with  his  sword  by  his  side, 
twirling  his  mustachios  on  the  box  ;  the 
dusty  diligence  crawling  along  like  a  mail 
of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne.  On  the  pave- 
ment beggars  of  every  degree  of  misery 
and  raggedness,  eyeless,  noseless,  armless, 
without  legs,  some  absolutely  without  faces, 
whining  piteously  for  grand.  Priests  of  every 
order,  military  priests  with  their  jack-boots, 
priests  in  lilac,  priests  in  white,  priests  in 
brown,  priests  with  crosses  on  their  breasts  ; 
friar.s,  with  bare  feet  and  waist  encircled  by  a 
rope  ;  portly  nuns,  with  rosary  and  crucifix. 


Sellers  of  fruit,  sellers  of  maccaroni,  sellers  of 
fish.  A  clacking  of  whips,  a  rolling  of  wheels, 
a  shrieking  of  voices,  a  Pandemonium  of 
strange  oaths,  interspei-sed  with  snatches  of 
street  music.  Thank  Heavens !  we  are  getting 
out  of  the  town,  and  into  the  suburb  of 
Portici. 

See,  our  driver  stops,  and  takes  off  his  hat. 
What  is  this  procession  advancing  towards 
us  ?  What  are  these  torch-bearing  figures 
clad  in  white,  with  round  holes  for  their  eyes, 
reminding  us  of  the  pictures  of  an  auto-da-fe  1 
It  is  a  funeral.  Borne  with  uncovered  face 
on  a  magnificent  gilt  bier  is  the  corpse  of  a 
woman.  So  calm,  so  placid  are  her  features, 
one  would  think  she  is  asleep.  Behind  is 
carried  the  modest  wooden  coffin  in  which 
her  remains  will  be  committed  to  the  earth. 
There  are  no  relatives  following  ;  only  a  couple 
of  priests,  looking  staid  and  solemn  under 
their  three-cornered  hats.  I  don't  think  I 
quite  like  the  figures  of  those  auto-da-fo 
fellows,  but  I  know  that  I  like  the  under- 
takers' men  still  less  ;  and,  perhaps,  it  is  not 
the  custom  of  the  mourners  here  to  drink  at 
the  public-houses  on  their  way  back,  or  to  sit 
unsteadily  on  the  hearse,  with  their  legs 
dangling  in  the  air.  More  dirty  villages, 
more  swarthy  faces,  and  into  the  open  country. 
Now  we  are  driving  between  two  high  walls, 
ornamented  every  here  and  there  with  a 
crucifix,  or  a  rude  daub  of  the  Virgin.  Now 
we  are  clattering  along  the  open  road,  looking 
at  the  broad  undivided  fields  on  each  side  of 
us.  No  smiling  garden,  n6  neat  villa,  no 
well-trimmed  lawn ;  no  Hampstead,  no  High- 
gate,  no  Camberwell.  Everything  looking  as 
if  it  were  about  to  tumble  down  ;  nothing 
beautiful  but  nature  ;  no  one  at  work  but  the 
glorious  sun  above  us.  I  am  a  cockney,  and 
I  begin  to  feel  proud  of  it.  We  are  at  the 
gates  of  Pompeii.  Who  is  this  ragged  fellow, 
with  holes  in  every  part  of  his  attire,  ad- 
vancing to  greet  us  1  I  should  have  taken 
him  for  a  beggar,  if  he  had  not  announced 
himself  as  the  guide  ;  he  conducts  us  up  a 
lane,  and  through  the  archway  of  a  building 
that  we  see  before  us.  What  is  it,  I  wonder  1 
There  is  no  need  of  an  answer,  when  we  have 
cast  a  glance  around  us — the  Amphitheatre  ! 

The  Amphitheatre  !  Look  about  you,  and 
own  that  it  is  a  spectacle  worth  coming  all 
this  distance  to  behold.  Here,  in  this  oval 
arena,  and  perhaps  on  the  very  spot  where 
we  now  stand,  the  gladiator  has  died  for  the 
amusement  of  an  audience,  with  no  more 
ceremony  than  a  man  will  now-a-days  skip 
on  a  tight-rope.  The  enclosed  benches  nearest 
to  us  are  the  seats  of  the  privileged  classes. 
What  a  capital  view  they  had  of  the  fun  ! 
Only  think,  if  you  were  a  very  great  man, 
you  might  almost  be  sprinkled  with  the 
blood  of  the  victim  !  Higher  up  sat  the  bulk 
of  the  audience,  or  that  portion  of  the  spec- 
tators who  may  be  said  to  have  corresponded 
to  our  modern  pit  ;  and,  at  the  top  of  all,  are 
the  covered  boxes,  not  for  the  "  gods,"  but  I 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  CITY  OF  SUDDEN  DEATH. 


173 


suppose  we  must  say,  for  the  "goddesses," 
— goddesses,  who,  alas  !  were  not  averse  to 
the  sight  of  human  agony.  In  a  word,  this 
Avas  the  part  of  the  house  expressly  set  apart 
for  the  ladies.  "  What !  "  I  suppose  you  will 
exclaim,  "  did  the  ladies  of  Pompeii  look  on 
without  flinching  while  a  wild  beast  was 
munching  the  bones  of  a  man,  or  two  hired 
wretches  were  inflicting  desperate  wounds 
on  each  other  1  "  Recollect,  that  these 
poor  people  had  not  the  advantages  of  our 
civilisation.  As  for  the  flinching,  I  don't 
quite  know  what  to  say,  for  I  think  it  pro- 
bable that  a  Roman  matron,  to  render  herself 
interesting,  might  every  now  and  then  raise 
her  pocket-handkerchief  to  her  face,  or  that 
a  young  lady,  on  recounting  the  incidents  of 
the  spectacle  on  a  future  day.  might  suddenly 
be  unable  to  stand  without  the  support  of 
her  lover  ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  they  all  liked 
it  very  much.  Depend  upon  it,  from  those 
covered  boxes  up  yonder,  they  smiled  upon  the 
eligible  young  Pompeians  in  the  body  of  the 
bouse,  and  looked  straight  down  at  the  lions 
and  tigers  when  their  glance  had  lighted  upon 
a  briefless  banister,  or  a  captain  in  a  marching 
legion.  Depend  upon  it,  they  did  all  this 
with  as  much  composure  as  a  British  matron 
of  the  nineteenth  century  holding  up  her 
child  to  witness  the  struggles  of  a  dying 
malefactor,  or  the  wife  of  a  Spanish  grandee 


flirting  her  fan  at  a  bull-fight. 
Here    is    the     gate     through 


which    the 


audience  poured  in,  and  there  is  the  entrance 
for  the  gladiators  and  wild  beasts,  or  "  stage- 
door,"  as  I  suppose  we  must  call  it.  Into 
yonder  narrow  cell  were  borne  the  mangled 
carcases  of  the  dead  and  dying,  and  further 
on  is  the  den  for  the  principal  performer  of 
the  day — the  lion.  One  can  imagine  the 
breathless  suspense  of  the  audience,  as  the 
bolts  were  being  drawn,  and  the  cordial 
welcome  with  which  they  received  the  pre- 
liminary roar,  or  "  Here  we  are,"  of  the  liberated 
animal.  Stay,  what  is  that  inscription  carved 
on  yonder  seat  ?  Probably  it  is  the  name  of 
the  Decemvir  or  Decurion  who  sat  there. 
One  must  confess  that  they  do  not  carve  with 
so  much  neatness  now-a-days.  Give  us  his 
name,  and  the  date  when  he  flourished.  "  J. 
Wilkinson,  1847."  By  all  that  is  hallowed  ! 
the  British  penknife  has  not  spared  even 
these  stones  of  Pompeii ;  and  like  Belshazzar 
ut  his  feast,  turn  in  what  direction  we  will, 
we  are  always  troubled  by  a  mysterious  hand- 
writing on  the  walls. 

We  are  handed  into  the  custody  of  another 
guide,  and  led  triumphantly  through  a  kind 
of  orchard  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Soldiers' 
quarter  "  or  barracks.  What  a  silent,  musty 
quadrangle,  with  its  broken  columns  of  stucco, 
once  glaring  in  the  magnificence  of  red  and 
yellow  paint — the  plot  of  ground  in  the  centre 
once  actually  a  garden,  and  even  now,  I 
believe,  supposed  to  represent  one — the  two 
stories  of  apartments,  the  upper  one  being  for 


out   tastefully  to  dry  in 
When    this    place   was 


the  Centurion's  apartment  at  the  bottom,  now 
fitted  up  into  a  dormitory  for  some  kind  of 
modern  guardian,  or  sentinel,  or  guide, 
whose  shirt  hangs 
the  mid- day  sun. 

excavated,  before  the  door  of  this  chamber 
was  found  the  skeleton  of  its  occupier,  and 
the  more  humble  bones  of  forty  common 
soldiers  ;  trophies  of  victories  whose  very 
names  are  now,  perhaps,  forgotten  ;  instru- 
ments of  military  punishment  ;  lamps  whose 
last  ray  was  thrown  on  features  ghastly  with 
suffering  and  death  ;  rings,  possibly  the  gift 
of  distant  fair  ones,  pressed  convulsively  to 
the  whitening  lip  ;  the  half-unsheathed  sword, 
a  token  of  the  useless  fury  of  him  who  grasped 
it ;  the  broken  spear.  But  who  is  there  who 
will  not  construct  for  himself,  out  of  the 
various  objects  found  strewn  about,  some 
picture  of  what  that  awful  moment  must  have 
been,  when  Vesuvius  poured  her  boiling 
ashes  through  every  pore  and  fibre  of  the  city 
and  its  citizens  1  Who  ?  certainly,  not  those 
two  young  men,  beloved  compatriots,  who  I 
warrant  me  will  do  no  such  thing.  One 
smokes  a  cigar,  the  other  wields  an  immense 
sandwich  ;  they  are  laughing  and  poking  each 
other  about  with  sticks,  and  "  chaffing  "  their 
guide  through  the  ruins.  I  regret  to  say 
that  this  kind  of  traveller  is  almost  exclusively 
a  product  of  the  British  Isles.  Dodging  each 
other  round  the  gay  columns  of  the  Alhambra 
— ornamenting  one  another  with  pigtails  at 
Mount  Vernon,  watching  intently  some  good- 
looking  ffrisette  in  the  galleries  of  the  Louvre 
— dashing  frantically  out  of  St.  Peter's  for 
some  newly-invented  pipe-light ;  what  account 
can  some  of  our  young  Oxford  students,  and 
ensigns  on  sick  leave,  give  of  the  lions  they 
have  visited  1  "  By-the-bye,  Green,  you  were 
at  Mount  Vernou  last  year,  weren't  you  ? " 
"  Yes,  and,  by  George,  we  had  such  fun  !  There 
was  an  elderly  gentleman  with  a  cocked  hat 
and  a  young  wife,"  &c.,  &c.,  &c.  "  Jones,  you 
visited  the  Louvre  when  you  were  at  Paris, 
did  you  not  ?  "  "  Yes,  and,  by  Heavens,  I  saw 
such  a  stunning  gal,"  &c.,  &c. 

All  this  is  not  Pompeii.  Let  us  get  back 
again.  How  rapidly  one  object  succeeds  to 
another  !  Here  we  are  in  a  temple.  Where 
we  now  stand,  stood  the  devout  crowd 
believing  that  it  was  the  voice  of  the  oracle 
that  they  heard,  and  the  philosopher 
making  believe  that  he  believed  it.  From 
yonder  elevation  the  lying  priest,  concealed 
from  view,  counterfeited  the  voice  of  the  god, 
and  on  this  altar  the  augur  consulted  the 
entrails  of  the  victim.  How  pleasant  it  is  to 
see  all  those  things  realised  which  we  were 
wont  to  look  upon  as  a  creation  of  Adams,  or 
a  pleasant  dream  of  Lempriere  !  How  is  it 
with  you  ?  There  is  hardly  an  object  here 
which  does  not  recall  to  my  mind  a  flogging, 
or  a  caning,  or  an  afternoon  spent  up  in  a 
corner,  or  under  a  clock,  or  on  a  table.  What 
is  that  comfortable  apartment  at  the  end  ? 


the  officers,  the  lower  for  the  common  men—  |  The  priest's  dining-room !  I  remark  that  that  is 


174 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


!  [Conducted  by 


a  never-failing  appendage  to  these  temples.  I 
think  it  was  in  this  one  that  they  excavated  the 
skeleton  of  a  reverend  bon-vivant,  who  grasped 
in  his  lifeless  fingers  the  thigh-bone  of  a  fowl. 
Imagination  conjures  up  before  us  some  of 
our  old  acquaintance,  the  fellows  of  Cambridge 
and  Oxford.  In  the  case  of  an  eruption  from 
the  Gog  Magog  hills,  or  an  overflow  of  the 
Isis,  would  any  of  them  be  found,  I  wonder, 
in  a  similar  situation  1  But  how  striking  the 
lesson  to  be  derived  from  the  discovery  of 
some  of  these  remains !  The  mother  with 
her  child  in  her  arms  ;  the  noble  maiden  in 
the  act  of  bearing  off  her  jewels  ;  the  soldier 
at  his  post  ;  the  priest  at  the  dim'ng-table  ! 
Everywhere  the  ruling  passion  strong  in 
death.  Who  does  not  recall  the  last  excla- 
mation of  a  late  Chief  Justice,  "  Gentlemen  of 
the  Jury,  you  are  discharged,"  or  the  "  Tite 
cFarmee  "  of  the  dying  Napoleon  ! 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment  to  contemplate 
another  illustration  of  the  same  kind.  Here, 
within  this  narrow  cell,  you  may  yet  trace  in 
the  wall  a  small  uneven  hole,  seemingly  formed 
by  the  stroke  of  some  heavy  instrument.  Be- 
neath it  was  found  the  skeleton  of  a  man, 
holding  an  axe  ;  and  at  his  side  were  a  bunch 
of  keys  and  some  bags  of  money  which  he  was 
apparently  in  the  act  of  carrying  off.  It  is 
this  man  whom  Bulwer  in  his  "  Last  Days  of 
Pompeii  "  has  revived  for  our  entertainment 
under  the  name  of  Calenus  the  priest.  What 
scene  of  horror  can  the  imagination  of  the 
novelist  conjure  up,  which  nature  has  not 
already  exhibited  —  and  when  a  modern 
writer  drew  the  death  of  Chowles  in  the 
vaults  of  Old  St.  Paul's,  was  he  aware  that 
the  counterpart  of  his  fancy  was  to  be  found 
in  an  actual  event  of  two  thousand  years  ago  ? 

But  while  I  have  been  moralising,  we  have 
passed  into  a  street.  It  has  been  styled 
the  street  of  Abundance,  from  the  fact  that 
a  horn  of  plenty  or  Cornucopia  figures  as 
the  emblem  on  one  of  the  fountains.  What 
a  magic  scene  unfolds  itself  to  our  view  as  we 
walk  along  !  Here  are  the  marks  of  wheels 
yet  distinctly  to  be  traced  on  the  pavement  ; 
and  the  large  square  stones  in  the  middle  of 
the  way  which  enabled  the  pedestrian  to  cross 
from  one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other  with- 
out dirtying  his  sandals.  On  either  side  of  us 
are  the  shops,  now  stripped  of  their  contents, 
which  decorate  the  Museo  Borbouico  at 
Naples  ;  shops  of  surgeons  filled  with  all  sorts 
of  implements,  some  of  which  had  been  be- 
lieved by  the  moderns  to  be  of  their  own 
invention  ;  shops  of  bakers,  with  the  mills  for 
making  bread,  moulds  of  various  forms  and 
sizes,  and  loaves  of  bread  now  petrified  into 
an  adamantine  substance,  but  still  showing 
the  name  of  the  maker  clearly  marked  upon 
them  ;  shops  of  oil-sellers  ;  shops  for  the  sale 
of  wines  and  hot  drinks  ;  shops  of  barbers, 
not  the  frizzled  and  perfumed  attendants  of 
modern  streets  and  arcades,  but  resembling 
rather  the  barbers  of  the  middle  ages,  who 
•wielded  the  lancet,  clumsily  wrenched  out 


teeth,  and  ignorautly  prescribed  drugs  ;  shops 
of  dealers  in  lamps  ;  shops  or  studios  of 
artists,  in  some  of  which  were  found  the 
models  from  which  they  worked ;  and 
cauponse  or  inns — a  cross  between  the 
British  chop-house  and  gin-palace.  How 
dark  and  dingy  these  shops  must  have  been, 
and  how  easy  to  have  been  cheated  in  them  ! 
They  were,  indeed,  nothing  but  dark  closets, 
unfurnished  with  windows,  and  deriving  what 
little  light  struggled  into  them  from  the  open 
doors.  You  may  observe  the  very  fellows  to 
them  in  the  streets  of  modern  Naples  ;  as  you 
may  observe  a  pretty  good  imitation  of  the 
Roman  houses  in  some  of  the  abodes  of  the 
poorer  classes  of  Neapolitans  round  the  city. 
The  identical  capotes  or  hoods  worn  by  the 
sailors  and  fishermen  of  the  present  day  are 
to  be  found  in  drawings  of  the  same  classes 
discovered  at  Pompeii ;  and  if  you  and  I  were 
great  antiquaries,  and  had  time  or  leisure  to 
rummage  about,  I  think  we  should  discover 
that  the  modern  Italians  are  indebted  for 
more  of  their  customs  and  usages  than  is 
commonly  supposed  to  their  predecessors  of 
Rome. 

I  do  not  know  how  the  sight  of  all  these 
objects  acts  upon  you,  but  to  me  it  is  bewil- 
dering. I  know  not  which  way  to  turn,  nor 
where  to  begin.  A  collection  of  wonders  on 
a  large  scale  almost  always  defeats  its  end  ; 
there  is  so  much  to  see,  that  we  end  by  seeing 
nothing,  and  pass  our  time  in  moving  fever- 
ishly from  one  object  to  another.  Half-a- 
dozen  Roman  lamps  dug  up  in  a  gentleman's 
garden,  or  half-a-dozen  coins  laid  out  on  his 
library  table,  would  keep  us  in  a  state  of 
comfortable  ecstasy  for  a  whole  afternoon  ; 
whereas  I  have  never  entered  the  British 
Museum  without  a  feeling  of  despair,  nor  left 
it  without  a  sense  of  disappointment.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  let  us  leave  the  street,  and 
strive  to  confine  our  attention  to  some  one 
object — a  house,  for  example.  See,  here  is 
one  just  adapted  to  our  purpose,  the  abode 
apparently  of  wealth,  the  house  of  some  rich 
Pompeian  who  gave  parties,  who  was  feted 
and  caressed,  who  was  envied  and  toadied,  just 
two  thousand  years  ago  ! 

The  external  aspect  of  the  house  is  very 
different  from  that  of  a  modern  residence. 
There  appear  to  have  been  no  windows  look- 
ing out  on  the  street,  and  only  one  story.  A 
long  expanse  of  dead  wall  is  broken  by  the 
gate  or  door.  Passing  through  it,  we  find 
ourselves  in  the  entrance-hall,  an  enclosed 
space  about  six  feet  wide  and  thirty  long. 
Here  it  was  that  the  porter  kept  his  watch, 
not  softly  snoozing  011  a  well-stuffed  seat,  but 
frequently  in  chains,  and  with  a  dog,  also 
chained,  at  his  feet.  An  inscription,  "  Beware 
of  the  dog,"  generally  gave  the  visitor  an 
opportunity  of  withdrawing  from  the  caresses 
of  the  animal — an  opportunity  not  always 
accorded  in  the  entrance-halls  of  the  moderns. 

Passing  through  this  hall,  we  find  ourselves 
in  a  sort  of  square  courtyard,  open  at  the  top, 


Charles  Dickena.] 


THE  CITY  OF  SUDDEN  DEATH. 


175 


•with  a  reservoir  iii  the  centre  for  receiving 
the  rain.  A  boy,  expressly  appointed  for  the 
purpose,  rushes  forward  with  a  kind  of 
broom,  and  brushing  aside  what  I  had  con- 
ceived to  be  merely  the  dust  beneath  our 
feet,  shows  us  a  richly  tessellated  pavement 
below.  This  courtyard  was  indeed  the  prin- 
cipal apartment  of  the  house,  and  the  one  in 
which  the  master  was  accustomed  to  receive 
his  inferior  visitors.  On  three  sides  of  it,  is  a 
covered-in  walk  or  colonnade,  and  opening 
into  this  colonnade  are  several  rooms,  gene- 
rally used  as  the  sleeping-apartments  of  the 
guests.  I  conceive  these  sleeping-apartments, 
and,  indeed,  the  bed-chambers  of  the  Romans 
generally,  to  be  among  the  most  curious  evi- 
dences of  their  civilisation.  Fancy  being 
tucked  up  in  a  narrow,  stifling  closet  on  the 
ground-floor,  with  no  window  in  it,  and,  in- 
deed, no  light  of  any  sort  save  what  was 
derived  from  a  door  opening  upon  a  colon- 
nade !  A  hundred  questions  rise  to  the 
mind  in  connection  with  these  gloomy  dens. 
Why  were  the  walls  painted  of  so  glaring  a 
red  colour,  and  ornamented  with  devices,  in 
an  obscurity  which  makes  them  all  assume 
the  appearance  of  a  sea-piece  by  Turner  ? 
How  did  the  Roman  ladies  see  to  make  use 
of  their  looking-glasses  1  Did  any  one,  after 
all,  sleep  in  these  places  1  And,  if  so,  was 
there  not  to  be  found  a  large  body  of  sensible 
and  straightforward  Romans,  who,  wrapping 
themselves  round  in  their  togas,  after  selecting 
some  nice  dry  spot  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius, 
passed  the  night  in  the  open  air,  in  preference 
to  being  imprisoned  in  the  best  bed-room  of 
the  best  house  in  Pompeii  1 

Yonder  small  apartment  at  the  end  of  the 
courtyard  which  we  have  just  been  traversing 
may  be  said  to  have  corresponded  with  the 
modern  library  or  "  study."  Here  were  kept 
the  books,  cabinets  of  gems,  family  records, 
and  such  like  articles.  Small  as  it  may  appear, 
it  was,  in  truth,  quite  large  enough  for  the 
purpose  to  which  it  was  destined.  A  few 
rolls  of  manuscript  would  have  furnished  a 
library  over  which  a  Roman  Robins  might 
have  exhausted  his  powers  of  literary  descrip- 
tion ;  and  as  for  the  family  documents,  you 
might  have  searched  among  them  in  vain  for 
the  voluminous  Releases  to  Trustees,  Trans- 
fers of  Mortgages,  Assignments  of  Equitable 
Interests,  and  other  light  legal  compositions 
of  a  more  civilised  age. 

We  are  in  a  second  courtyard  similar  to 
the  first — the  Peristyle — with  a  small  patch 
of  ground,  dignified  by  the  name  of  "  garden," 
in  the  centre,  and  rooms  opening  into  it  on 
either  side.  The  apartment  at  the  bottom 
is  the  dining-room.  How  diminutive,  how 
contemptible  it  appears  to  tke  modern  eye  ; 
what  a  chill  its  proportions  would  strike  into 
the  breast  of  a  diner-out  from  Brooks's  or 
Boodle's  !  You  could  hardly  have  squeezed 
more  than  nine  people  into  it !  Precisely  so 
— more  than  nine  people  seldom  were  squeezed 
into  it.  -Amongst  the  foolish  barbarians, 


whose  relics  we  are  now  contemplating,  there 
was  a  kind  of  ridiculous  idea  prevalent  that, 
for  a  comfortable  dinner  party,  that  number 
was  quite  sufficient. 

There  remains  but  the  kitchen,  and  our 
survey  of  the  house  is  concluded.  It  is 
situated  at  the  end  of  the  peristyle,  at  the 
extreme  rear  of  the  house,  and  is  of  a  size 
corresponding  with  the  dining-room  to  which 
it  is  subservient.  There  is  nothing  for  us  to 
see  in  it  now  but  the  four  bare  walls,  as  all 
the  objects  it  contained  have  been  transported, 
in  common  with  all  the  other  objects  of  value 
found  in  the  town,  to  the  Museum  of  Naples. 
You  can  see,  however,  that  the  walls  have 
been  painted,  apparently  with  the  figures  of 
the  Lares,  or  domestic  gods,  under  whose 
divine  protection  all  matters  of  a  culinary 
nature  were  placed. 

As  we  wend  our  way  back  through  these 
empty  and  silent  halls — empty  as  the  men  of 
fashion  who  once  disported  here,  and  a  great 
deal  more  silent — can  we  help  reflecting  upon 
the  singular  changes  brought  about  by  Time  ? 
Two  thousand  years  ago,  how  many  people 
would  have  sacrificed  the  ten  best  years  of 
their  lives  to  be  admitted  into  this  very 
mansion  !  how  many  were  bowing  and  cring- 
ing for  an  invitation  to  supper  within  the 
envied  portals  of  Glaucus,  or  Sallust,  or 
Diomed  !  Could  these  proud  owners  and 
their  guests  but  have  foreseen  to  what  s"nobs 
those  portals  would  one  day  be  opened,  I 
wonder  whether  they  would  have  taken  such 
pains  to  decorate  them  with  paintings  and 
statuary  ?  And  in  those  future  ages,  when 
Mr.  Macaulay's  New  Zealander  is  to  con- 
template the  ruins  of  London  (including,  as 
we  may  suppose,  the  remains  of  the  still 
unfinished  Houses  of  Parliament),  will  our 
descendant,  in  like  manner,  stalk  uninvited 
through  those  tall  and  mysterious  mansions, 
which  you  and  I  pass  by  with  fear  and 
trembling,  or  only  read  of  in  the  "Morning 
Post  1 "  The  splendid  galleries  which  we 
enter  by  means  of  tickets  our  posterity  may 
perhaps  comfortably  spit  over,  like  the 
American  gentleman  whom  we  have  left 
behind  us ;  they  may  pursue  each  other 
round  the  colossal  fragments  of  the  Marble 
Arch,  armed  with  flasks  of  the  liquid  then  in 
use,  like  the  two  Oxford  students. 

They  have  taken  us  to  the  place  where 
the  excavations  are  going  on.  Considering 
the  length  of  time  which  has  elapsed  since 
the  finding  of  this  city  (the  discovery  was 
accidentally  made  by  some  peasants  working 
in  a  vineyard),  and  the  importance  of  the 
subject  generally,  the  progress  which  has 
been  made  is  not  so  great  as  might  have 
been  expected.  It  is  considered  that  about 
two-thirds  of  Pompeii  still  remain  covered 
up  ;  and  this  notwithstanding  that  the  ma- 
terial in  which  it  is  embedded  is  composed 
of  dust  and  ashes,  which,  of  course,  do  not 
present  the  same  difficulties  as  lava,  in  which 
the  neighbouring  town  of  Herculaneum  is 


176 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


encrusted.  You  see  how  it  is :  a  few  men 
;tutl  boys  are  lazily  pursuing  their  work,  iu 
the  true  Neapolitan  style.  When  any  very 
distinguished  foreigner — such  as  a  Prince  or 
Grand  Duke — conies  on  a  visit  to  his  august 
and  most  clement  Majesty,  the  Ferdinand  for 
the  time  being,  this  great  fragment  of  antiquity 
is  paraded  and  marshalled  in  what  may  be 
termed  a  grand  field-day.  In  honour  of  the 
illustrious  visitor,  and  in  his  presence,  the 
excavation  of  a  fresh  house  is  set  about. 
Should  the  name  of  its  former  proprietor  be 
discovered,  this  name  is,  of  course,  retained  ; 
should  none  such  appear,  that  of  the  illus- 
trious visitor  himself  is  affixed  :  the  ruins  are 
thenceforth  called  "  The  House  of  Prince  A," 
or  "  The  House  of  the  Grand  Duchess  Z,"  as 
the  case  may  be.  As  neither  "  The  House  of 
Smith,"'  nor  "  The  House  of  Brown,"  figure 
in  the  list,  I  should  imagine  that  we  are  not 
persons  of  sufficient  importance  to  warrant 
the  assumption  of  our  names  for  such  a 
purpose.  Accordingly  the  workmen  only 
testify  their  sense  of  our  presence  by  sus- 
pending operations  for  awhile,  and  sending  to 
us  one  of  their  body,  as  a  deputation,  for 
wine  to  drink. 

But,  stay  —  our  watches  point  to  four 
o'clock ;  the  workmen  disperse  to  their 
homes,  and  our  guide  warns  us  that  the  time 
for  departure  has  arrived.  As  we  return 
through  the  ruins  of  the  stately  Forum,  let 
me  call  your  attention  to  these  fragments  of 
colunans  lying  on  the  ground  —  or  rather 
masses  of  stone,  half-worked  into  the  shape 
of  columns — the  final  catastrophe  having 
come  on  at  a  time  when  the  Forum  itself  was 
under  repair.  Do  you  see  that  last  mark  of 
the  chisel  ?  Do  you  notice  where  the  fluting 
has  been  abruptly  left  off?  Look  at  these 
blocks  of  stone  at  the  door  of  the  edifice, 
found  iu  the  very  position  in  which  they  had 
been  placed  there  two  thousand  years  ago, 
together  with  (if  our  guide  does  not  deceive 
us)  the  skeleton  of  the  horse  and  the  remains 
of  the  cart  that  were  used  to  convey  them. 
They  were  unloading  the  materials  for  the 
reconstruction  of  the  building  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  building  itself  was  to  be 
destroyed,  never  to  rise  from  its  ashes  ;  and 
in  that  long  line  of  roofless  houses,  that  lie 
outstretched  like  a  panorama  before  us,  people 
were  eating,  and  drinking,  and  marrying, 
perhaps,  and  being  given  in  marriage,  like 
our  forefathers  at  the  Deluge,  like  our  de- 
scendants at  the  last  great  day  ! 

We  are  at  the  gate,  where  the  skeleton  of 
the  sentinel  was  found  in  his  sentry-box. 
Faithful  to  his  duty  to  the  last,  the  poor 
fellow  merited  a  better  fate  for  his  bones  than 
that  they  should  be  one  day  enclosed  in  a 
glass-case,  and  exhibited  in  a  museum.  Passing 
through  this  gate,  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
Street  of  Tombs — a  narrow  way,  lined  on  both 
sides  with  sepulchral  monuments.  At  the 
end  of  this  street  I  see  our  carriage  awaiting 
us.  An  abortive  attempt  at  cheating,  and 


much  violent  gesticulation  on  the  part  of  our 
guide  ;  the  same  on  the  part  of  our  driver  ;  of 
the  man  who  gave  the  horses  hay  to  eat  ;  of 
the  boy  who  furnished  them  with  water  to 
drink ;  of  somebody  from  the  inn  where  they 
were  put  up  who  did  nothing  ;  many  unscrip- 
tural,  and  happily  unintelligible  expressions 
on  all  sides  ;  a  final  shout  from  the  beggars  ; 
a  crack  of  the  whip,  and  a  rattling  of  the 
wheels — and  soon  Pompeii  is  but  a  little 
mound  at  the  base  of  Vesuvius,  seen  across 
the  quiet  and  moonlit  waters  of  the  bay. 


A  KECOLLECTION   OF   SIR    MARTIN    SHEE. 

ON  THE   LAST  OCCASION  OF  HIS  PEESIDING  AT   THE 
FESTIVAL  OF  THE   KOYAL   ACADEMY   OF  AKT. 

IF  in  the  fluttering  magic  of  that  tongue 

Some  trace  of  years,  in  which  its  accents  grew 

Sweetest  amidst  the  benutiful,  renew 

A  fond  regret  that  spirits  ever  young 

Should,  as  they  verge  on  regions  whence  they  sprung, 

Pay,  in  expression's  weaken'd  force,  their  due 

To  that  mortality  through  which  alone 

They  speak  to  earth,  our  hearts  attend  its  tone 

With  eagerness  more  rapt  than  when  it  flung 

Abroad  the  vigorous  thought  with  fancy's  hue 

Imbued  ;  for,  as  from  drooping  flower,  ripe  seeds 

Laden  with  loveliness  for  spring  are  blown, 

The  words  that  tremble  as  for  Art  it  pleads 

Shall  glow  in  shapes  another  age  shall  own. 


STONE  PICTUEES. 

ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  Saint  (still 
flourishing  in  the  Calendar),  called  Aloysius ; 
a  Latinized  connexion,  I  am  induced  to  think, 
of  our  old  friend,  St.  Eloi,  so  famous  for  his 
rebuke  to  the  good  king  Dagobert,  touching 
the  slovenliness  of  his  toilette.  After  this 
saint,  was  christened,  towards  the  close  of  the 
last  century,  the  child  of  poor  parents,  in  the 
good  old  catholic,  art-loving,  beer-bibbing 
Munich.  This  little  Aloysius,  growing  up  to 
manhood,  was  known  among  his  fellows  as 
Aloys  Senefelder;  and  some  of  my  readers 
may  have  heard  of  him  as  the  inventor  of 
Lithography. 

Aloys  Senefelder  had  the  misfortune  to 
be  one  of  the  garret  school  of  inventors. 
His  life  was  a  struggle  ;  and,  although  he 
lived  to  see  his  invention  spread  over  all 
the  world  almost,  he  never  achieved  Avorld- 
wide  fame  ;  and  died  anything  but  a  inillion- 
naire.  Inventors  are  wiser  now.  They  take 
care  to  associate  their  names  with  their  dis- 
coveries. We  cannot  Avear  waterproof  coats 
without  calling  to  mind  Mr.  Macintosh.  We 
must  think  of  M.  Daguerre  a  little,  while 
sitting  to  the  urbane  M.  Claudet  for  our  por- 
trait ;  and,  down  in  a  coal-mine,  the  sight  of  a 
safety-lamp  must  surely  call  up  some  thoughts 
of  Sir  Humphry  Davy.  Had  poor  Aloys 
Senefelder  (dead  in  Munich  yonder,  without 
statue  or  testimonial)  called  his  invention. 
Senefeldography,  or  the  Aloysotype,  he  might 
possibly  have  snatched  some  little .  modicum 


Charles  Dickens.J 


STONE  PICTURES. 


177 


of  posthumous  fame  ;  whei-eas  now,  the  pre- 
sent generation  know  and  hear  a  great  deal 
less  about  him  than  of  Joseph  Ady,  or  Pro- 
fessor Blenldnsop. 

I  like  the  quaint  legends — the  little  anec- 
dotical  ana,  attached  to  the  inventions  whose 
origin  we  cannot  always  understand.  I  like 
the  story  of  the  apple  that  fell  on  good  Sir  Isaac 
Newton's  hose  ;  of  Doctor  Franklin  and  his 
kite  ;  of  little  Benjamin  West  inventing  the 
camera  obscura,  in  his  darkened  bedroom, 
when  getting  well  of  a  fever,  and  little 
dreaming — mild  young  Quaker — that  some- 
body else  had  invented  it,  two  years  before, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  four 
thousand  miles  away !  Most  of  all  do  I 
affect  the  traditional  anecdotes  relative  to 
painting  and  engraving.  Touching  the.last,  it 
is  curious  that  nearly  all  the  legends  con- 
cerning it  should  be  connected  with  that  very 
humble  adjunct  to  domestic  economy,  the 
wash-tub.  A  bundle  of  wet  linen,  thrown  on 
a  steel  cuirass,  which  had  been  engraved  in 
aiiietto,  and  on  which  a  faint  impression  of 
the  pattern  came  off,  was  the  germ  of  plate 
engraving ;  the  little  radiculum,  from  which 
the  works  of  "Woollet,  and  Landseer,  'and 
Cousins  were  to  spring.  A  hard  day's  wash, 
souring  the  always  somewhat  acrid  temper  of 
Dame  Alice,  wife  of  Master  Albert  Durer, 
drove  him  for  refuge  to  his  wood-blocks,  and 
goaded  him  to  the  devising  of  that  marvellous 
art  of  cross-hatching,  in  wood  engraving,  as 
lost  and  ignored,  for  centuries  afterwards,  as 
the  cunning  trick  of  staining  ruby  glass,  or 
tempering  poignard  blades.  And,  lastly, 
comes  the  legend  of  Aloys  Senefelder's  inven- 
tion of  Lithography,  which  I  will  narrate 
presently. 

Senefelder  was  what  some  people  call  an 
universal  genius,  and  others,  less  respectfully, 
a  jack-of-all-trades.  He  could  do  a  little 
of  everything,  but  not  much  of  anything. 
He  could  paint  a  little,  and  engrave  a  little, 
and  play  the  fiddle  a  little,  and  copy  music, 
and  compose,  and  write  poetry.  He  was  not 
lucky.  He  burned  to  publish  ;  but  publishers 
would  have  none  of  his  works  :  managers  re- 
fused his  operas,  connoisseurs  looked  coldly  on 
his  pictures,  singers  declined  to  sing  his  songs, 
or  to  listen  to  his  fiddle-playing.  Moreover, 
the  poor  fellow  found  out  that  copperplates 
were  very  expensive,  that  credit  was  difficult 
to  be  obtained,  that  printing  costs  money,  and 
that  paper  was  not,  to  be  had  gratis.  When 
he  found  that  he  could  not  get  printers  to 
bestow  type-metal  on  his  manuscripts,  he 
essayed  to  engrave  them  on  copper,  and  to 
have  them  struck  off  by  a  new  species  of 
surface-printing.  Eeversiug  the  process  of 
etching,  where  the  design  is  eaten  or  corroded 
into  the  plate,  he  proposed  to  write  on  the 
copper  with  a  peculiar  composition  of  wax 
and  resin,  which  should  withstand  the  action 
of  acid  ;  then  to  corrode  away  the  blank 
portions  of-copper  left  untouched,  and  so  leave 
the  letters  written  in  relief.  But  he  found 


that  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  write 
backwards,  and  more  difficult  still  to  correct 
any  errors  ;  he  burnt  his  fingers  with 
aquafortis,  which  persisted  in  biting  the 
plate  in  little  pools  or  holes,  instead  of 
lowering  it  equally  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  the 
mercenary  coppersmith  refused  to  let  him 
have  any  more  plates,  and  poor  Aloysius  was 
in  despair.  I  have  no  doubt,  moreover,  that 
Fran  Senefelder,  his  mother,  did  not  lead  him 
a  very  quiet  life,  but  objected  strongly  against 
"  poking,  and  messing,  and  pottering  with 
nasty  plates  and  things,"  and  was  frequently 
moved  to  wrath  by  the  holes  burnt  in  her 
blankets  by  aquafortis,  and  the  spoiling  of 
her  clean  floors  with  melted  wax  and  rosin, 
and  the  lamp -black  ing  of  her  tablecloth,  and 
the  abduction  of  her  best  worsted  stockings 
for  plate-rubbers. 

Now  Aloys,  not  being  able  to  procure  any 
new  plates,  bethought  himself  of  the  expe- 
diency of  rubbing  the  engraving  off  some  of  the 
old  ones, and polishingthemup  forfreshuse.  He 
found,  however,  that  most  of  the  rotten  stones 
and  emery  he  used  for  polishing  were  not 
subtle  enough  ;  they  were  so  coarse  that  they 
made  more  scratches  on  the  plate  than  they 
removed.  In  this  dilemma  he  called  to  mind 
that  there  were  stones  found  on  the  banks  of 
the  river  Isere,  very  soft,  and  very  calcareous, 
and  thus  suited  to  his  purpose.  He  procured 
some  of  these  stones — first  small  pieces,  then 
larger  ones  ;  but  found  still  that  as  his  stock 
of  stone  increased,  his  provision  of  copper 
decreased  ill  most  lamentable  disproportion. 
It  was  all  very  well  to  have  plenty  of  stone 
powder  to  polish  his  plates  with  ;  but, 
without  plates  to  polish,  the  powder  was 
about  as  useful  to  him  as  the  ruffles  to 
the  man  who  had  no  shirt,  or  a  gridiron  to 
the  beefsteakless.  He  tried  to  etch  subjects 
on  the  stone  itself,  but  aquafortis  made 
the  stone  effervesce,  and  refused  to  be  bitten 
to  a  sufficient  depth  to  hold  printing-ink. 
Aloys  was  in  despair.  For  awhile  he  me- 
ditated the  abandonment  of  his  darling 
printing  theories,  and  of  resuming  the 
study  of  jurisprudence ;  to  which  his  father 
had,  previous  to  his  death,  devoted  him. 
But  there  were  college  fees  to  be  paid  at 
the  University  of  Ingoldstadt,  whither  he 
was  desirous  of  returning  ;  and  that  "  per- 
petual want  of  pence,  that  vexeth  public  men," 
again  stood  in  his  way.  In  his  extremity  he 
became  positively  desperate — infatuated,  in- 
sane enough  to  contemplate  the  possibility  of 
earning  money  by  writing  for  the  stage  !  A 
comedy  was  the  result  of  this  madness.  A 
few  weeks'  dancing  attendance,  and  airing 
of  his  tendon  Achillis  about  the  Munich 
theatres ;  a  few  insults  from  stage-door- 
keepers, and  rebuffs  from  candle-snuffers, 
brought  him  to  his  senses,  and  convinced  him 
that  the  career  of  a  dramatic  author  was  one 
leading  to  weeping  and  wailing  and  gnashing 
of  teeth.  So  he  went  home  to  his  mother, 
and  lived  for  some  time,  how  I  know  not — 


178 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


he  had  not  much  knowledge  on  the  subject, 
I  dare  say,  himself — but  still  he  lived.  There 
are  thousands  of  men  in  London  who  live  in 
a  similar  manner.  Employment,  income,  have 
they  none  :  they  cannot  dig — to  beg  they  are 
ashamed  ;  they  do  not  steal — yet  they  must 
eat,  and  drink,  and  sleep. 

But  Aloys'  hope,  though  bent,  was  not 
broken,  and  desire  came,  bringing  with  it  a 
tree  of  life,  when  his  heart  was  very  sick 
indeed.  Let  the  simple-hearted  inventor  tell 
the  story  his  own  way  : — 

"  I  had  just  succeeded,"  he  writes  in  1819, 
"  in  polishing  a  stone  plate,  which  I  intended 
to  cover  with  etching-ground,  in  order  to  con- 
tinue my  exercises  in  writing  backwards, 
when  my  mother  entered  the  room,  and 
desired  me  to  write  her  a  bill  for  the  washer- 
woman, who  was  waiting  for  the  linen.  I 
happened  not  to  have  even  the  smallest  slip 
of  paper  at  hand,  as  my  little  stock  of  paper 
had  been  entirely  exhausted  by  taking  proof 
impressions  from  the  stones  ;  nor  was  there 
even  a  drop  of  ink  in  the  inkstand.  As  the 
matter  would  not  admit  of  delay,  and  we  had 
nobody  in  the  house  to  send  for  a  supply  of 
the  deficient  materials,  I  resolved  to  write 
the  list  with  my  ink  prepared  with  wax,  soap, 
and  lamp-black,  on  the  stone  which  I  had  just 
polished,  and  from  which  I  could  copy  it  at 
leisure.  Some  time  after  this,  I  was  just  going 
to  wipe  this  writing  from  the  stone,  when  the 
idea  all  at  once  struck  me  to  try  what  would 
be  the  effect  of  such  a  writing  with  my  pre- 
pared ink,  if  I  were  to  bite  in  the  stone  with 
aquafortis  ;  and,  having  bitten  away  to  about 
the  hundredth  part  of  an  inch,  I  found  that 
I  could  charge  the  lines  with  printing-ink, 
and  take  successive  impressions.  Thus  the 
new  art  was  invented." 

In  the  course  of  Senefelder's  experiments, 
he  found  it  was  not  necessary  that  the 
letters,  or  drawing,  should  be  raised  above 
the  surface  of  the  stone,  and  that  the 
chemical  principles,  by  which  grease  and 
water  are  kept  from  uniting,  were  alone 
sufficient  for  his  purpose.  In  fact,  the 
grammar  of  lithography  has  its  basis  on  this 
principle  :  grease  loathes  water  ;  has  for  it  a 
regular  Johnsonian,  Corsican,  inextinguish- 
able hatred.  Water,  on  its  side,  hates  grease. 
Now,  the  granular  calcareous  limestone  used 
in  lithography  loves  both  water  and  grease  ; 
receiving  the  latter,  indeed,  with  astonishing 
avidity,  and  demanding  fresh  oleaginous 
supplies  with  a  rapacity  only  equalled  by  the 
female  members  of  the  horse-leeches  family. 
A  drawing  being  made  upon  the  stone  with 
an  ink  or  crayon  of  a  greasy  composition,  is 
washed  over  with  water,  which  sinks  into  all 
the  parts  of  the  stone  not  defended  by  the 
drawing.  A  cylindrical  roller,  charged  with 
printing-ink,  is  then  passed  all  over  the  stone, 
and  the  drawing  receives  the  ink,  whilst  the 
water  defends  the  other  part  of  the  stone 
from  it  on  account  of  its  greasy  nature.  In 
this  we  have  the  whole  A,  B,  C, — the  ac- 


cidence of  lithography.  Grease  and  water 
abhor  each  other ;  but  stone  agrees  with 
both.  As  the  scene-painter  boasted  that,  with 
a  lump  of  whitening,  an  ounce  of  red-lead,  a 
pot  of  glue,  and  a  pennyworth  of  blue- verditer, 
he  could  paint  a  view  of  the  bay  of  Naples  ; 
so,  and  with  not  so  much  exaggeration,  could 
an  artist  declare  his  competence  to  execute 
a  rude  work  in  lithography  on  a  paving-stone, 
with  a  tallow  candle,  a  pail  of  water,  and  a 
pot  of  lamp-black. 

With  astonishing  perseverance  the  stout- 
hearted Senefelder  overcame  all  difficulties. 
His  failures  were  innumerable.  But  he 
went  on  trying  again,  and  trying  back,  until 
he  had  successively  invented  the  ink,  chalk, 
etching,  transfer,  and  woodcut  processes.  He 
experimented  likewise  in  tinted  and  coloured 
lithography, — what  is  now  called  the  poly- 
chromatic manner.  He  discovered  the  art 
of  printing  in  gold  and  silver,  and  moreover 
essayed  lithography  on  "  stone  paper  "  in  the 
sprinkled  manner,  and  in  imitation  of  India- 
ink  drawings.  All  this  he  called  the  high 
art  of  lithography.  Touching  the  engraved 
process  of  the  same  art,  he  took  off  impres- 
sions in  imitation  of  line  engravings,  pen-and- 
ink  drawings,  aquatints,  mezzotints,  soft 
ground  etchings,  stipple  or  chalk  engravings, 
and  outline  plates.  All  this  was  done  before 
1819  ;  and,  in  that  year,  with  characteristic 
candour  and  simplicity  of  heart,  he  gave  to 
the  world  a  detailed  account  of  every  one  of 
his  discoveries  ;  divulged  every  one  of  his 
secrets  ;  laid  bare,  with  childlike  simplicity, 
minute  descriptions  of  all  his  recipes  and 
prescriptions  ;  took  the  whole  world  into  his 
confidence,  unreservedly.  He  had  been  abused, 
vilified,  misrepresented  both  at  home  and 
abroad  ;  but,  in  the  whole  of  his  voluminous 
work,  we  find  no  passage  more  acrimonious 
than  one  in  which  he  asserts  that,  if  "Mr.  Eapp, 
of  Stuttgardt,  thinks  he  invented  lithography, 
he  is  mistaken."  He  ends  his  labours  with  a 
suggestion  for  the  application  of  lithography 
to  cotton-printing,  and  with  these  simple 
words :  "  I  now  close  my  instructions,  and 
wish  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  that  my 
work  may  find  many  friends,  and  produce 
many  excellent  lithographers.  May  God 
grant  my  wish  !  " 

Peace  be  with  thee,  Aloys  Senefelder  ! 

The  first  lithographic  prints  published 
were  pieces  of  music,  executed  in  1796.  The 
art  was  introduced  into  England  in  the  year 
1800,  under  the  name  of  polyautography.  It 
was  vehemently  abused,  vilified,  and  opposed  ; 
principally  by  artists  and  engravers,  and  fell 
almost  immediately  into  disuse ;  being  pa- 
tronised only  by  amateurs.  But,  in  1819, 
the  late  Mr.  Rudolph  Ackermann,  who  had 
done  good  service  to  Art  and  Science  in 
other  ways  (his  shop  formed  part  of  the 
first  home  in  London  lighted  with  gas,  and 
people  used  to  walk  on  the  other  side  of  the 
street  not  to  be  too  near  the  dangerous  com- 
bustible,) took  up  lithography,  published  a 


Charles  Dickens.] 


STONE  PICTUEES. 


179 


translation  of  Senefelder's  work,  established 
printing-presses,  purchased  a  stone  quarry  in 
Germany,  and  devoted  himself  heart  and  soul 
to  the  encouragement  and  improvement  of 
the  art.  Plate  engravers,  painters,  stanch  old 
Tories,  and  objectors  on  principle,  abused  it  in 
a  frantic  manner.  It  was  heretical,  abominable, 
destructive.  The  solemn,  awful,  inexorable, 
literary  Ehadamanthus,  the  dread  "  Quarterly 
Eeview,"  itself,  sitting  imposingly  on  its  curule 
chair,  in  ambrosial  big-wig  and  high-heeled 
shoes,  promulgated  edicts  against  the  new- 
fangled invention  ;  and,  in  a  review  of 
Captain  Franklin's  Narrative  of  his  Polar 
Expedition,  solemnly  warned  the  public 
against  the  "  greasy  daubs  of  lithography." 
"  It 's  all  very  well  in  its  way ;  but  it 
must  be  kept  within  its  proper  limits." 
Proper  limits  !  Lithography,  after  all,  only 
shared  condemnation  with  railroads  ;  and 
both  have  so  far  kept  within  their  proper 
limits  as  to  spread  from  London  to  Seringa- 
patam,  from  Paris  to  New  Zealand,  from 
Dublin  to  Sydney.  As  to  the  British  Govern- 
ment, it  condescended  to  notice  lithography 
and  to  patronise  it,  in  the  second  year  of  its 
introduction  to  this  country.  The  con- 
descension and  the  patronage  were,  however, 
confined  to  the  imposition  of  an  almost  pro- 
hibitory duty  on  the  importation  of  the 
very  material  without  which  there  could  be 
no  lithography  ; — the  stones  !  To  equalise 
the  burden  after  a  very  Hibernian  fashion,  it 
immediately  took  off  the  protective  duty  on 
foreign  prints  ;  and  thus  threw  into  the  hands 
of  foreigners  what  before  had  given  bread  to 
thousands  throughout  the  British  empire. 
This  was,  it  must  be  remembered,  at  the 
same  time  that  the  French,  Austrian,  and 
Eussian  Governments  were  sending  agents  to 
Munich  to  examine  into  and  report  upon  the 
merits  of  lithography. 

If  I  have  been  prolix  on  the  subject  of  the 
discovery  and  early  struggles  of  lithography,  it 
is  not  because  I  have  not  anything  to  say  on 
the  actual  processes  as  now  carried  on.  Let 
us  step  into  Great  Queen  Street,  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,  and  have  a  peep  at  a  large  litho- 
graphic establishment. 

Up  a  court,  shady  and  secluded — at  the  cor- 
ner of  which  stands  a  pensive  goat,  browsing  on 
the  fragments  of  a  dilapidated  hearth-rug — is 
the  door  leading  to  the  workrooms  of  the 
establishment  we  want.  Staggering  before 
us  in  the  sunshine,  is  an  individual  of  Hercu- 
lean build,  bearing  on  his  back  a  ponderous 
stone,  the  weight  of  which  is  sufficient  to  crush 
three  ordinary  men,  but  which  only  makes 
him  bend  and  sway  a  little  as  he  turns  the 
corners.  A  swing-door  admits  us  into  a  large 
vestibule,  cumbered  throughout  with  stones 
of  all  sorts  and  sizes.  These  are  the  raw 
material  for  stone  pictures,  just  arrived  from 
the  banks  of  the  Danube,  from  Turkey,  and 
from  India,  where,  in  the  Deccan,  lithographic 
stones  are  plentiful.  The  Atlas,  bearing  the 
big  stone  011  his  back,  brings  us  to  the  griuding- 


room.  Here,  over  large,  troughs  of  water,  the 
stones  are  ground,  grained,  and  polished  for 
the  different  styles  of  lithography  in  which 
the  drawings  they  are  to  bear  on  their  surface 
are  to  be  executed.  They  have  been  sawn  to 
a  proper  size  and  thickness  abroad,  and  are 
now  tested  with  a  straight-edge,  to  secure 
( their  being  unerringly  level.  For  graining  and 
polishing,  two  stones  are  placed  face  to  face, 
and  water,  mixed  with  silver-sand,  being 
sprinkled  between  them,  are  rubbed  together 
— the  upper  stone  being  moved  in  a  circular 
direction — till  a  proper  grain  is  given.  The 
quality  of  the  sand  is  carefully  attended  to,  for 
a  grain  coarser  than  usual  would  cover  the 
stone  with  scratches,  and  give  the  stalwart 
German  workman  who  is  "  graining "  the 
labour  of  commencing  his  work  from  the  be- 
ginning over  again.  For  ink-drawings,  the 
stones,  after  being  rubbed  together  with  water 
and  sand,  are  washed  with  water  to  get  rid  of 
the  sand,  and  zealously  polished  with  Water- 
of-Ayr  stone  or  fine  pumice.  In  this  case  it  is 
requisite  that  they  should  serve,  on  demand, 
as  a  substitute  for  that  boot  of  Hessian  build, 
which  the  nobleman  or  gentleman  whom  Mr. 
Warren  knew  (but  whom  I  never  was  enabled 
to  recognise)  was  wont  to  use  as  a  shaving- 
glass.  In  other  words,  holding  your  eye 
close  to  the  stone,  you  should  be  able  to  see 
your  face  clearly  reflected.  Stones  from  which 
impressions  have  already  been  taken,  and 
from  which  no  further  are  required,  are  pre- 
pared for  fresh  use,  by  being  rubbed  with 
another  stone  and  water,  until  all  traces  of 
the  former  drawing  have  disappeared.  They 
are  then  regrained  or  repolished.  Great 
care,  the  grainer  tells  me,  is  requisite  to 
avoid  any  particle  of  the  grease-imbued  por- 
tions of  the  former  drawing  remaining.  The 
stone  is  so  attached  to  adipose  matter,  and 
retains  it  with  such  tenacity,  that  chalk  or 
ink  marks  will  yet  hold,  long  after  the  colour 
has  disappeared.  There  was  an  instance,  the 
Teuton  tells  me,  a  short  time  since,  where  a 
stone — apparently  a  virgin  one,  but  which  had 
been  used  before,  and  rubbed  down,  was 
wanted  for  a  view  of  the  Licensed  Victuallers' 
f$te,  crowded  with  figures  on  a  very  small 
scale.  The  first  dozen  prints  were  worked 
off  to  the  satisfaction  of  everybody ;  but 
suddenly,  to  the  horror  and  astonishment  of 
the  pressmen,  above  the  Lilliputian  Licensed 
Victuallers  appeared  a  Brobdignagian  spectre 
of  Mademoiselle  Taglioni,  in  the  saltatory 
ecstasies  of  the  Bayadere.  The  stone  had 
previously  held  a  portrait  on  a  large  scale  of 
the  dqnseuse,  and  the  printing -roller  had 
insidiously  rolled  his  old  acquaintance  into 
life  again. 

Leaving  the  grainer  vigorously  employed 
in  effacing  an  effigy  of  Field-Marshal  Blucher, 
we  ascend,  through  room  after  room,  where 
busy  presses  are  at  work.  We  are  struck 
by  the  prodigious  number  of  stones,  not  only 
being  printed  from,  but  which  are  piled  in 
every  corner,  and  ranged  on  shelves  and  in 


180 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


racks  from  flooring  up  to  ceiling.  The  quan- 
tity of  limestone  accumulated  seems  enough 
to  smash  any  ordinary  attic  arid  to  swal- 
low up  the  basement  forthwith  ;  yet  the 
foreman  tells  us  that  the  house  is  as  firm 
on  its  foundations  as  could  reasonably  be 
desired,  and  that  no  instances  have  been  as 
yet  known  of  the  stone-crammed  garrets 
tumbling  into  the  stone-crammed  cellars.  Al- 
though, he  says,  quietly,  some  danger  might 
be  anticipated  were  all  the  stones  in  the  house 
to  be  removed  simultaneously  ;  for  then  it  is 
not  improbable  that  the  walls  might  feel  the 
loss  of  their  equipoising  weight  so  strongly  as 
to  topple  over  from  sheer  light-headedness. 
Thus  is  he,  and  the  district  surveyor  to  boot, 
of  opinion  ;  so,  keep  the  stones  in  the  house, 
I  say  ;  or,  being  removed,  send  me,  if  in  the 
neighbourhood  at  the  time,  a  good  deliverance. 

The  studio  is  a  large  lofty  room,  with  plenty 
of  windows  ;  for  you  want  no  concentrated 
rays  of  light  here,  as  is  required  for  painting 
pictures,  but  plenty  of  light  everywhere. 
All  round  the  walls  are  ranged  stout 
wooden  tables,  on  which,  generally  supported 
in  planting  positions,  are  the  stones.  Here  are 
a  score  of  artists  occupied  in  the  production 
of  almost  every  variety  of  stone  picture.  The 
beautiful  studies,  heads  and  figures  in  chalk, 
first  brought  to  such  perfection  by  Jullien  in 
Paris ;  gorgeously  tinted  landscapes  from 
sketches  by  Stanfield  and  Roberts,  Haghe, 
Leitch,  and  Harding  ;  transcripts  from  photo- 
graphs of  the  most  remarkable  objects  in  the 
Great  Exhibition  ;  caricatures,  political  and 
social ;  plans  and  sections  of  bridges  and 
machinery  ;  charts  of  railways  ;  maps  of  towns 
and  countries  ;  botanical  specimens  ;  ana- 
tomical plates  ;  song  titles  glowing  in  gold 
and  colours  ;  bill  heads,  address  cards,  "show 
cards,"  setting  forth  the  resplendent  merits  of 
pale  ales  and  Monougahela  whiskey  ;  illustra- 
tions for  books,  transfers  from  copper  and  steel 
plates  ;  imitations  of  etchings,  and  woodcuts  ; 
county  bank  notes,  passports,  statistical  tables  ; 
fac-similes  of  autograph  letters ;  imitations  of 
middle-age  missals  and  black-letter  printing  ; 
re-productions  of  Oriental  manuscripts  and 
Chinese  drawings. 

Here  is  one  gentleman,  in  a  blouse  and  a 
Turkish  cap,  preparing  for  the  commencement 
of  a  portrait  in  chalk  of,  whom  shall  we  say  1 
Doctor  Cruck,  shall  it  be,  Regius  professor  of 
Syriac  to  the  University  of  Saint  Alfred  the 
Great  ?  The  artist  has  the  professor's  portrait 
painted  in  oil,  before  him  ;  and  before  that,  at 
a  convenient  angle,  a  looking-glass.  It  is  his 
intention  to  copy  the  reflection,  and  not  the 
reality  of  the  Cruck  portrait  ;  so  that  when 
the  drawing  is  printed,  the  cut  orange  held 
in  the  right  hand  of  the  professor  shall 
still  be  seen  held  between  his  dexter  fingers. 
The  first  proceeding  of  the  operator,  is 
to  slant  his  stone  to  an  angle  of  forty-five 
degrees,  and  examine  it  minutely  with  a 
magnifying  glass,  to  assure  himself  that  the 
grain  is  evenly  laid,  and  that  there  are 


neither  scratches  nor  holes  on  the  surface, 
Then  he  brushes  it  sedulously  with  a  large 
soft  brush  of  badger's  hair,  lest  any  stray 
crumbs  or  grains  of  dust  should  be  lingering 
on  it.  He  then  transfers  upon  it,  with  an, 
ivory  burnisher,  an  accurately  reduced  out- 
line of  the  Cruck  physiognomy.  The  stone 
is  now  ready  for  the  commencement  of  the 
chalk  drawing  ;  and,  with  sundry  lithographic 
crayons  before  him,  cut  to  various  thicknesses 
and  fineness  of  point,  according  to  the  depth 
of  tint  they  are  intended  to  produce,  he  sets 
to  his  work.  It  is  calculated  that  every 
chalk -draughtsman  loses  at  least  one-third 
of  his  time  in  cutting  his  sticks  of  chalk  ; 
and  that  he  devotes  another  third  to  the 
painful  and  uninteresting  work  of  laying  flat 
tints  ;  so  that  the  great  masters,  the  big- wigs 
of  lithography,  have,  as  Rubens  had,  appren- 
tices and  assistants  to  cut  points  to  their 
chalk,  and  lay  their  tints  (skies,  distances, 
water,  and  so  on),  only  putting  in  the  details 
and  finishing-strokes  themselves.  But  the 
artist  of  the  Cruck  portrait  must  do  all 
himself,  cutting,  tinting,  and  finishing.  How 
he  does  his  work,  it  is  no  more  my  pro- 
vince than  it  is  possible  here  to  describe. 
Every  artist  has,  or  should  have,  his  distinct 
and  peculiar  manner  ;  and  to  describe,  or 
lay  down  line  and  rule  for  execution  in 
lithography,  would  be  as  futile  as  to  tell  a 
painter  what  colours  he  should  use  for 
faces  and  what  for  draperies,  or  to  instruct 
an  author  how  to  describe  a  storm.  He 
must  not  sneeze,  nor  talk  vehemently  while 
he  works.  He  must  not  even  breathe  hard 
on  the  stone,  for  he  breathes  a  mucila- 
ginous aqueous  vapour,  which,  condensed 
upon  the  stone,  acts  as  gum-  water ;  nor 
must  he  press  his  finger  on  the  stone,  or 
touch  it  with  his  hand  in  hot,  or,  indeed, 
in  any  weather ;  for  both  finger  and  hand 
are  greasy,  and  the  marks  made  by  them 
would  print.  He  who  sins  against  these 
canons  will  never  be  a  successful  litho- 
grapher. 

When  the  chalk-drawing  is  quite  finished, 
the  stone  is  placed  in  the  cradle  of  a  "  lift," 
and  sent  down  stairs  to  a  room  on  the 
level  with  the  grinding  and  graining  depart- 
ment to  be  etched.  It  is  laid  in  an  oblong 
trough  ;  and  nitric  acid,  very  much  diluted, 
is  poured  over  it.  The  drawing  is  then 
carefully  washed  with  rain-water,  and  is  now 
ready  for  "gumming  in"  and  "  rolling  up  ;" 
and  is,  for  that  purpose,  carried  to  the  press- 
room. 

Three  stories  of  the  establishment  I  have 
endeavoured  to  describe  are  devoted  to  press- 
work,  and  may  hold,  perhaps,  twenty  presses 
each.  The  presses  differ  from  ordinary  print- 
ing-presses ;  insomuch  as  a  scraper,  a  thin 
piece  of  hard  wood,  bevelled  off  at  the  edges, 
scrapes  over  the  whole  surface  of  the  stone 
plate  as  it  passes  beneath  the  lever ;  thus 
giving  a  double  pressure. 

A  press  being  disengaged,  the  workman  to 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BOMBAY. 


181 


whom  it  is  entrusted  "  to  pull  a  proof  "  of  the 
chalk-drawing  in  question,  proceeds  first  deli- 
berately to  fill  a  sponge  with  as  much  clean 
water  as  it  will  conveniently  hold,  and  to 
wash  out  the  whole  drawing — the  stone  pre- 
senting exactly  the  same  appearance  as  it 
did  before  it  knew  chalk  or  pencil.  Pro- 
fessor Cruck's  effigy  is,  to  the  sight,  anni- 
hilated beyond  all  hope.  The  printer,  after 
covering  the  stone  with  a  coat  of  gum  (which 
fills  up,  where  there  are  no  markings,  the 
pores  of  the  stone),  takes  a  printing -roller, 
charged  with  ink  ;  and,  rolling  it  in  various 
directions  over  the  surface  of  the  drawing, 
the  latter  gradually  becomes  manifest  in  all 
its  desired  intensity.  The  colouring-matter 
in  the  ink  or  chalk,  I  need  scarcely  say,  is 
merely  added  for  the  convenience  of  the 
draughtsman,  in  order  that  he  may  watch 
the  progress  of  his  work  ;  otherwise  colour- 
less chalks  would  answer  the  purposes  of 
lithography  just  as  well. 

A  chalk -drawing  will  yield  from  two 
thousand  to  five  thousand  impressions,  ac- 
cording to  the  care  bestowed  upon  it,  both 
in  drawing  and  printing.  After  a  heavy  im- 
pression, however,  the  light  tints  in  the  best 
executed  lithographs  will  sometimes  break  up, 
and  the  whole  drawing  print  grey  and  cloudy. 
The  darker  parts  can  be  mended  with  ink, 
but  no  more  chalk  can  ever  be  added.  When 
the  required  number  of  prints  has  been  taken 
from  a  stone ;  but  when  it  is,  at  the  same  time, 
probable  that  a  further  impression  may  be 
wanted,  it  is  customary  to  "  roll  in"  the  stone 
with  a  "  preserving  ink,"  the  principal  ingre- 
dient in  which  is  wax,  as  the  ink  ordinarily 
used  in  printing  would,  if  left  on  the  drawing, 
harden,  choke  up  the  tints,  and  irretrievably 
spoil  it. 

There  are  two  or  three  more  processes 
employed  in  the  production  of  stone-pictures. 
Our  readers  may  have  seen — the  fairer  portion 
of  them  are  sure  to  have  admired — in  the 
music-sellers'  windows,  the  beautiful  Music 
Albums,  so  gorgeously  executed  in  gold  and 
colours.  These  are  entirely  executed  in  "  chrorno- 
lithography,"  or  by  means  of  "tint-stones;" 
and  for  each  colour  or  tint  a  separate  stone 
is  required,  and  a  separate  printing.  Great 
care  is  requisite  to  prevent  the  prints  shifting, 
when  many  tints  are  used.  When  this  happens, 
the  gay  cavalier's  eyes  are  transposed  to  the 
centre  of  his  throat ;  or  a  Mademoiselle 
Jenny  Lind's  ankles  disport  themselves  in  the 
centre  of  her  gaily  decorated  drum. 

Chromo-lithography,  like  every  other  process 
of  the  art,  was  suggested  by  Aloys  Senefel- 
der  ;  but  since  his  time  it  has  been  wonder- 
fully improved  and  elaborated ;  principally  by 
Messrs.  Day  and  Haghe,  Messrs.  Hanhart, 
and  the  late  Mr.  Hullmandel.  Mr.  Louis 
Haghe,  indeed,  has  been  quite  a  stepfather  to 
lithography ;  and  his  magnificent  chromo- 
lithograph of  the  Destruction  of  Jerusalem  by 
Titus  goes  far  to  show  of  what  printing  in 
colours  is  capable. 


Such  are  a  few  of  the  methods  by  which 
"  Stone  Pictures  "  are  brought  forth — pic- 
tures which,  though  they  may  serve  no  very 
severely  utilitarian  purposes,  yet  encourage  a 
love  of  art  among  the  people;  and,  with  the 
sister  craft  of  wood-cutting,  give  pleasure 
and  instruction  to  thousands  all  over  the 
world. 


BOMBAY. 


WE  left  Aden  on  the  28th  of  July  last,  and 
for  the  greater  part  of  the  passage,  up  to  the 
4th  of  July,  we  had  favourable  weather,  the 
monsoon  accompanying  us  and  driving  us 
along  under  reefed  fore-sail,  and  half  steam, 
at  the  rate  of  about  eight  knots  an  hour,  a 
tremendous  sea  following  us. 

Our  ship  was  long  and  low,  and  rolled 
heavily,  having  in  our  voyage  from  Suez  con- 
sumed the  greater  part  of  her  fuel,  which  the 
stores  at  Aden  were  not  in  a  condition  to  re- 
plenish. The  south-west  monsoon  renders  the 
whole  western  coast  of  India  a  dangerous  lee- 
shore,  and  to  be  caught  on  it,  in  thick  weather, 
in  a  steamer,  without  plenty  of  coal,  is  to 
find  one's-self  in  a  very  serious  predicament. 
That  our  Captain  thought  so  was  very  evident. 
At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we  had  struck 
soundings  in  fifty  fathoms  ;  at  four  we  were 
shoaling  our  water  fast,  with  wind  increasing, 
sea  running  high,  and  the  atmosphere  so  thick 
that  standing  near  the  binnacle  one  could 
hardly  see  the  funnel.  As  the  evening  closed 
in,  the  captain  became  nervous.  By  seven  we 
had  shoaled  to  sixteen  fathoms.  "  I  wish  we 
could  get  a  glimpse  of  the  lights,"  said  he, 
forgetting  that  if  we  did — so  thick  was  the 
haze — they  must  have  been  under  the  gib- 
boom  end.  The  rain  poured  in  torrents, 
accompanied  by  tremendous  squalls  from  the 
south-south  west.  "  You  had  better  ease  the 
steam,  Mr.  Jones,"  said  he  to  the  first  lieu- 
tenant, "  and  round  her  to  for  the  night." — 
"  Aye,  aye ! "  down  went  the  helm,  and  in- 
stead of  wearing  ;  which  would  have  been 
the  more  prudent  course,  the  vessel  was  thus 
brought  head  to  wind.  During  this  operation, 
a  heavy  sea  struck  the  starboard  paddle-box 
and  swept  the  deck,  rushing  in  formidable 
cascades  down  the  main  hatch  into  the  engine- 
room,  and  very  nearly  extinguishing  the  fires. 
The  steam  generated  by  so  much  water  coming 
in  contact  with  the  blazing  furnaces,  rolled  up 
the  hatchway  in  volumes  of  white  vapour, 
which,  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  made  us 
all  fancy  that  some  terrible  explosion  had 
taken  place  below  ;  the  same  sea  inundated 
the  cabin,  and  fairly  drove  all  its  inmates  on 
deck.  A  general  impression  prevailed  that 
the  ship  was  going  down  ;  which  was  not  a 
little  aided  by  a  succession  of  heavy  seas,  in{<> 
which  she  plunged,  and  dipped,  and  rolled  in 
a  very  alarming  manner.  The  change,  from 
going  before  the  gale  to  breasting  it,  was  most 
extraordinary :  the  force  and  fury  of  the 
wind — although  in  reality  no  greater  than 


182 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


before — seemed  increased  tenfold,  and  it  was 
nearly  half  au  hour  before  we  got  our  head  off 
shore.  We  then  cast  the  lead  ;  and,  finding 
only  eight  fathoms,  the  captain  decided  on 
deepening  our  water,  and  for  this  purpose 
it  was  necessary  to  get  up  our  full  steam. 
This,  after  the  thorough  drenching  of  the 
engine-room,  was  no  easy  matter.  However, 
in  about  half  an  hour,  she  was  got  under  the 
most  steam  we  could  raise  ;  and  we  then 
began  to  breast  the  opposing  billows  at  the 
rate  of  about  two  knots  an  hour. 

For  the  previous  three  days  we  had  had  no 
observation,  and  we  were  therefore  doubtful 
of  our  latitude.  It  was  impossible  for  us  to  say 
whether  we  were  to  the  northward  or  south- 
ward of  our  port.  In  this  uncertainty  we 
passed  the  night,  the  gale  increasing,  and  the 
sea  high  in  proportion.  Our  ship  being  light, 
rolled  gunwale  under,  and  occasionally  shipped 
green  seas  "  over  all" — as  the  sailors  term  it — 
which  gave  all  us  landsmen  no  trifling  alarm. 
As  the  day  broke,  a  change  took  place  for 
the  better ;  and,  ere  the  sun  had  risen,  a 
range  of  hills  was  seen  on  our  port-beam, 
showing  their  rugged  outline  clear  and  dis- 
tinct against  the  gleam  of  the  dawn.  On 
making  the  land  out,  we  ran  towards  it,  in 
order  to  identify  the  locality,  and  soon  dis- 
covered that  we  were  about  thirty  milea  to 
the  southward  of  Bombay,  off  a  place  called 
Chowl.  We  therefore  shaped  our  course  for 
the  harbour,  and  ere  long  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  Floating  Lights,  and  stationary  Light- 
house, situated  at  the  entrance  of  Bombay 
Harbour.  By  seven  o'clock  we  were  at 
anchor  off  the  dockyard  of  Bombay. 

Few  people  in  England  are  aware  of  the 
beauty  of  Bombay  harbour.  I  know  of  no 
port  that  equals  it  except  Rio  Janeiro,  which 
is  not  only  more  extensive  and  more  pic- 
turesque, but  more  landlocked.  In  heavy 
gales  from  the  south -south  east,  Bombay 
harbour  is  entirely  unprotected ;  and,  in  1837, 
several  large  ships  were  stranded  and  lost  in 
a  hurricane  from  that  quarter.  Fortunately, 
such  occurrences  are  rare  ;  and,  up  to  the 
present  year,  no  similar  event  has  taken 
place. 

Let  us  now  step  ashore,  at  the  steps  of  the 
Apollo  bunder,  amongst  a  throng  of  native 
boats  and  a  crowd  of  native  boatmen,  whose 
discordant  cries  and  yells  recall  vividly  the 
chaotic  confusion  of  Babel.  From  natives 
of  every  country,  and  every  isle  of  the 
countless  archipelagos,  these  unintelligible 
sounds  proceeded.  They  were  vociferated  in 
tones  that  put  to  shame  the  garrulous 
noisiness  of  Billingsgate,  Naples,  or  Lisbon, 
probably  the  three  most  noisy  stairs  in 
Europe.  Once  on  the  bunder,  or  pier — a 
rdbmy,  commodious  landing-place,  armed  with 
half-a-dozen  long  fifty-six  pounders — I  jumped 
into  a  friend's  Brougham ;  and,  in  twenty 
minutes  find  myself  on  the  top  of  Malabar 
Hill,  in  a  villa,  or  bungalow,  abounding  with 
every  comfort  compatible  with  the  climate  of 


this  latitude.  The  view  from  this  spot — 
which  is  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  above 
the  bay  below — is  extensive  and  picturesque, 
and  presents  a  faint  resemblance  to  that  of 
Naples  from  Posilipo.  At  this  time  of  the 
year  the  heat  is  great,  but  much  modified  by 
the  strong  south-west  wind,  which,  however, 
bears  so  much  moisture  on  its  wings,  as 
to  make  the  whole  island  one  vast  vapour- 
bath. 

A  drive  through  the  ill-constructed  streets 
of  the  fort  and  native  town  is  one  of  the  most 
interesting  that  can  be  conceived.  The  houses 
are  slenderly  built,  but  from  their  gay  and 
bright  colouring,  and  their  great  irregularity, 
offer  many  tempting  bita  for  an  artist.  Nearly 
all  the  shops  are  without  windows  ;  and  here 
may  be  seen  in  unlimited  profusion,  not  only 
the  piece  goods,  hardware,  woollens,  and 
crockery  of  Europe,  but  all  the  countless 
productions  of  the  gorgeous  East,  in  endless 
variety.  In  one  are  exposed  the  vivid  and 
tasteful  tapestries  of  Persia,  with  the  gilded 
bottles,  inlaid  hubble-bubbles,  amber  mouth- 
pieces, and  silver-mounted  hookahs  of  that 
country :  in  another,  the  rich  silks,  the  splendid 
toys,  and  cool  mats  of  China  ;  in  another, 
the  carpets  of  Cabool  and  Herat,  the  gold- 
mounted  sabres  of  Beloochistan,  and  the 
embroidered  shawls  of  Delhi  and  Cashmere  ; 
in  another,  the  gorgeous  Kincaubs,  brocades, 
and  tissues  of  Surat ;  here,  a  keen-eyed  shroff, 
or  native  banker,  sits  cross-legged,  enthroned 
on  bags  of  gold,  silver,  and  copper  coin  ; 
there,  a  lusty  Banian,  is  enveloped  in  half- 
open  sacks,  and  dishes  of  every  sort  of  grain. 
In  one  quarter  are  piled  ponderous  bales  of 
Manchester,  Glasgow,  and  Leeds  manufac- 
tures ;  in  another,  the  warehouses  groan  with 
wooden  chests  of  opium,  camphor,  spices,  and 
other  odoriferous  commodities ;  among  which, 
the  odious  assafcetida  fails  not  to  assert  its 
disagreeable  superiority. 

The  population  is  as  varied  as  the  articles 
exposed  for  sale,  and  a  crowded  street  pre- 
sents to  the  eye  as  florid  and  brilliant  a 
whole  as  a  bed  of  tulips.  Were  another 
Paul  Veronese  to  arise  to  delight  the  world 
with  his  mauy-hued  productions,  what  a  field 
would  Bombay  present  to  his  pencil  !  It  was 
said  of  him,  with  truth,  that  he  painted  not 
with  ordinary  coloiirs,  but  with  tints  derived 
from  the  diamond,  the  emerald,  the  ruby,  and 
the  sapphire  ;  and  in  painting  the  costumes 
of  Bombay,  those  vivid  colours  would  be  in- 
f1'  pensable.  The  Oriental,  with  few  excep- 
t  ">ns,  dresses  with  taste  and  elegance ;  the 
Hindoo,  in  his  spotless  vest  of  the  purest 
white,  with  his  turban  of  crimson,  scarlet, 
or  yellow  ;  the  Mussulman,  with  equally 
clean  vestments,  but  with  turban  of  a 
soberer  dye ;  the  Parsee,  in  his  crimson 
cap,  which,  without  being  picturesque,  is 
striking ;  the  Aft'ghau,  with  his  flowing 
ringlets,  sable  beard,  and  fair  complexion  ; 
the  Persian,  in  his  robe  of  striped  silk  and 
Astracan  lambskin  cap  ;  the  swarthy  Arab, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BOMBAY. 


183 


in  his  head  -dress  of  flowing  silk,  with  long 
and  pendant  fringe ;  the  Scindian,  in  his  be- 
coming cap,  that  gives  every  peasant  the  air 
of  a  prince ;  the  diminutive  Malay,  in  his 
national  costume  ;  the  quaint  Chinese,  in  his 
broad-brimmed  straw  hat ; — all  throng  the 
thoroughfares  in  perfect  independence  of 
the  tyrant  fashion  ;  which  in  European  cities 
clips  the  wings  of  exuberant  taste,  and 
reduces  whole  populations  to  one  sombre  and 
monotonous  hue.  The  brilliant  rays  of  a 
midday  sun  show  all  those  iridescent  tints  to 
great  advantage,  and  no  collection  of  butter- 
flies surpasses  the  denizens  of  Bombay  in 
variegated  splendour.  A  few  squalid  half- 
naked  figures  are,  of  course,  to  be  seen  among 
tliis  motley  crowd ;  but  the  general  effect  is 
hardly  marred  by  their  intrusion.  How- 
ever various  in  race  and  appearance,  one  sole 
and  single  object  animates  this  moving 
mass  ;  one  sole  and  single  idea  occupies  their 
thoughts :  the  acquisition  and  retention  of 
money.  They  are  all  traders.  No  Oriental, 
having  once  amassed  money,  sits  down  to  enjoy 
it  quietly.  No  such  thing  as  retiring  from 
business  is  known  or  thought  of.  Enormous 
fortunes  have  been  accumulated  in  Bombay 
by  tz-ade,  and  so  keen  is  the  commercial 
ardour,  that  it  generally  devours  all  the  other 
passions  of  existence.  The  opium  trade  with 
China  has  been  one  fruitful  source  of  wealth 
to  the  Bombay  merchant,  and  the  immense 
riches  attributed  to  the  Parsee  knight,  Sir 
Jamsetjee  Jeejeebpoy,  are  entirely  derived 
from  it.  He  has  made  a  noble  use  of  his 
money ;  and  the  public  establishments  sug- 
gested by  his  philanthropy,  erected  by  his 
bounty,  and  endowed  by  his  munificence, 
proclaim  loudly  to  the  world,  not  only  his 
unbounded  command  of  money,  but  his 
splendid  application  of  it.  He  is  reported  to 
have  given  away,  within  the  last  ten  years, 
upwards  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds  sterling  to  works  of  permanent  utility. 
I  know  no  recorded  example  of  similar 
generosity,  during  life,  in  any  individual  in 
Europe. 

The  Parsees  are  perhaps  the  most  energetic, 
enterprising,  and  speculating  people  in  the 
East.  Generally  connected  with  some  Euro- 
pean mercantile  house  as  brokers,  in  the  first 
instance,  they  accumulate  considerable  sums, 
which  subsequently  have,  in  many  instances, 
been  applied  to  save  their  employers  from 
ruin.  The  Parsee  community  may  consist  of 
about  fifty  thousand,  almost  all  of  whom  are 
engaged  in  trade  or  manufactures.  A  few 
go  out  to  service  as  coachmen  and  butlers, 
but  not  one  is  to  be  met  with  either  in  the  army 
or  the  police  force.  Next  in  intelligence  to  the 
Parsees  come  the  Hindoos,  who  outnumber 
them  sixfold.  Education  is  making  great 
strides  amongst  this  class,  and  the  literature 
of  the  West  is  fast  superseding  the  fables 
of  the  East.  The  Brahmins  in  Bombay  are 
falling  rapidly  into  disrepute,  and  the  true 
theories  of  material  philosophy  are  taking 


the  place  of  the  senseless  doctrines  of  their 
ancestors.  As  their  minds  become  enlight- 
ened, the  Hindoos  naturally  and  necessarily 
abandon  the  faith  of  their  fathers ;  for 
which,  however,  they  decline  to  substitute 
the  mysteries  of  Christianity.  Next  in  num- 
ber to  the  Hindoos  stand  the  followers  of 
Mahomet,  who,  however,  are  anything  but 
unanimous  in  their  doctrines.  The  Sheeah, 
the  Soornee,  the  Khojah,  the  Mehmon,  the 
Borah,  the  Mussulman  from  the  Deccan,  and 
he  from  the  Konkan,  have  all  some  dis- 
tinctive Shibboleth,  but  agree  in  the  two 
great  points  of  Mahometanism — the  unity  of 
God,  and  the  truth  of  Mahomet's  mission  as 
his  prophet. 

The  Portuguese  or  native  Christians  form 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  population  of 
Bombay  ;  thousands  of  temporary  sojourners 
add  variety  even  to  this  variegated  mass.  Ar- 
menianSj  Jews,  Persians,  Scindians,  Affghans, 
Beloochees,  Cashmerians,  Bengalese,  Madras- 
sees,  Chinese,  Malays,  Arabs,  are  to  be  met 
with  at  every  turn.  The  rich  Parsees,  Hindoos, 
and  Mussulmans  drive  about  in  very  elegant 
equipages,  chiefly  procured  from  London  or 
Liverpool ;  for  the  art  of  carriage-building  is 
not,  as  in  Calcutta,  one  of  those  brought  to 
perfection  in  Bombay.  The  English  settled 
here  are  a  mere  handful  in  point  of  numbers ; 
although  they  are  the  motive  and  regulating 
power  of  the  whole  of  the  other  machinery. 
They  consist  exclusively  of  temporary  re- 
sidents, members  of  the  two  services,  civil  and 
military,  of  the  law,  or  of  the  mercantile  pro- 
fession. No  settler  or  colonist  is  to  be  found 
here.  All  hope  to  lay  their  bones  in  England, 
and,  with  this  feeling  predominant  in  every 
English  breast,  it  is  clear  that  not  much  per- 
manent interest  for  India  can  be  entertained 
by  this  class. 

The  mode  of  life  among  the  English  gentry 
is  very  pleasant.  An  early  ride  before  the 
sun  has  risen  high  enough  to  be  annoying ; 
the  indispensable  cold  bath ;  a  substantial 
breakfast  at  nine ;  tiffin  or  luncheon  at  two, 
for  those  who  like  it ;  and  dinner  at  half-past 
seven,  before  which  a  ride  or  drive  for  a 
couple  of  hours  serves  to  dissipate  the  vapours 
of  office  work — form  the  usual  routine  of 
existence.  "Where  no  one  is  idle,  there  is,  of 
course,  small  time  left  for  literary  pursuits, 
and  the  lassitude  induced  by  the  climate 
renders  it  next  to  impossible  to  read  or  write 
after  dinner.  Beading  is  consequently  much 
limited  to  the  ephemeral  productions  of  the 
daily  press.  This,  for  India,  is  on  rather 
an  extensive  scale,  since  there  are  no  fewer 
than  three  morning  journals,  conducted  with 
much  spirit  and  vigour. 

Parell,  the  Governor's  residence,  is  a  spa- 
cious and  handsome  edifice,  with  no  pre- 
tensions to  architectural  beauty,  but  imposing 
from  its  magnitude.  It  contains  excellent 
private  apartments,  besides  a  magnificent 
suite  of  inception  rooms.  A  ball  here  in 
January  or  February,  when  everybody  is  at 


184 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  Presidency,  is  like  a  costume  ball.  Ladies 
dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  men  in  uniforms 
of  every  gradation  of  splendour,  a  superb  mili- 
tary band,  rooms  illuminated  in  a  manner 
that  shames  the  feeble  efforts  of  a  London 
wax-chandler,  the  finest  flowei-s  (such  as  are 
only  to  be  procured  in  England  from  hot- 
houses) in  the  most  luxuriant  profusion,  consti- 
tute the  leading  features  of  these  very  agree- 
able parties.  Such  scenes  are  not,  however, 
confined  to  Government  House.  The  Byculla 
Club  occasionally  lends  its  magnificent  saloon 
to  this  sort  of  reunion  ;  and  the  other  day  the 
Bachelors  gave  a  sumptuous  soiree  in  the  grand 
and  classic  saloon  of  the  Town  Hall ;  besides 
which  the  leading  members  of  society  here 
are  continually  giving  agreeable  dances. 
Thus,  here,  as  elsewhere,  we  try  to  cheat 
existence  of  its  sombre  hue,  and  to  give  it  a 
varnish  of  hilarity  not  quite  consistent  with 
its  natural  tones.  The  rooms  here  are,  in 
general,  large  and  lofty,  and  the  profusion 
of  wax  lights  is,  on  these  occasions,  quite 
dazzling.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  tedium 
of  a  formal  Bombay  dinner.  Tables  groaning 
with  Brummagem  imitations  of  splendour, 
and  dishes  redolent  of  the  strong  and  greasy 
compositions  of  Portuguese  cooks  ;  guests 
thrown  together,  in  numerous  confusion, 
without  reference  to  acquaintanceship  or 
similarity  of  tastes  or  habits  ;  fifty  or  sixty 
people  seated  at  an  immense  table  resembling 
a  table-d'hote  in  all  except  the  goodness  of  its 
dishes,  with  a  servant  behind  every  chair. 
This  is  a  picture  of  a  Bombay  dinner. 

The  Fine  Arts  are  unknown  in  Bombay. 
A  gaudy-coloured  lithograph  would  be  here 
as  much  esteemed  as  a  Titian  or  a  Raphael  ; 
and,  I  fear,  the  want  of  taste  is  not  confined 
to  the  native  inhabitants.  Europeans  come 
out  so  young,  so  partially  educated,  and  with 
their  ideas  on  the  subject  of  Art  so  little 
developed,  that  they  remain  for  the  rest  of 
their  lives  as  much  children  in  this  respect 
as  when  they  first  arrived.  I  remember  once 
accompanying  two  Indian  friends  through  the 
gallery  of  the  Pitti  Palace.  Their  admiration 
was  wholly  given  to  the  worst  pictures  and 
the  worst  statues.  An  artist  here  would 
starve  ;  and  although  the  Hindoos  have  a 
taste  for  sculpture,  their  efforts  are  confined 
to  the  grotesque.  This  is  extraordinary, 
when  we  reflect  that  the  human  figure  in  its 
most  beautiful  proportions  is  constantly  dis- 
played to  them.  Some  of  the  men  from 
Hindoostan — who  go  by  the  name  of  Pur- 
dasees,  or  foreigners — are  the  most  superb 
models  for  a  sculptor  that  can  be  conceived. 
The  women,  too,  throw  their  drapery  about 
them  in  the  most  elegant  folds,  and  a  group 
of  Hindoo  girls  at  a  well  is  perhaps  the  most 
artistic  combination  that  could  be  desired. 
Yet  these  pass  unnoticed  and  unadmired, 
except,  perhaps,  by  an  occasional  amateur, 
whose  other  avocations  leave  him  little 
time  to  note  or  perpetuate  the  graceful  scene. 
We  are  apt  to  imagine  that  the  Greeks 


derived  their  superiority  in  the  Fine  Arts 
from  their  constant  familiarity  with  the 
finest  forms,  in  baths  and  wrestling  places, 
in  the  forum,  the  agora,  or  the  hippodrome. 
Yet  these  could  only  have  been  occa- 
sional opportunities  compared  with  those 
offered  daily  in  the  streets  of  Bombay.  The 
genius  of  Mahometanism  is  opposed  to  the 
imitation  of  the  human  figure,  either  in 
painting  or  sculpture  ;  but  Hindoo  temples 
abound  with  examples  of  both.  How  is  it, 
then,  that  Art  should  be  here  at  a  lower  ebb 
in  the  nineteenth  century  than  it  ever  was  hi 
Egypt  1  Even  in  architecture  the  taste  of 
the  Hindoos  is  vicious  and  trivial  to  a  great 
extent ;  great  labour  and  expense  are  frittered 
away  in  the  most  tasteless  attempts  at  orna- 
ment, and  not  a  single  Hindoo  monument  of 
architectural  science  is  to  be  seen  in  or  near 
Bombay.  The  same  may  be  said  of  the 
Parsees,  none  of  whom,  even  the  richest,  pos- 
sesses a  painting  worth  five  shillings,  although 
their  rooms  are  crowded  with  chandeliers, 
lustres,  mirrors,  and  gilding,  of  the  most 
expensive  character,  and  all  procured  from 
London,  which,  if  desired,  could  furnish  their 
magnificent  saloons  with  exquisite  pictures, 
bronzes,  and  statues,  at  a  very  moderate  ex- 
pense. Taste  may  perhaps  arise  after  another 
half-century  of  education,  but  at  present  it  finds 
no  resting-place  to  the  eastward  of  the  Cape. 
One  only  good  picture  is  to  be  seen  here,  a 
lai-ge  whole-length  portrait  of  Queen  Victoria, 
by  Wilkie.  This  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
Parsee  Knight,  and  was  made  a  present  to  him 
by  the  late  Sir  Charles  Forbes. 

The  Town  Hall,  which  contains  the  library 
of  the  Bombay  branch  of  the  Royal  Asiatic 
Society,  is  rich  in  three  magnificent  works 
of  Chantrey.  These  are  colossal  statues 
of  Mount  Stewart  Elphinstone,  Sir  John 
Malcolm,  and  Sir  Charles  Forbes  ;  the  two 
former  in  his  best  manner.  This  build- 
ing is,  perhaps,  the  finest  specimen  of 
English  taste  in  India.  It  is  in  the  Doric 
style,  vast  and  well-proportioned,  though 
a  little  ponderous. 

The  trade  of  Bombay  is  extensive  and  im- 
portant, the  imports  and  exports  each  reaching 
on  an  average  nearly  ten  millions  sterling. 
By  far  the  greater  part  of  this  traffic  is  con- 
ducted on  commission,  the  majority  of  the 
houses  here  being  merely  commission  agents. 
A  large  proportion  of  the  trade  with  China 
and  other  Eastern  countries  is  in  the  hands 
of  natives  ;  that  with  England  and  Europe 
chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  in  English  and  German 
firms.  There  is  not  a  single  French  house  of 
agency  here.  Taking  the  profits  on  these 
twenty  millions  at  eight  per  cent.,  which  I 
fancy  every  house  of  agency  expects  as  its 
share,  we  have  here  one  million,  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  to  be  distributed 
amongst  the  mercantile  community,  some  of 
the  leading  members  of  which  must  be  an- 
nually realising  very  large  sums.  There  is 
not,  however,  much  appearance  or  show  of 


Charlei  Dickens.] 


BOMBAY. 


185 


wealth  amongst  the  cotton  lords  here,  who, 
generally  speaking,  live  in  a  very  modest 
quiet  way.  The  great  staple  of  export  is  raw 
cotton — the  great  staple  of  import  the  same 
cotton  manufactured. 

It  is  singular  that  so  few  indigenous  Indian 
horses  should  exist.  Those  employed  in  our 
regular  cavalry  and  horse  artillery  are  in- 
variably either  Arab  or  Persian  ;  the  former 
small,  active,  aud  of  perfect  symmetry ;  the 
latter,  larger  and  more  powerful,  but  with  less 
activity,  and  far  less  beauty.  A  well-bred 
Arab  has  small  ears,  wide  and  square  fore- 
head, jowl  and  cheekbones  wide  apart ;  eye 
bright  aud  large  ;  nostril  open,  angular,  and 
transparent ;  nether  lip  pendulous  ;  skin  of  a 
smooth  aud  silky  texture  ;  fore-hand  fine  ; 
shoulder  not  very  high,  but  very  oblique  ; 
joints  large,  angular,  and  well-knit.  The  back 
sinew  of  the  fore-leg  remarkably  large,  and 
standing  out  well  from  the  leg-bone,  pastern 
rather  long,  hoof  hard,  and  crust  rather  high  ; 
barrel,  round  ;  hips  wide,  tail  set  on  high  ; 
buttocks  square,  thigh  muscular,  hock  large 
and  free  from  flesh  ;  tail  fine  at  the  extremity 
like  that  of  a  greyhound  ;  temper  mild  and 
equable  ;  height  seldom  exceeding  fourteen 
feet  two  inches.  This  is  the  Arab  horse  of 
good  blood,  and  of  such  about  two  thousand 
are  imported  annually  into  Bombay,  chiefly 
from  Bussorah.  Of  course,  all  do  not  answer 
this  description,  which  comprises  almost  every 
desirable  quality  of  shape  and  make  to  be 
found  in  this  quadruped.  Their  speed  is 
good,  but  not  equal  to  our  English  blood  ;  a 
mile  in  one  hundred  and  twelve  seconds  being 
about  the  utmost  they  can  come  up  to.  In 
England  the  same  distance  has  often  been 
performed  in  eighty  seconds  by  our  best  blood. 
The  average  speed  of  an  Arab  is,  however, 
much  greater  than  that  of  the  ordinary  run 
of  English  horses,  not  thorough-bred.  The 
price  of  an  Arab  here  is  high  ;  young,  sound, 
and  of  good  blood,  with  power  to  carry  twelve 
or  thirteen  stone.  Such  a  hors'e  cannot  be 
bought  at  the  stables  for  less  than  one  thousand 
or  twelve  hundred  rupees.  The  trade  is  in 
the  hands  of  Parsee  brokers,  four  or  five  o! 
whom  keep  stables,  capable  of  containing  from 
three  to  four  hundred  horses  each.  On  each 
sale  they  realise  thirty-two  rupees,  seventeen 
from  the  buyer  and  fifteen  from,  the  seller 
irrespective  of  the  value  of  the  horse.  11 
follows,  therefore,  that  as  these  brokers  gene- 
rally dispose  of  five  or  six  hundred  horses 
each  annually,  they  must  realise  large  profits 
besides  that  which  they  derive  from  the 
horses  standing  at  livery. 

Another  article  of  commerce  consists  o 
pearls,  also  from  the  Persian  Gulf.  The  Arabs 
bring  these  down  in  December  or  January 
and  return  before  the  monsoon  sets  in,  carry 
ing  home  in  exchange  large  quantities  o 
Manchester  and  Yorkshire  goods. 

Of  these  orient  gems  a  large  proportion  is 
unsuited  to  the  European  markets,  being  of  a 
yellowish  golden  lustre,  and  not  of  that  pure 


.vhite  so  much  desiderated  at  home.  The 
latives  do  not  despise  them  for  this  ;  and  in 
ny  eye — which  ever  delighted  in  the  rich 
Venetian  tone  of  colour,  in  preference  to  the 
:old  tints  of  Home  or  Florence — I  must  say 
Jiey  lose  nothing  by  this  golden  hue.  The 
opulent  here  of  every  caste  possess  vast 
loards  of  these  treasures  of  the  deep  ;  with 
which,  on  gala  days,  they  delight  to  deck 
;heir  children  and  wives.  A  considerable 
portion  of  each  wealthy  native's  riches  consists 
n  jewellery,  but  for  the  most  part  the  stones 
are  badly  set  and  badly  cut.  Size,  irre- 
spective of  symmetry  or  water,  is  much 
coveted,  and  the  consequence  is  that  nowhere 
are  so  many  indifferent  jewels  treasured  up  as 
lere. 

Magnitude  and  profusion  are  the  rules  of 
native  taste  in  the  precious  stones  on  this 
side  of  India,  which  possesses  none  of  the 
skill  or  science  evinced  by  the  jewellers  and 
lapidaries  of  Agra  and  Delhi,  or  even  by 
those  in  the  Madras  Presidency.  Ornaments 
of  pure  and  massive  gold  distinguish  the  less 
opulent,  many  of  whom  carry  about  their 
persons  their  whole  wealth.  An  immense 
quantity  of  the  precious  metals  is  lost  to  cir- 
culation by  this  propensity,  which  probably 
may  trace  its  origin  to  habits  engendered 
by  long  years  of  turbulence  and  warfare, 
when  no  safe  investment  of  capital  existed. 
Even  now  it  is  difficult  to  persuade  a  native 
of  the  advantage  held  out  by  a  Government 
savings  bank  in  preference  to  a  gold  chain  or 
bangle,  the  ready  and  ever-available  resources 
of  which  are,  to  his  mind,  more  easily  realis- 
able than  those  offered  by  the  signature  of  a 
bank  secretary.  A  well-informed  native  has 
assured  me  that  he  has  reason  to  believe  that 
not  less  than  five  crores  of  rupees,  or  five 
millions  sterling,  is  invested  in  gold  and 
silver  ornaments  in  Bombay.  Certain  it  is, 
that  nowhere  have  I  seen  so  universal  a  dif- 
fusion of  these  ornaments  as  here.  The  com- 
monest cooley  has  his  gold  ear-ring ;  the 
meanest  artisan  his  amulet  of  gold,  or  his 
waist-belt  of  silver — probably  both.  Should 
Bombay  ever  be  laid  under  contribution  by  a 
French  liue-of-battle  ship  (and  one  such  would 
be  sufficient  for  the  purpose),  the  bushels  of 
golden  ornaments  that  might  be  collected  in 
a  couple  of  hours  would  exceed  tenfold  the 
knightly  spoils  of  the  field  of  Cannae. 

ISJo  place  in  the  world  is  more  open  to  a 
marauding  enemy  than  Bombay.  The  de- 
fences towards  the  sea  are  contemptible,  and 
half-aii-hour's  bombardment  would  destroy 
the  Fort,  the  crowded  houses  of  which  are 
built  up  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ramparts, 
where,  in  case  of  conflagration,  no  men  could 
stand  to  their  guns.  Without  the  aid  of 
some  heavy  men-of-war,  Bombay  might  be 
sacked  and  burnt  in  an  hour,  and  no  vestige 
left  of  its  pristine  prosperity.  I  don't  know 
whether  our  rulers  are  aware  of  its  insecurity; 
but  there  is  certainly,  at  present,  nothing  to 
prevent  the  approach  of  a  hostile  line-of- 


186 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


battle  ship,  .and,  when  arrived,  nothing  to 
prevent  her  from  laying  the  place  in  ashes, 
or  under  contribution,  as  might  best  suit  her 
views.  The  great  importance  of  Bombay,  as 
the  key  of  communication  between  the  upper 
provinces  of  India  and  England,  as  the  empo- 
rium of  the  cotton  trade,  as  the  great 
entrep6t  of  our  Manchester,  Glasgow,  and 
Yorkshire  goods,  as  the  seat  of  a  most 
extensive  and  efficient  naval  dockyard,  and 
as  the  capital  of  Western  India,  ought  to 
direct  attention  to  this  state  of  things  ;  for 
the  place  at  present  is  as  defenceless  as 
Southampton,  and  still  more  accessible ;  for 
the  heaviest  line-of-battle  ship  could  lie 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  the  Custom 
House,  the  Treasury,  and  the  Mint.  So 
large  a  population,  such  extensive  wealth, 
so  important  interests,  ought  to  demand 
the  most  serious  attention  of  the  authorities 
to  their  insecure  state  ;  for  a  blow  once 
struck  home  would  be  irreparable. 

A  sketch  of  Bombay  would  be  imperfect 
without  a  notice  of  the  railroad  now  in  pro- 
gress, and  which  is  fondly  thought  by  many 
will  be  the  forerunner  of  a  host  of  others, 
that  are  to  bring  the  most  distant  cities  of 
India  within  a  few  hours  of  each  other. 
It  is  very  nearly  completed  as  far  as  Tannah, 
the  northernmost  point  of  Salsette ;  and  it  is 
progressing  thence  towards  Callian,  in  the 
Northern  Konkan.  Thence,  it  is  hoped  that 
eventually  it  will  be  carried  farther  into  the 
interior,  and  that  the  Ghauts  will  be  sur- 
mounted, so  as  to  bring  the  traffic  of  the 
Deccan  and  Khandeish  within  its  grasp ;  and 
'thus,  in  a  great  measure,  remedy  the  crying 
evil  of  India — the  want  of  internal  communi- 
cations. The  projectors,  on  calculations  which 
are  understood  to  have  been  well  considered, 
anticipate  large  profits.  The  East  India 
Company  has  acted  wisely  in  so  far  comply- 
ing with  the  exigencies  of  the  times  as  to 
yield  gracefully  to  the  clamour  for  a  railroad. 
Its  real  importance  or  value  will  never  be 
understood  in  England ;  and  it  is  a  good  tub 
to  throw  to  the  whale  on  the  approaching 
discussions  on  the  Charter. 


NOT  FOUND  YET ! 

WE  will  cross  the  peninsula  to  the  Gurnard's 
Head,  and  beat  a  portion  of  the  northern  coast, 
in  search  of  those  same  Cornish  Choughs  I 
sought  on  a  former  occasion,  and  have  not 
found  yet.  Midway,  we  shall  have  a  prospect 
of  the  two  seas — the  Bristol  and  the  English 
Channels — which  you  may  imagine  (if  the 
reality  is  insufficiently  satisfactory)  to  be  the 
Atlantic  and  the  Pacific,  separated  by  the 
Isthmus  of  Darien.  Turning  our  backs  on  the 
lovely  crescent  of  Mount's  Bay,  up  we  go  ;  up 
— up — up.  It  is  worth  while  looking  round 
now  and  then,  to  see  how  affectionately  the 
bluff  promontories  of  the  Lizard  and 
St.  Paul  stretch  out  their  weather-beaten 
arms  to  shelter  and  protect  their  bosom 


friends,   their   snugly-nursed   darlings,    Pen- 
zance  and  Marazion.     If,  after  searching  and 
peering  and  sweeping  our  vision  over  > 
expanses,  we  do  not  get  sight  of  a  Chough  or 
two,  it  will  be  very  remarkable. 

We  shall  observe,  in  the  course  of  the 
present  jaunt,  that,  to  compensate  for  the 
undue  proportion  of  saintly  titles  which 
adorn  so  many  of  the  parishes  and  little 
towns,  others— whose  names  are  a  combi- 
nation of  merely  profane  syllables  —  are 
remarkable  for  the  agreeable  sound  and 
measured  accent  with  which  they  fall  upon 
the  ear.  Mara-zion,  Trevescan,  Rosevarnen, 
Tregony,  and  a  host  of  others,  which,  if  I 
were  meditating  an  epic,  should  pass  before 
you  in  Indian  file :  these  harmonious  scraps 
of  geography  would  be  useful  to  the  most 
elegant  novelist  that  ever  wrote  for  a  fas- 
tidious public.  Some  of  the  scenery,  too,  is 
of  a  very  sentimental  description,  and  reads 
as  well  upon  paper  as  it  is  delightful  to  the 
traveller.  We  are  now  about  half-way ;  we  are 
crossing  an  extensive  grove  of  pinasters,  with 
an  underwood  of  gigantic  rhododendrons — now , 
meeting  overhead  in  thickets,  now  dispersed 
as  independent  evergreens. 

Your  eye  has  been  attracted  by  that  strange 
object  to  the  right,  not  far  from  the  road, 
which  you  might  take  to  be  a  rude,  clumsy, 
three-legged  stool,  made  up  with  pieces  of 
unhewn  stone.  It  is  called  here  the  Ludgvan 
(pronounced  Ludyari)  quoit.  You  are  too 
well  read  not  to  know  that  it  is  a  cromlech, 
and  engravings  will  have  given  you  an  im- 
perfect idea  of  its  appearance  ;  but  did  you 
ever  in  your  life  see  anything  with  such  a 
mysteriously  old  look  ?  It  is  this  charac- 
teristic which  artists  cannot  easily  express  : 
most  of  their  cromlechs  might  have  been  sent 
the  other  day  from  the  Penryn  quarries, 
along  with  the  granite  for  Waterloo  Bridge. 
All  the  (what  are  called)  Druidical  remains 
have  the  same  fearful  stamp  of  unimaginable 
antiquity.  It  is  that — not  the  magnitude,  not 
the  singular  arrangement,  but  the  age, 
defying  investigation — which  gives  to  Stone- 
henge  its  power  over  the  imagination.  Roman 
ruins,  Cyclopsean  walls,  are  nothing  to  them. 
Fossil  remains — even  trilobites,  in  tolerable 
preservation — have,  in  comparison,  all  the 
freshness  of  new-laid  eggs. 

Although  you  have  now  some  acquaintance 
with  Cornish  gales,  you  would  hardly  credit 
that,  one  extra-stormy  night,  the  upper  stone 
was  blown  from  off  its  three  supports.  There 
are  many  fools  in  the  world,  who  value  them- 
selves, like  butchers'  meat,  by  the  stone,  and 
whose  sole  strength  lies  in  their  shoulders, 
and  in  the  calves  of  their  legs.  However,  the 
quoit  was  displaced,  either  by  the  wind,  or  by 
the  rogue  Nobody.  Happily  it  has  returned 
to  its  original  points  of  suspension. 

And,  pray,  what  was  the  purpose  of  these 
monstrous  three-legged  stools  and  circles  of 
huge  stones  1  Ah ! ,  what,  indeed  1  Some  will 
tell  you  one  thing,  some  another — temples, 


Charles  IMckens.J 


NOT  FOUND  YET  ! 


187 


altars  for  human  sacrifice,  immovable  orreries, 
and  so  on.  A  French  shrug  of  the  shoulders 
is  the  best  answer.  Eead  good  Dr.  Borlase 
his  History  of  Cornwall  ;  read  Mr.  Duke's 
learned  Essay  on  Stoneheiige,  and  you  will  be 
just  as  satisfied  with  them  as  with  by-gone 
systems  of  astronomy,  "  cycle  on  epicycle, 
orb  OH  orb."  You  will  in  the  end  arrive  at 
the  true  conclusion,  that  these — are  stones  ! 

My  imagination  cannot  utterly  discard  a 
dream  I  once  had,  that  Stonehenge  and  the 
Ludgvan  quoit  are  not  remains  of  human 
workmanship.  That  they  were  originally 
arranged  by  some  mechanical  agency,  and  did 
not  tumble  together  by  mere  chance,  can 
hardly  be  doubted  by  any  one  who  has  seen 
the  things  as  they  now  stand.  But  remember, 
my  philosophic  friend,  man  is  not  the  only 
animal  endowed  with  the  bump  of  construc- 
tiveuess.  Other  creatures  build  beside  him- 
self ;  ant-hills  have  been  taken,  at  first  sight, 
for  the  dwellings  of  negroes  ;  a  cockney, 
coming  suddenly  on  a  beaver  village — sup- 
posing one  resuscitated — asked  his  way  to  the 
inn  there  :  many  birds'  nests  show,  at  least, 
as  much  attention  to  comfort  as  an  Irish 
cabin.  Now  we  know  that  there  have  existed 
in  former  ages  gigantic  beavers,  besides 
crowds  of  other  monsters,  of  whose  architec- 
tural accomplishments  we  are  in  ignorance  ; 
knowing  only  that  they  had  the  power,  if 
they  only  had  the  instinct,  to  build  something 
extraordinary.  Might  not  a  race  of  (Ecothe- 
riums  be  just  as  likely  as  the  Druids,  equally 
extinct,  to  make  to  themselves  a  shelter  and 
a  family  residence,  of  which  we  here  see  the 
ruins  1  What  says  our  friend,  the  Professor, 
to  this  ? 

The  Professor  smiles  wickedly,  and  asks, 
'•'Do  you  not  think  it  more  probable  that 
Stonehenge  was  the  submarine  nest  of  the 
sea-serpent,  and  that  Ludgvan  quoit  served 
him  as  a  pillow  for  an  afternoon  nap,  when 
out  upon  his  rambles  ?  They  would,  of  course, 
rise  with  the  rest  of  the  granite,  and  remain 
where  we  see  them  now  ?  " 

"  Hum  !  "  say  I ;  "  when  I  have  caught  my 
Daws  and  taught  them  to  speak,  I  will  ask 
them  if  their  family  retains  any  tradition  on 
the  subject." 

We  are  sure  to  find  our  black  game  at  the 
Gurnard's  Head  ;  so  on  we  roll  pleasantly.  A 
fine,  open,  down-y  country,  where  one  can 
breathe  ;  a  little  stony,  perhaps.  But  what  a 
luxury  it  is  to  get  away  from  the  imprison- 
ment of  interminable  hedge-rows,  turnpikes, 
and  thriving  young  plantations,  wherein  you 
must  not  set  foot  under  pain  of  action  for 
trespass  !  Some  of  the  stones  are  got  a  little 
out  of  the  way  by  being  heaped  together  to 
serve  as  fences.  Now  and  then,  the  trouble- 
some granite,  resolved  upon  an  outbreak, 
pops  up  its  head  in  the  middle  of  a  field,  like 
a  Jack-in-the-box.  This,  to  an  unaccustomed 
eye,  gives  the  picture  a  sort  of  ruinous  air. 
We  might  be  overlooking  the  crumbling  walls 
of  a  vast  priory,  or  city  of  priories,  of  the ' 


olden  time.  Mr.  Mechi  would  find  fault  with 
one  agricultural  detail.  In  Cornish  fields,  it 
is  common  to  see  here  and  there,  at  regular 
intervals,  large  mounds  planted  thickly  with 
drumhead-cabbages,  or  "  flat-polls  "  in  the 
language  of  the  country.  These  flat-polls  are 
great  favourites  with  the  farmers  and  the 
cottagers,  who  use  them  as  green  "  meat," 
both  for  man  and  beast — crude,  for  cows  and 
sheep  ;  cooked,  as  a  table  vegetable,  and  as  an 
ingredient  in  soup.  Now,  the  cabbage-bearing 
mounds  are  composed  of  weeds,  rubbish,  earth, 
and  manure,  all  laid  up  to  rot  together,  and 
to  be  spread  over  the  land  for  the  succeeding 
crop,  as  soon  as  the  cabbages  are  consumed 
out  of  the  way.  A  better  plan  for  the  pro- 
pagation of  noxious  weeds  and  insects  could 
not  be  devised.  They  are  thus  carefully 
treasured  during  the  inclement  season,  and 
sown  broadcast  as  the  fine  one  approaches  ; 
while  the  finer  the  cabbages,  the  nearer  does 
the  mound  itself  approach  the  condition  of  an 
exhausted  non-fertiliaing  compost. 

If  you  please,  it  is  now  requisite  to  walk  a 
little  way.  The  fence  opens,  and  you  have  to 
step  across  five  or  six  granite  bars  (the  spaces 
between  them  being  trenches  in  the  earth), 
like  a  large  stone  gridiron  laid  upon  the 
ground.  Whatever  you  may  say,  it  is  not 
intended  as  a  trap  for  sprained  ankles  on 
dark  nights,  but  is  a  Cornish  style,  horizontal, 
instead  of  being  vertical,  as  your  wooden 
ones  are.  It  is  effectual  in  stopping  the  pas- 
sage of  animals,  though  you  might  not  think 
so,  to  look  at  it. 

And  this  is  the  Gurnard's  Head  ; — a  stem, 
square-built  mass  of  grey  granite  jutting  into 
the  sea ; — one  of  those  headlands,  whose  living 
portrait  Stanfield  would  produce  for  you — 
forming,  with  some  more  modestly  retired  cliffs, 
a  little  cove,  wherein  the  water  is  so  purple 
and  so  deep,  that  if  you  were  to  throw  a 
stone  therein,  you  would  believe  that  it  went 
on  sinking  and  sinking  for  half  the  day.  Our 
Gurnard's  Head  is  a  surviving  portion  of  na- 
ture's first-built  fortifications  and  bulwarks, 
shattered  and  splintered,  but  still  impregnable. 
The  waves  will  have  to  fret*  and  fume  a  long 
while  yet  before  they  undermine  it,  and 
cause  it  to  fall  in  a  heap  of  ruins.  An  inac- 
cessible, inhospitable,  uninviting  piece  of 
stuff,  without  a  bit  of  verdure  to  tempt  even 
the  rabbit  or  the  goat ;  just  the  fitting  strong- 
hold for  our  sable  friends  to  fix  on  as  head 
quarters.  But  here  they  are  not,  unless 
invisibly,  in  some  chink  or  cranny  where  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  bring  them  to  light. 
Like  the  little  birds  which  ply  in  and  out  at 
the  crocodile's  mouth,  for  the  friendly  pur- 
pose of  picking  his  teeth,  our  Choughs  may 
have  found  some  secret  entrance  to  the 
Gurnard's  gills,  and  may  now  be  diverting 
themselves  in  his  cavernous  interior,  if  he  has 
one.  But,  this  being  the  Gurnard's  Head, 
where  is  his  tail  to  be  found  1  According  to 
the  usual  proportions  of  that  excellent  but 
inadequately  appreciated  fish,  it  must  be 


188 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


five  hundred  fathoms  deep,  not  far  from  a 
perpendicular  dropped  from  Ludgvau  quoit, 
quite  beyond  the  reach  of  our  diving 
apparatus. 

Alas  ! — No  Daws  ! 

To  make  up  for  this  continued  ornitho- 
logical disappointment,  some  sandwiches  and 
a  bottle  of  pale  ale  make  their  appearance, 
through  the  agency  of  a  benevolent  fairy. 
The  time  occupied  in  attentions  to  them,  may 
also  be  devoted  to  a  little  sober  reflection. 

With  all  its  wildness,  its  retirement,  and 
its  semi-insular  position,  this  is  a  particularly 
enjoyable  part  of  the  world  to  those  who 
like  it.  And  to  some  constitutions,  mental 
and  bodily,  the  sea,  sea  air,  sea  views,  sea- 
side walks,  sea-grown  diet — THE  SEA  is  a 
matter  almost  of  necessity.  Without  it,  such 
folks  barely  exist ;  with  it,  they  flourish 
vigorously. 

What  a  nuisance  for  such  people  to  find 
themselves  fixed  for  life  in  the  Midland 
Counties  of  England,  where  they  cannot  get 
a  glimpse  of  a  lovely,  straight,  blue  horizon 
without  a  journey  !  Still  worse,  to  be  trans- 
planted to  Central  Europe,  to  some  Canton, 
Grand  Duchy,  or  Kingdom,  of  which  the 
whole  navy  may  consist  of  a  couple  of  four- 
oared  boats,  and  a  barge  !  An  utterly  hope- 
less case  would  be  banishment  to  the  heart 
of  either  of  the  American  Continents,  where 
the  natives  have  as  clear  a  notion  of  the 
ocean,  as  we  have  of  the  features  of  the  North 
Pole.  To  live  and  die  without  ever  having 
seen  the  sea ;  what  an  incomplete  life  ! 
Geographers  complain  of  the  vast  dispro- 
portion of  water  on  the  terraqueous  globe ;  but 
we  have  now  more  land  than  we  can  occupy 
properly,  and  turn  to  good  account.  The 
seas  prevent  us  from  being  a  nuisance  to 
each  other,  at  the  same  time  that  they  admit 
of  a  reasonable  amount,  both  of  visiting,  and 
marketing. 

The  sea  here  does  not  produce  exactly  the 
same  impression  ou  the  mind  as  in  most 
other  parts  of  the  English  coast.  There,  it  is 
a  successful  aggressor  ;  here,  it  is  a  baffled 
bully.  These  cliffs  are  of  granite  and  other 
most  hard  materials,  yielding,  apparently,  not 
an  inch  to  the  fury  of  Atlantic  waves ;  they 
seem  rather  to  defy  them,  planting  firm  out- 
posts of  rock  in  their  domain.  They  are 
magnificent  and  sublime  ;  but  they  affect  us 
in  quite  a  different  way,  and  are  less  touching 
to  the  feelings,  less  startling  to  the  imagi- 
nation, than  the  falling  and  melting  masses  of 
the  Norfolk  and  many  other  cliffs.  In  these 
we  behold  a  smiling,  liberal,  and  prosperous 
victim,  who  can  ill  be  spared,  mercilessly  laid 
low,  destroyed,  and  made  to  disappear,  by  an 
unrelenting  enemy,  who  is  none  the  richer 
for  his  triumph,  and  who,  we  plainly  see,  will 
never  cease  from  his  work  of  destruction,  so 
long  as  anything  remains  to  be  destroyed. 
But  the  cold,  gray,  hoary  cliffs  of  Cornwall, 
are  also  firm,  hard-hearted,  and  churlish. 
They  give  nothing  ;  what  little  they  do  yield 


is  violently  extorted  from  them.  They  defy 
the  storms,  the  frosts,  the  floods,  and  the 
breakers.  Time  only,  and  slow  invisible 
agencies,  can  touch  them.  They  are  not 
eternal ;  but  of  a  duration  extending  much 
farther  than  we  can  conceive,  both  back  into 
the  past,  and  on  towards  the  future.  Their 
tenant,  the  Cornish  chough,  on  whose  head 
naturalists  have  now  set  a  price,  may  belong 
to  but  one  of  a  series  of  Faunas  which,  in 
their  respective  generations,  have  haunted 
these  immovable,  outlandish  hiding-places, 
and  then  have  followed  the  course  of  all 
things  earthly. 

"  Do  not  look  so  down-hearted,  though 
the  ale  and  sandwiches  are  finished.  The 
air  here  sharpens  the  appetite,  but  you  will 
find  something  on  the  dinner-table,  and 
then — " 

"  It  was  not  merely  that ;  it  seems  to  me 
that  your  Daws  are  a  myth,  a  mocking  mirage. 
The  species  is  a  plausible  invention  of 
Pennant's,  adopted,  without  sufficient  evi- 
dence, by  Mr.  Yarrel.  Our  friend's  specimens, 
at  Peiizance,  are  factitious  things,  made  up 
of  false  feathers  and  paint.  Here  am  I,  day 
after  day,  out  on  a  fool's  errand,  bent  on  a 
wild-goose  chase  ;  and  I'm  beginning  to  be 
tired  of  it." 

"  For  shame  ;  to  let  such  thoughts  escape 
your  lips !  Even  if  our  Daws  were  a  myth,  and 
an  unattainable  ideality, — that  you,  with  your 
eyes  open,  should  not  perceive  its  significance  ! 
Is  not  life  itself  a  wild-goose  chase,  during 
which,  though  we  are  sure  to  lose  many  a 
bird  that  we  set  our  hearts  on  bagging,  we 
also  pick  up  many  a  prize  that  we  had  not 
hoped  to  meet  with  by  the  way  1  Look  at 
the  history  of  all  human  knowledge.  Have 
we  not  grasped  at  a  philosopher's  stone,  and  a 
golden  draught  of  unfading  youth ;  and  do  we 
not  hold  a  Chemistry  in  our  hands  ?  And,  in 
the  wildest  wild-goose  chase  are  there  no 
refined  pleasures  to  be  tasted,  no  deep  wisdom 
to  be  learned,  along  the  road  I  Are  we  not 
taught,  while  travelling  forward,  to  despise, 
to  reject,  to  believe,  and  to  dare  ;  all  during 
the  course  of  our  continued  disappointments  '{ 
Is  it  nothing  simply  to  be  here  ; — to  view 
these  glorious  sights,  and  to  feel,  in  beholding 
them,  the  thrill  of  admiration,  reverence,  and 
wonder  1 

"  Enough.  I  am  rebuked.  Henceforth, 
Onward  shall  be  our  hunting  shout.  What 
unexpected  godsend  may  be  found,  who  can 
tell  beforehand  I  The  Daws  invite  me,  and 
I  follow  them. 


Xow  Ready,  Price  3s.  in  cloth,  the 
VOLUME   FOR  1851   OF 

THE    HOUSEHOLD    NARRATIVE 

OP  CURRENT  EVENTS ; 

Which  being  declared,  by  the  judgment  of  the  Court  of 
Exchequer,  a  legal  publication  iiot  coming  within  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Stamp  Act,  will  be  regularly  continued  aud 
much  improved. 


f  ubli«!ie<i  »t  the  Oft.i- 


n,  Strand.     Printed  \>y  BKA 


RT  &  ETAXS,  Whitefriurt,  London. 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — S 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOUKNAL: 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


NO. 112.] 


SATURDAY,  MAY  15,  1852. 


[PRICK  Id. 


FIBST  FEUITS. 


OF  primary  causes  or  primary  colours,  we 
are  neither  philosophers  nor  opticians  enough 
to  be  enabled  profitably  to  discourse.  Yet 
there  are  primaries — first  things — in  all  our 
lives  very  curious  and  wonderful,  replete  with 
matter  for  speculation,  interesting  because 
they  come  home  to  and  can  be  understood  by 
us  all. 

That  it  is  "  le  premier  pas  qui  codte" — that 
the  first  step  is  the  great  point — is  as  much 
a  household  word  to  us,  and  is  as  familiar  to 
our  mouths  as  that  the  descent  of  Avernus 
is  unaccompanied  by  difficulty,  or  that  one 
member  of  the  feathered  creation  held  in  the 
hand  is  worth  two  of  the  same  species  in  the 
bush.  ~  And,  if  we  might  be  permitted  to  add 
to  the  first  quoted  morsel  of  proverbial  philo- 
sophy a  humble  little  rider  of  our  own,  we 
would  say  that  we  never  forget  the  first  step, 
the  first  ascent,  the  first  stumble,  the  first  fall. 
Time  skins  over  the  wound  of  later  years, 
and,  looking  at  the  cicatrice  (if,  indeed,  a  scar 
should  remain),  ,ve  even  wonder  who  inflicted 
the  wound,  where,  or  how,  or  when  it  was  in- 
flicted, and  when  and  where  healed.  But  the 
first-born  of  our  wounds  are  yet  green  ;  and 
we  can  see  the  glittering  of  the  glaive,  and 
feel  the  touch  of  the  steel,  now  that  our  hair 
is  grizzled,  and  our  friends  and  enemies  are 
dead,  and  we  have  other  allies  and  foes  who 
were  babies  in  the  old  time  when  we  got  that 
hurt. 

Many  men  have  as  many  minds  ;  but  we 
are  all  alike  in  this  respect.  The  camera 
may  be  of  costly  rosewood  or  plain  deal,  the 
lens  of  rare  pebble  or  simple  bottle-glass  ; 
but  the  first  impressions  come  equally  through 
the  focus,  and  are  daguerreotyped  with  equal 
force  on  the  silver  tablet  of  memory.  The 
duke  and  the  dustman,  the  countess  and  the 
costermonger,  the  schoolboy  and  the  white- 
headed  old  patriarch — for  -all  the  dreary  seas 
that  flow  bet\v?een  the  to-day  they  live  in 
and  the  yesterday  wherein  they  began  life 
— still,  like  the  cliffs  of  the  Ancient  Mariner, 
bear  the  "  marks  of  that  which  once  hath 
been." 

Many  of  the  primaries  ai'e  locked  up  in 
secret  cabinets  of  the  mind,  of  which  we  have 
mislaid  (and  think  we  have  lost)  the  keys  ; 
but  we  have  not ;  and,  from  time  to  time, 


finding  them  in  bunches  in  old  coat-pockets, 
or  on  disregarded  split-rings,  we  open  them. 
From  the  old  desk  of  the  mind,  we  take  the  first 
love-letter,  of  which  the  ink  is  so  yellow  now, 
and  was  so  brilliant  once,  but  whose  characters 
are  as  distinct  as  ever.  From  the  old  ward- 
robe of  the  mind,  we  draw  the  first  tail-coat — 
threadbare,  musty,  and  worm-eaten,  now ;  but 
the  first  tail-coat  for  all  that.  For  all  that 
we  may  have  been  twice  bankrupt  and  once 
insolvent  ;  for  all  that  Jack  may  have  been 
transported,  or  Ned  consigned  to  his  coffin 
years  ago,  or  Tom  barbecued  in  Typee 
or  Omoo  regions ;  for  all  that  we  may  be 
riding  in  gold  coaches,  and  denying  that 
we  ever  trotted  in  the  mud  ;  for  all  that 
we  may  have  changed  our  names,  or  tacked 
titles  to  them,  or  given  the  hand  that 
was  once  horny  and  labour-stained,  a  neat 
coat  of  blood-red  crimson,  and  nailed  it  on  a 
shield  like  a  bat  on  a  barn-door  ;  for  all  that 
we  eat  turtle  instead  of  tripe,  and  drink 
Moselle  in  lieu  of  "  max  ;  " — the  primaries 
shall  never  be  forgotten — the  moment  when 
our  foot  pressed  the  first  step  shall  never 
vanish.  Cast  the  stone  as  far  into  the  river 
of  Lethe  as  you  will,  the  sluggish  tide  shall 
wash  it  back  again,  and  after  playing  dully 
with  it  on  the  sand,  ever  land  it  high  and 
dry  upon  the  beach. 

Male  primaries  and  female  primaries  there 
be,  and  we  are  of  the  ruder  sex  ;  but  there  are 
many,  common  to  both  sexes. 

Not  this  one,  though ;  the  first  —  well, 
there  is  no  harm  in  it ! — the  first  pair  of 
trousers.  Who  does  not  remember,  who  ca.n 
ever  forget,  those  much-desiderated,  much- 
prized,  much-feared,  much-admired  articles 
of  dress  1  How  stiff,  angular,  hard,  wooden, 
they  seemed  to  our  youthful  limbs  !  How 
readily,  but  for  the  proper  pride  and  manliness 
we  felt  in  them — the  utter  majority  and  inde- 
pendence of  seven  years  of  age — we  would 
have  cast  them  off  fifty  times,  the  very  first  day 
we  wore  them,  and,  resuming  the  kilt,  haveonce 
more  roamed  our  little  world,  a  young  High- 
lander. How  (all  is  vanity !)  we  mounted  on  sur- 
reptitious chairs,  viewed  ourselves  in  mirrors, 
and  were  discovered  in  the  act  by  cousins,  and 
blushed  dreadfully,  and  were  brought  thereby 
to  great  shame  and  grief.  What  inexpressible 
delight  in  that  first  plunge  of  the  hand  (and 
half  the  arm)  into  the  trousers-pockets, — in 


VOL.  v 


112 


190 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  first  fingering  of  the  silver  sixpence 
deposited  five  fathom  deep,  for  luck  !  What 
bitter  pain  and  humiliation  we  felt,  when  first 
strutting  forth  abroad  in  them,  rude,  con- 
tumelious boys  mocked  us,  likened  us  to  a 
pair  of  tongs,  aimed  at  our  legs  with  peg-tops. 
What  agonies  we  suffered  from  that  wicked 
youth  (he  must  have  been  hanged,  or  trans- 
ported for  life  in  after  years),  who  with  a 
nail — a  rusty  nail — tore  the  left  leg  of  those 
trousers  into  a  hideous  rent,  and  then  ran 
away  laughing ;  what  tortures  during  our 
return  home,  at  the  thought  of  what  our 
parents  and  guardians  would  say  !  Those 
premier  pantaloons  were  snuff-coloured,  but- 
toning over  the  jacket,  and  forming,  with  an 
extensive  shirt-frill,  what  was  then  called  a 
"  skeleton  suit."  They  shone  very  much,  and 
had  a  queer  smell  of  the  siiuff-coloured  dye. 
They  gave  the  wearer  something  of  a  trussed 
appearance,  like  a  young  fowl  ready  for  the 
spit.  It  was  a  dreadful  fashion,  as  offering 
irresistible  temptations  to  the  schoolmaster 
to  use  his  cane.  You  were  got  up  ready  for 
him,  and  abstinence  was  more  than  he  could 
bear.  We  confess  to  a  horrid  relish  in  this 
wise  ourself  at  the  present  time.  When  we 
see  (rare  spectacle  now-a-days)  a  small  boy 
in  a  skeleton  suit,  and  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  our  fingers  itch  to  be  at  him  ! 

The  first  picture-book  !  We  date  from  the 
time  of  the  Prince  Regent,  and  remember 
picture-books  about  dandies  —  satires  upon 
that  eminent  personage  himself,  possibly — 
but  we  never  knew  it.  In  those  times  there 
was  a  certain  bright,  smooth  cover  for  picture- 
books,  like  a  glorified  surgical  plaster.  It 
has  gone  out  this  long,  long  time.  The  picture- 
book  that  seems  to  have  been  our  first,  wa 
about  one  Mr.  Pillblister  (in  the  medical  pro- 
fession, we  presume,  from  the  name),  who 
gave  a  party.  As  the  legend  is  impressed  on 
our  remembrance,  it  opened  thus  : 

Mr.  Pillblister  and  Betsy  his  sister, 

Determined  on  giving  a  treat ; 

Gay  dandies  they  call 

To  a  supper  and  ball 

At  tbeir  house  in  Great  Camomile  Street. 

The  pictures  represented  male  dandies  in 
every  stage  of  preparation  for  this  festival 
holding  on  to  "bed-posts  to  have  their  stays 
laced  ;  embellishing  themselves  with  artifici 
personal  graces  of  many  kinds  ;  and  endurin^ 
various  humiliations  in  remote  garrets.     One 
gentleman  found  a  hole  in  his  stocking  at  the 
last  moment. 

A  hole  in  my  stocking, 

O  how  very  shocking  ! 

Snys  poor  Mr.  (Some  one)  enraged. 

It's  always  my  fate 

To  be  so  very  late, 

AVlieu  at  Mr.  Filibuster's  engaged  ! 

If  we  recollect  right,  they  all  got  there  nl 
last,  and  passed  a  delightful  evening.     AVhei: 


we  first  came  to  London  (not  the  least  of  our 
srimaries),  we  rejected  the  Tower,  West- 
minster Abbey,  Saint  Paul's,  and  the  Monu- 
ment, and  entreated  to  be  immediately  taken 
;o  Great  Camomile  Street. 

About  the  same  period  we  tasted  our  first 
oyster.  A  remarkable  sensation  !  We  feel 
it  slipping  down  our  throat  now,  like  a  sort 
of  maritime  castor-oil,  and  are  again  be- 
wildered by  an  unsatisfactory  doubt  whether 
it  really  was  the  oyster  which  made  that 
mysterious  disappearance,  or  whether  we  are 
;oing  to  begin  to  taste  it  presently. 

The  first  play !  The  promise  ;  the  hope 
deferred ;  the  saving-clause  of  "  no  fine 
weather,  no  play  ; "  the  more  than  Murphian, 
or  H.  P.  of  Bermondsey  Square,  scrutiny  of 
the  weather  during  the  day  !  Willingly  did 
we  submit,  at  five  o'clock  that  evening,  to  the 
otherwise,  and  at  any  other  time,  detestable 
ordeal  of  washing,  and  combing,  and  being 
made  straight.  We  did  not  complain  when 
the  soap  got  into  our  eyes ;  we  bore  the 
icraping  of  the  comb,  and  the  rasping  of  the 
brush  without  a  murmur :  we  were  going 
to  the  play,  and  we  were  happy.  Dressed,  of 
course,  an  hour  too  soon  ;  drinking  tea  as  a 
mere  form  and  ceremony — for  the  tea  might 
have  been  hay  and  hot  water  (not  impossi- 
ble), and  the  bread  and  butter  might  have 
been  sawdust,  for  anything  we  could  taste 
of  it ;  sitting  with  petful  impatience  in  the 
parlour,  trying  on  the  first  pair  of  white 
kid  gloves,  making  sure  that  the  theatre 
would  be  burnt  down,  or  that  papa  would 
never  come  home  from  the  office,  or  mamma 
prevented,  by  some  special  interference  of 
malignant  demons,  from  having  her  dress 
fastened ;  or  that  (to  a  positive  certainty)  a 
tremendous  storm  of  hail,  rain,  sleet,  and 
thunder  would  burst  out  as  we  stepped 
into  the  cab,  and  send  us,  theatreless,  to  bed. 
We  went  to  the  play,  and  were  happy.  The 
sweet,  dingy,  shabby  little  country  theatre, 
we  declared,  and  believed,  to  be  much  larger 
than  either  Drury  Lane  or  Covent  Garden, 
of  which  little  Master  Cheesewright — whose 
father  was  a  tailor,  and  always  had  orders 
— was  wont  to  brag  !  Dear,  narrow,  un- 
comfortable, faded-cushioned,  flea-haunted, 
single  tier  of  boxes  !  The  green  curtain,  with 
a  hole  in  it,  through  which  a  bright  eye 
peeped  ;  the  magnificent  officers,  in  red  and 
gold  coats  (it  was  a  garrison  town),  in  the 
stage-box,  who  volunteered,  during  the  acts, 
the  popular  catch  of — 

"  Ah  !  how,  Sophia,  can  you  leave 
Your  lover,  and  of  hope  bereave  ?  " 

— for  our  special  amusement  and  delectation, 
as  we  thought  then,  but,  as  we  are  inclined 
to  fear  now,  under  the  influence  of  wine  ! 
The  pit,  with  so  few  people  in  it;  with 
the  lady,  who  sold  apples  and  oranges, 
sitting  in  a  remote  corner,  like  Pomona 
in  the  sulks.  And  the  play  when  it  did  begin 
—stupid,  badly  acted,  badly  got  up  as  it  very 


Charles  Dickens.j 


FIEST  FRUITS. 


191 


likely  was.  Our  intense,  fear-stricken  ad- 
miration of  the  heroine,  when  she  let  her 
back  hair  down,  and  went  mad,  in  blue.  The 
buif-boots  of  Digby  the  manager.  The  funny 
man  (there  never  was  such  a  funny  man)  in 
a  red  scratch  wig,  who,  when  imprisoned  in 
the  deepest  dungeon  beneath  the  castle  moat, 
sang  a  comic  song  about  a  leg  of  mutton. 
The  sorry  quadrille  band  in  the  orchestra,  to 
our  ears  as  scientifically  melodious  as  though 
Costa  had  been  conductor  ;  Sivori,  first  fiddle  ; 
Richardson,  flute  ;  or  Bottesiui,  double  bass. 
The  refreshment,  administered  to  us  by  kind 
hands  during  the  intervals  of  performance, 
never  to  be  forgotten — oranges,  immemorial 
sponge-cakes.  The  admonitions  to  "  sit  up," 
the  warnings  not  to  "  talk  loud,"  in  defiance 
of  which  (seeing  condonatory  smiles  on  the 
faces  of  those  we  loved)  we  screamed  outright 
with  laughter,  when  the  funny  man,  in  the 
after-piece,  essaying  to  scale  a  first  floor 
front  by  means  of  a  rope  ladder,  fell,  ladder 
and  all,  to  the  ground.  The  final  fall  of  the 
green  curtain,  followed  by  an  aromatic  per- 
fume of  orange-peel  and  lamp-oil,  and  the 
mysterious  appearance  of  ghostly  brown 
Holland  draperies  from  the  private  boxes. 
Shawling,  cloaking,  home,  and  more  primaries 
— for  then  it  was  when  we  for  the  first  time 
"  sat  up  late,"  and  for  the  first  time  ever  tasted 
sandwiches  after  midnight,  or  imbibed  a  sip, 
a  very  small  sip,  of  hot  something  and 
water. 

Who  can  lay  his  hand  upon  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  and  say  he  has  forgotten  his  first  watch  1 
Ours  was  a  dumpy  silver  one,  maker's  name 
Snoole,  of  Chichester,  number  seventeen  thou- 
sand three  hundred  and  ten.  Happy  Snoole, 
to  have  made  so  many  watches  ;  yet  we  were 
happy — oh,  how  happy  !  to  possess  even  one 
of  them.  We  looked  at  that  watch  continually; 
we  set  it  at  every  clock,  and  consulted  it 
every  five  minutes  ;  we  opened  and  shut  it, 
we  wound  it  up,  we  regulated  it,  we  made  it 
do  the  most  amazing  things,  and  suddenly 
run  a  little  chain  off  a  wheel  in  a  tearing 
manner  —  after  which  it  stopped.  How 
obliging  we  were  to  everybody  who  wished 
to  know  what  o'clock  it  was  !  Did  we  ever 
go  to  bed  without  that  watch  snug  under 
the  pillow  1  Did  not  a  lock  of  our  sweet- 
heart's hair  have  a  sweet  lurking  place 
between  the  inner  and  outer  cases  ?  Where 
is  that  dumpy  silver  watch — where  the  more 
ambitious  pinchbeck  (there  are  no  pinch- 
beck watches  now)  that  followed  1  Where 
is  the  gold  Geneva,  the  silver  lever  1  How 
many  watches  have  we  bought,  sold,  swopped 
and  bartered  since  then  ;  and  which  of  them  do 
we  remember  half  so  well  as  the  dumpy  silver, 
maker's  name  Snoole,  Chichester,  seventeen 
thousand  three  hundred  and  ten  ! 

And  the  first  lock  of  a  sweetheart's  hair 
brings  me  to  the  primary  of  primaries, — First 
love.  We  don't  believe,  we  can't  believe,  the 
man  who  tells  us  be  has  never  been  in  love, 
and  can't  remember  with  delicious,  and  yet 


melancholy  distinctness,  all  about  it.  We 
don't  care  whether  it  was  the  little  girl  with 
plaited  tails,  in  frilled  trousers,  and  a  pina- 
fore ;  (though  we  never  truly  loved  another) 
or  your  schoolmaster's  daughter,  or  the  lady 
who  attended  to  the  linen  department,  whom 
we  thought  a  Houri,  but  who  was,  probably, 
some  forty  years  of  age.  You  may  have 
loved  Fanny,  Maria,  Louisa,  Sarah,  Martha, 
Harriet,  or  Charlotte,  or  fancied  that  you 
loved  them  since  then  ;  but  in  your  heart  of 
hearts  you  still  keep  the  portrait  of  your 
first  love,  bright. 

By  first  love,  we  mean  what  is  commonly 
known  as  "  calf  love."  Our  reminiscences  of 
real  first  love  are  indissolubly  connected  -with 
a  disrelish  for  our  victuals,  and  a  wild  desire 
to  dress,  regardless  of  expense  ;  of  dismal 
wailings  in  secret ;  of  a  demoniacal  hatred  of 
all  fathers,  cousins,  and  brothers ;  of  hot 
summer  days  passed  in  green  fields,  staring 
at  the  birds  on  the  boughs,  and  wishing — oh 
how  devoutly  wishing! — that  we  were  twenty- 
one  years  of  age. 

The  first  baby  !  The  doctor,  the  imperious 
nurse,  the  nervous  walking  up  and  down  the 
parlour,  the  creaking  stairs,  the  nurse  again, 
imperious  still,  but  now  triumphant.  The 
little  stranger  sparring  like  an  infant  Tom 
Cribb  in  long  clothes.  That  baby's  acts  and 
deeds  for  months !  His  extraordinary  shrewd- 
ness, his  unexampled  beauty,  his  superhuman 
capacity  for  "taking  notice,"  his  admirable 
Crichtonian  qualities.  He  was  a  baby !  An- 
other and  another  little  stranger  have  dropped 
in  since  then.  Each  was  a  baby,  but  not  the 
baby  ! 

We  hope  and  trust  you  may  never  have  had 
this  primary  we  are  about  to  speak  of  1  But 
there  are  some  persons  of  the  male  sex  who 
may  remember  with  sufficient  minuteness  the 
first  time  they  ever  got — elevated.  If  you 
do,  the  impression  will  never  be  eradicated 
from  your  mind.  Competent  persons  have 
declared  you,  on  several  subsequent  occasions, 
to  have  been  incapable  of  seeing  a  hole  in  a 
ladder.  The  earth  seemed  to  spin  round  in  an 
inconsistent  manner ;  the  pavement  was  soft 
— very  soft — and  felt,  you  said,  as  though 
you  were  walking  on  clouds  ;  until  suddenly, 
without  the  slightest  provocation,  it  came 
up  and  smote  you  on  the  forehead.  Of 
course,  you  didn't  fall  down — that  would  have 
been  ridiculous.  Slanderers  declared  that 
you  attempted  to  climb  up  the  gutter,  under 
the  impression  that  it  was  a  lamp-post ;  and, 
being  dissuaded  therefrom,  vehemently  endea- 
voured to  play  the  harp  upon  the  area-railings. 
How  distinctly  you  remember  to  this  day 
how  completely  you  forgot  everything  ;  how 
you  dreamt  you  were  a  water-jug  with  no 
water  in  it — Tantalus,  Prometheus,  Ixion,  all 
rolled  into  one  ;  how  you  awoke  the  next 
morning  without  the  slightest  idea  of  how 
you  got  into  bed  ;  how  sick,  sorry,  and  re- 
pentant you  were  ! 

Being  in  genteel  society,  we  would  not,  of 


192 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


course,  hint  that  any  one  of  our  readers  can 
remember  so  very  low  and  humiliating  a  thing 
as  the  first  visit  to  "  My  Uncle  " — the  first 
pawnbroker.  We  have  been  assured  though, 
by  those  whose  necessities  have  sometimes 
compelled  them  to  resort,  for  assistance,  to 
their  avuncular  relation,  that  the  first  visit — 
the  primary  pawning — can  never  be  forgotten. 
The  timorous,  irresolute  glance  at  the  three 
golden  balls ;  the  transparent  hypocrisy  of 
looking  at  the  silver  forks,  watches  jewelled 
in  an  indefinite  number  of  holes,  china  vases, 
and  Doyley  and  Mant's  Family  Bible  ("to 
be  sold,  a  bargain "),  in  the  window ;  the 
furtive,  skulking  slide  round  the  corner,  to 
the  door  in  the  court  where  the  golden  balls 
are  emblazoned  again,  with  announcements  of 
"  Oflice,"  and  "  Money  Lent :  "  the  mental 
perplexity  as  to  which  of  the  little  cell  doors 
looks  the  most  benevolent ;  and  the  timorous 
horror  of  finding  the  selected  one  occupied  by 
an  embarrassed  shoemaker  raising  money, 
by  debentures,  on  soleless  Wellingtons  and 
Bluchers.  All  these,  we  have  been  told,  are 
memorable  things. 

Another  primary — the  first  death.  The  tan 
before  the  door  ;  its  odour  in  the  house  ;  the 
first  burst  of  grief  when  all  was  over ;  the 
strange  instinctive  way  in  which  those  who 
seemed  to  know  nothing  of  Death  went  about 
its  grirn  requirements.  The  one  appalling, 
never-to-be-forgotten  undertaker's  knock  at 
nine  in  the  evening.  The  steps  on  the  stairs  ; 
the  horrible  agility  and  ghostly  quietness. 
Then,  the  gentle  melancholy  that  succeeded  to 
the  first  bitterness  of  sorrow. 

But,  here  have  we  been  running  over  all 
these  primaries,  and  forgetting  the  first  time 
we  were  ever  treated  as  a  man  !  O  memor- 
able occasion  !  It  was  after  dinner  some- 
where (we  had  gone  there  with  our  sister ; 
only  a  year  older  than  ourself,  but  universally 
admitted  to  be  a  woman,  while  we  unjustly 
laboured  under  the  tremendous  reproach  of 
boyhood)  and  were  left  alone,  with  an  aged 
Being — fifty,  perhaps — who  was  our  host,  and 
another  patriarch  of  forty  or  so.  We  were 
simpering  behind  the  decanters,  extremely 
doubtful  of  our  having  any  business  there, 
when  the  host  uttered  these  remarkable  ex- 
pressions : 

"  Mr.  Bud,  will  you  help  yourself,  and  pass 
the  wine  !  " 

We  did  it,  and  felt  that  we  had  passed  the 
JRubicon  too.  We  helped  ourself  feebly,  awk- 
wardly, consciously.  We  felt  that  they 
were  thinking  '•  Will  he  take  more  than 
is  good  for  him  ?  Will  his  eyes  roll  in 
his  head  ?  Will  he  disappear  beneath  the 
table  ?  "  But  we  did  it,  and  bashfully  sip- 
ped our  wine,  and  even  made  impotent 
attempts  to  close  our  left  eye  critically, 
and  look  at  it  against  the  light.  We  have 
been  promoted  twice  or  thrice  since,  and 
have  even  sat  in  high  places,  and  received 
honor  ;  but  our  host  has  never  said,  with  the 
same  deep  significance — 


"  Mr.  Bud,  will  you  help  yourself,  and  pass 
the  wine  1 " 


TUBAL-CAIN. 


THAT  is  a  curious  old  question — puzzling  to 
others  than  children — "  Where  did  the  first 
brewer  get  the  first  yeast  1 "  We  should  like 
to  know  how  some  other  useful  things  were 
first  made,  without  any  pattern  or  precedent ; 
— brass,  for  instance.  We  may  easily  fancy 
how  the  wandering  men  of  the  East  might 
light  upon  lumps  of  copper,  as  some  Australian 
shepherds  have  lately  struck  their  feet  against 
masses  of  gold,  or  found  that  a  great  stone, 
on  which  they  had  often  sat  down  to  rest,  was 
composed  of  the  precious  metal.  There  is 
more  copper  in  the  world  than  any  other 
metal — than  even  iron,  we  are  told  ;  or,  at 
any  rate,  it  appears  so  to  men  now.  It  peeps 
up,  and  lies  about,  and  draws  attention  by  its 
colours,  when  mixed  with  other  matters,  in 
all  quarters  of  the  globe  ;  and  there  is  no 
reason  why  the  roving  tribes  of  old  Asia 
should  not  have  found  it,  and  observed  how 
easily  it  can  be  hammered,  as  naturally  as  the 
-Red  Indians  in  North  America  have  done. 
But  it  is  less  easy  to  imagine  how  it  came 
into  their  heads  to  melt  and  mix  it  with  other 
metal,  to  make  brass.  One  would  like  to 
know  where  the  first  fire  was  that  made  the 
first  brass ;  and  also  what  was  the  metal 
mixed  with  copper  by  Tubal-cain,  when  he 
taught  artificers  to  make  utensils  of  brass.  It 
is  mentioned  that  he  worked  in  iron,  too  ;  but 
it  is  so  difficult  to  make  iron  and  copper  unite, 
that  no  extensive  manufacture  of  brass  could 
have  gone  on  in  that  way  in  any  age  or  part 
of  the  world.  The  old  Greeks  used  to  make 
their  brass  with  tin.  Perhaps  the  Patriarchs 
did  the  same.  Or  they  might  light  upon 
some  ores  of  zinc,  though  they  had  not  the 
zinc  itself,  which  is  a  very  modern  affair. 
One  might  just  fancy  how  the  ancient  men 
might  make  a  huge  fire  in  some  of  the  lime- 
stone caverns  which  abound  in  their  part  of 
Asia ;  those  caverns,  where  all  operations 
were  carried  on,  which  required  a  better 
shelter  than  a  goafs-hair  tent ;  and  how  the 
metal-workers  might  be  heating  some  copper, 
to  work  it  more  easily  ;  and  how  a  bit  of 
calamine,  or  other  ore  of  zinc,  might  be  acci- 
dentally thrown  on  among  the  copper  ;  and 
how  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  light — one  of 
the  most  beautiful  lights  in  the  world — might 
bubble  up,  and  blaze,  and  suddenly  reveal 
every  crevice  and  projection  of  the  cavern  ; 
and  alarm  the  people  yet  more  by  its  horrid 
smell ;  and  how  they  might  find,  when  the 
fire  was  out,  some  pieces  or  streaks  of  brass 
among  their  copper.  They  would  naturally 
examine  these,  and  find  out  that  this  mixture 
was  harder  than  mere  copper,  and  would 
bear  a  better  edge.  Such  a  discovery  made, 
they  would  easily  get  on  in  the  preparation 
and  use  of  it,  till  they  had  master-workmen, 
like  Tubal-cain.  In  old  Egypt,  the  artificers 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TUBAL-CAIN. 


193 


•were  the  lowest  order  in  society  but  that  of 
the  shepherds,  poulterers,  and  fishermen  ; 
but  that  they  were  skilful  in  brass-working, 
among  other  arts,  we  know  by  Moses  having 
so  much  brass  about  the  Tabernacle  in  the 
Wilderness,  which,  no  doubt,  the  Egyptians 
who  went  with  him  helped  to  make,  after 
having  taught  their  art  to  the  Hebrew  bonds- 
men. The  fastenings  of  the  curtains  were  of 
brass  ;  and  so  were  the  sockets  of  the  pillars, — 
as  we  read  in  the  thirty-sixth  and  thirty- 
eighth  chapters  of  Exodus ;  and  the  great  laver 
or  reservoir  was  also  of  brass.  Considering  all 
this,  and  the  use  the  Greeks  made  of  brass, 
and  after  them  the  Eomans,  who  actually  got 
the  tin  for  the  mixture  from  our  own  island  ; 
it  does  appear  strange  that  no  brass  should 
have  been  made  in  England  till  two  hundred 
years  ago.  In  Germany,  it  had  been  made 
for  centuries  ;  and  we  must  suppose  that  we 
got  from  thence  what  we  wanted  ;  for  there 
•was  none  made  here  till  1649,  when  a  Ger- 
man came  over,  and  settled  at  Esher  in 
Surrey,  and  there  began  to  show  us  how 
to  melt  copper  and  zinc  (or  spelter,  as 
the  merchants  call  it)  together,  to  produce 
that  beautiful,  yellow,  glittering  metal,  with 
which  we  make  our  chandeliers  and  door- 
plates,  and  bed-castors,  and  statues,  and  cast 
our  bells,  and  mount  our  telescopes.  Ah ! 
none  but  those  who  have  seen  it  wrought 
can  tell  how  beautiful  it  is,  before  it  is  spoiled 
with  the  varnish  we  are  obliged  to  put  on, 
to  prevent  its  tarnishing  !  If  its  virgin  tint 
could  be  preserved,  it  would  be  the  most 
beautiful,  perhaps,  of  all  metals. 

From  the  time  of  that  German,  who  settled 
at  Esher,  to  our  own,  our  artificers  have  been 
prevented  from  making  our  brass  work  so 
good,  or  so  cheap,  as  it  might  naturally  have 
been.  The  good  man  and  his  successors  got 
from  abroad  most  of  the  copper  they  wanted; 
this  led  to  our  searching  out  what  we  had  at 
home.  It  was  found  that  we  had  plenty  ; 
so  much,  that  we  could  send  a  great  deal 
abroad.  Heavy  duties  were  laid  on  foreign 
copper,  and  we  were  thus  compelled  to  use 
our -own.  It  is  very  good;  but  it  is  made 
very  much  better  by  being  mixed  with  other 
kinds  from  abroad.  By  free  trade,  we  now 
have  this  advantage.  We  get  copper  from 
Australia  and  from  South  America  ;  and 
zinc,  or  spelter,  from  Siberia ;  and  mix  in 
our  own  copper,  and  make  an  article  so  good 
as  to  command  a  great  foreign  sale.  The 
cost  of  producing  it  is,  as  far  as  the  metal 
is  concerned,  equalised  with  that  of  foreign 
countries  ;  and  thus  we  have  at  once  a  better 
and  a  cheaper  article,  and  an  extending  trade 
abroad. 

There  are  few  of  our  manufactures  prettier 
to  the  eye  of  a  visitor  than  brass-founding. 
The  name  does  not  promise  much  ;  and  the 
greater,  therefore,  is  the  pleasure.  There  is 
so  much  variety  in  it,  that  little  notion  of  it 
can  be  given  in  the  space  of  half-a-dozen 
: ;  but  what  we  can  tell  in  that  space  we 


will.  As  we  like  having  the  best  of  every- 
thing, when  it  can  be  fairly  had,  we  were 
thankful  to  be  permitted  to  go  over  the 
establishment  of  the  present  Mayor  of  Bir- 
mingham, with  the  honour  of  having  the 
Mayor  himself  for  our  guide — the  hardest- 
worked  man  in  Birmingham  just  now,  pro- 
bably, but  as  patient  in  explaining  and 
informing  as  if  he  had  nothing  else  to  do. 

The  mixing  of  the  metals  tells  itself,  for  the 
most  part.  The  mould  for  the  ingots  stands 
at  our  feet,  in  a  shed  where  the  copper  is 
melted  in  the  furnace,  in  pots  of  Stourbridge 
clay.  As  there  is  no  night-work  here,  no 
keeping  up  the  heat  continuously,  as  is  done 
in  glass-houses,  these  pots  do  not  last  as  their 
larger  and  more  important  brethren  do.  They 
are  creatures  of  a  day  ;  to-morrow  but  a  heap 
of  sherds,  to  help  to  make  a  new  generation. 
The  spelter  does  not  need  to  be  melted  in 
pots  :  it  melts,  like  sugar  in  tea,  by  being 
merely  stirred  in  the  hot  liquid.  This  is 
because  a  lower  degree  of  heat  will  melt  zinc 
than  is  required  by  copper.  Here  comes  the 
flaming  hot  jar  of  copper,  carried  by  a  man 
well  armed  with  the  necessary  tongs  ;  another 
man  stands  ready  with  the  piece'  of  spelter. 
He  puts  it  in,  stirs  it  round  to  mix  it 
thoroughly,  and  is  not,  as  we  are  surprised  to 
see,  suffocated  on  the  spot  by  the  fumes. 
There  is  the  beautiful  flame  !  and  we  have 
more  of  it,  flickering  and  sparkling  as  the 
mixture  flows,  red  hot,  into  the  moulds, 
whence  it  will  come  out  as  ingots.  Those 
light  grey  flakes  in  the  air  are  the  sublimated 
zinc.  After  a  whirl  or  two  towards  the 
rafters,  out  they  go  at  window  and  door  ! 
We  ask,  what  are  the  proportions  of  the  two 
metals  ?  and  we  find  that  the  mixture  is 
varied,  according  to  its  destination.  The 
particular:  ingots  at  our  feet  are  two  parts  of 
copper  to  one  of  zinc,  because  the  brass  is 
intended  for  common  articles.  If  for  finer 
purposes,  there  would  be  more  copper.  If 
particular  hardness  or  toughness  is  required, 
or  if  the  metal  must  be  sonorous,  or  of  a 
specified,  colour,  tin,  lead,  iron,  or  other  metals, 
must  be  mixed  with  the  copper.  For  hinges, 
drawer-handles,  brass- nails,  and,  we  suppose, 
warming-pans,  and  kitchen-candlesticks,  this 
mixture  of  two  to  one  is  the  right  thing. 
We  must  remember  that  the  brass  we  see 
made  here  is  only  for  castings.  The  tubing 
for  chandeliers,  &c.,  and  the  plates  for  stamp- 
ing and  pressing,  are  prepared  elsewhere,  by 
those  who  make  metal-tubing,  and  have  an 
establishment  of  rolling-mills.  We  see  here 
plenty  of  sheets  of  brass,  and  abundance  of 
tubing  ;  and  there  are  stamping,  and  punch- 
ing, and  drilling  machines,  and  very  pretty 
work  turned  out  by  them  ;  but  these  things 
have  been  described  before,  and  we  nowj  there- 
fore, apply  ourselves  to  the  study  of  the 
castings. 

For  ornamental  works,  the  process  begins 
in  a  very  different  place  from  a  raftered  shed, 
among  furnaces  and  clay  pots.  It  may  be  iu 


194 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


a  country  churchyard,  under  an  ivied  porch ; 
or  in  the  church  itself ;  or  under  a,  tree  in  a 
park,  where  deer  are  browsing  within  sight ; 
or  on  a  mossy  and  fern-clad  wall ;  or  lying 
on  the  grass,  or  even  in  bed  ;  or  in  the  British 
Museum  ;  or  in  a  quiet  study,  where  the 
light  is  taken  great  care  of.  The  design  is 
the  first  step  ;  and  the  designer  may  have 
derived  ideas  from  altar  railings,  or  from 
great  men's  tombs,  or  from  beasts,  birds,  and 
flowers  ;  or  from  antique  sculpture ;  or  from 
his  own  memory  and  imagination.  Young 
ai-tists  seek  money,  and  give  a  chance  to  their 
ambition,  by  offering  designs  to  eminent 
brass-founders ;  designs  for  chandeliers,  and 
other  articles  of  ornamental  furniture  ;  and 
for  railings,  gates,  &c.  Specific  pieces  of  work, 
such  as  monumental  railings,  statuettes,  and 
brass-plates  for  particular  purposes,  are  done 
from  designs  forwarded  with  the  order. 

Next  to  the  design  comes  the  model.  An 
account  has  been  given  elsewhere  of  modelling 
in  wax,  in  preparation  for  stamping,  pressing, 
and  chasing.  Therefore  we  will  not  tell  what 
pretty  things  of  that  kind  may  be  seen  here, 
but  mention  only  the  wooden  model  made 
from  the  drawing,  for  instance,  of  a  tomb. 
The  wood  is  pear.  It  is  carved  after  the 
design,  and  in  the  same  separate  pieces,  fitting 
into  each  other,  that  will  be  required  by  the 
casting  process.  Here  we  have  in  wood  the 
knobs,  sockets,  fluting,  angles,  that  are  to  be 
reproduced  in  brass.  From  this  wooden 
model  a  cast  is  taken  in  lead,  which  must  be, 
of  course,  its  reverse,  as  the  cast  is  to  produce 
a  brass  copy  of  the  wooden  model.  The 
leaden  cast  is  chased  a  little  ;  then  it  is  cast 
in  brass,  and  well  finished  by  chasing.  Here 
is  the  pattern  complete,  ready  to  take  its 
place  with — how  many  others,  does  the  reader 
think  ?  In  this  establishment  there  are  ten 
tons  of  patterns.  They  are  numbered,  and 
the  number  reaches  one  hundred  thousand. 
Those  whose  business  it  is,  are  so  familiar 
with  this  multitude  of  details,  that  they  can 
almost  instantly  lay  their  hand  on  the  one 
wanted,  or  direct  their  eyes  to  the  pigeon- 
hole in  the  warehouse  where  it  is  deposited. 
At  a  counter  in  that  warehouse  stands  a 
woman  whose  life  is  passed  in  sorting  the 
patterns  as  they  come  in  from  the  casting. 
Hinges,  screws,  knobs,  bolts,  buttons,  nails, 
hooks,  in  vast  variety,  lie  before  her  in  trays, 
and  she  puts  them  by  in  their  proper  places. 
The  walls  are  studded  with  them  ;  drawers 
are  filled  with  them  ;  shelves  are  piled  with 
them ;  pigeon-holes  are  stuffed  with  them. 
In  short,  one  hundred  thousand  of  them  have 
to  be  stowed  away  in  such  a  manner,  as  that 
they  may  be  immediately  found  wlien  wanted. 

With  these  models  is  laid  by  a  great  wealth 
of  steel  dies.  These  are  a  large  investment, 
and  a  very  uncertain  property.  An  ordinary- 
looking  die  may  prove  to  be  worth  its  weight 
in  gold  ;  while  a  pair  which  has  cost  fifty 
guineas  may  not  be  required  to  give  out  as 
many  copies.  And  while  there  may  be  a 


dead  loss  on  such  an  article,  a  batch  of  the 
commonest  brass-headed  nails,  requiring  the 
labour  of  thii'teen  pairs  of  hands,  may  sell  at 
Calcutta  with  a  profit  of  eighteen-peiice  to 
each  person. 

Next  comes  the  casting.  For  the  material 
required,  we  must  look  to  the  cemetery.  It  is 
a  beautiful  cemetery,  with  dark  ivy  spreading 
over  the  face  of  red  sandstone  rock,  in  which 
below  are  vaults  hewn  out,  dry,  dim,  and 
solemn,  with  niches  in  which  ranges  of  coffins 
are  deposited,  while  the  outer  face  presents 
Egyptian  forms  and  symbols.  Below,  where 
there  was  once  this  rock,  there  are  green 
nocks  and  platforms,  where  shrubs  and 
flowers  enclose  flat  gravestones,  and  monu- 
ments of  many  forms  and  devices.  On  either 
side  there  is  undulating  ground,  with  pleasant 
walks,  well  kept,  and  adorned  with  more 
shrubs  and  flowers,  which  again  enclose  green 
spaces,  set  apart  by  families  for  their  dead. 
Amidst  all  the  clearance  required  for  the 
interment  of  such  a  population  as  is  brought 
here  for  its  rest,  there  are  no  unsightly  debris, 
no  heaps  of  rubbish.  As  the  red  rock  retires, 
there  is  no  difficulty  in  disposing  of  the  frag- 
ments scooped  out  or  hewn  down.  They  go 
to  help  the  convenience  and  luxury  of  the 
living  :  to  help  to  make  the  chandeliers  under 
which  the  young  and  gay  will  dance,  and  the 
fire-grates  at  which  the  aged  will  warm  their 
old  blood,  and  the  household  articles  which 
will  spread  the  conveniences  of  home  through 
cities  and  mountain  retreats  in  another  hemi- 
sphere. The  cost  of  this  cemetery  is  largely 
defrayed  by  the  sale  of  its  red  sand  to  the 
metal-founders  of  the  town.  It  is  a  very  fine 
sand,  remarkably  free  from  impurities.  When 
wetted  and  flattened,  it  looks  as  smooth  as 
can  well  be ;  but  for  facings,  and  when  a  very 
fine  surface  is  required,  it  is  mixed  with  coal- 
dust  and  flour,  and  its  bed  is  smoked  with  a 
torch. 

The  mould  consists  of  two  boxes,  which, 
when  filled,  are  bolted  together,  the  sand  on 
their  faces  meeting,  except  in  the  hollow 
made  by  the  pattern,  and  the  channel  through 
which  the  metal  is  to  flow.  The  moist  sand 
is  firmly  rammed  down  in  each,  round  the 
pattern.  Wherever  there  are  recesses  in  the 
pattern,  they  are  filled  in  with  sand.  If  the 
article  is  to  be  hollow,  it  is  "  cored  "  by  the 
pattern  being  filled  with  sand.  There  are,  in 
fact,  four  methods  of  casting.  Common 
articles,  like  drawer-handles,  bolts,  knobs,  and 
hinges,  are  cast  solid.  In  such  a  case,  we  see 
the  face  of  the  mould  stuck  all  over  with 
patterns,  as  close  as  they  will  properly  lie, 
which  are  to  leave  their  hollow  impression  to 
be  filled  up  by  the  molten  metal.  This  is 
"common  casting."  The  next  is  called 
"common-face  casting;"  and  that  is  when 
flat  ornamented  pieces  are  required,  as  for 
door-plates.  The  third  is  "  cored  "  casting, 
as  for  gas-fittings,  or  other  articles  required 
to  be  hollow.  In  these  a  mould  is  taken 
from  the  inside  of  the  pattern,  as  well  as  the 


Charles  Dickens.,1 


TUBAL-CATN. 


195 


outside,  and  carefully  inserted  in  the  great 
mould,  so  as  to  leave  a  hollow  of  the  right 
thickness,  to  be  filled  up  with  the  metal.  The 
fourth  is  the  "  false-cored  "  casting.  This  is 
used  for  irregular  figures  which  must  be  cast 
in  one  piece.  If,  for  instance,  a  wreath  of 
leaves  is  to  be  cast,  the  ins  and  outs  are  care- 
fully taken  off  the  pattern  in  masses  of 
pressed  sand,  which  are  cautiously  transferred 
to  the  mould,  and  pinned  down  in  their  right 
places.  "  False  coring  "  is  practised  also  in 
the  casting  of  figures  of  men  and  animals,  as 
it  is  on  a  larger  scale  in  the  case  of  bronze 
statues.  Of  course,  much  metal  is  saved  by 
this,  and  the  inconvenience  of  excessive 
weight  is  avoided.  It  may  be  added,  that 
duty  is  charged  by  weight,  on  such  articles  as 
these,  in  foreign  countries  ;  and  the  utmost 
reduction  of  their  weight  is  therefore  desira- 
ble. The  cores  of  sand  are  built  up,  like 
bricks,  before  the  casting,  and  are  removed 
afterwards  by  pushing  out  the  sand  through 
holes  left  for  the  purpose. 

When  the  pattern  has  made  its  complete 
impression,  and  is  removed,  a  channel  is 
scooped  in  the  sand,  from  the  impression  to 
the  marginal  hole  in  the  mould  ;  and  the  one 
box,  containing  one  side  of  the  impression,  is 
screwed  down  upon  the  other,  containing  the 
other  half.  When  eight  moulds  are  thus 
prepared, — one  containing,  perhaps,  a  single 
figure,  and  another  as  many  as  a  hundred, — 
there  is  enough  for  "  a  heat."  Men  bring  the 
molten  metal  from  the  furnace  in  ladles,  and 
pour  it  into  the  holes  in  the  mould,  till  there 
is  a  brimming  over  of  the  red  stream  at  the 
mouth  of  each  channel.  Before  we  turn  our 
backs  on  the  casting  process,  we  must  observe 
how  the  brass  hook  of  a  screw  is  fastened  on  ; 
for  this  is  an  article  in  such  extensive  use 
that  any  saving  of  time  and  labour  in  the 
production  of  it  is  of  importance.  Formerly, 
the  joining  was  done  by  hand, — each  screw 
being  heated  and  hammered,  and  attended  to 
individually,  as  nails  once  were.  Now,  the 
only  thing  necessary  is  to  lay  the  screw,  pre- 
pared with  a  "  nick,"  to  dovetail,  as  it  Avere, 
the  brass  to  itself,  in  a  running  stream  of 
molten  brass.  The  figure  of  the  hook  is  im- 
pressed in  the  sand,  and  the  screw  is  laid  so 
as  to  join  it  :  then,  when  the  metal  enters, 
the  article  makes  itself,  to  the  great  saving  of 
time,  and  convenience  of  the  manufacturer. 

When  the  articles  are  cool,  there  is  easy 
work  for  the  boys  ;  breaking  off  the  cast 
articles  from  the  metal  in  the  channels,  and 
then  poking  out  the  sand  from  the  "  cored  " 
articles.  They  poke  away,  as  if  they  liked 
the  business.  The  sand  requires  more  re- 
moving than  this,  however.  There  is  a  churn 
in  the  yard,  in  which  the  articles  are  whirled 
round;  till  all  the  sand  is  shaken  out  of  them. 

Here  we  have  articles,  and  parts  of  articles, 
rough,  dull,  and  so  dark  that  one  would 
hardly  know  them  to  be  brass.  The  orna- 
mental brasses  have  their  edges  smoothed  by 
the  file  ;  and  the  commoner  articles  are  deli- 


rered  over  altogether  to  the  file  and  the 
•urning-lathe,  to  be  smoothed  and  made  neat 
ind  clean.  The  higher  order  of  productions 
\re  to  be  more  respectfully  treated  ;  they  are 
o  be  pickled  and  dipped.  This  is  one  of  the 
srettiest  processes  of  all.  Heads  of  animals, 
wreaths  of  flowers,  statuettes,  figured  plates 
of  various  sorts  and  sizes,  may  be  beautiful  in 
*orm  and  device  ;  but  all  are  dark,  with  oxi- 
dation, as  well  as  oil  and  dirt.  They  are  put 
into  a  bath  of  acids  and  water.  The  acids 
are  nitric  and  sulphuric,  which,  mixed,  are 
aquafortis.  In  this  diluted  aquafortis  they 
ie,  till  the  outer  surface,  with  all  impurities, 
is  eaten  off.  Then  they  are  dipped  in  a  suc- 
ession  of  tubs,  till,  coming  at  last  out  of 
pure  aquafortis,  they  are  of  the  prettiest 
olour  that  can  be  seen.  It  is  a  sad  pity  that 
they  cannot  so  remain  ;  for,  to  change  their 
liue  is  really  to  half-spoil  them.  But  it  can- 
not be  helped.  They  would  tarnish  imme- 
diately, if  not  secured  against  it  by  a  process 
which  we  shall  see  presently. 

We  must  not  tell  all  we  witnessed  of  the 
turning,  and  soldering,  and  polishing,  because 
we  have  described  the  same  things  before : 
and  though  one  sees  the  processes  with  fresh 
pleasure,  when  applied  to  new  kinds  of  ar- 
ticles, that  pleasure  cannot  be  communicated 
in  print.  For  instance,  it  was  like  something 
new  to  us  to  see  holes  drilled  in  a  gas-burner, 
and  understand  how  the  flame  of  the  jet  is 
made  twenty  per  cent,  better  by  these  holes 
being  drilled  in  the  burner ;  but,  to  the 
reader,  the  process  is  just  the  same  as  the 
drilling  of  the  four  holes  in  a  brace-button. 
Again,  if  we  were  to  describe  the  magnum 
candlesticks  which  stood  about  like  pillars,  it 
would  merely  put  people  in  mind  of  the 
Electro-plating  establishment ;  as  the  cutting 
the  links  of  brass  chains  would  of  the  gold 
chain  manufactory.  But,  oh  !  the  beauty  of 
those  candlesticks,  and  of  the  ornamented 
parts  of  the  gas-fittings,  and  of  the  most  mas- 
sive of  the  chains  !  And  the  ingenuity  too  ! — 
the  cleverness  with  which  the  tubing  is  con- 
cealed in  gas-furniture,  and  with  which  the 
swinging  of  chandeliers  is  provided  for,  by  the 
rolling  of  the  ball  to  which  the  chain  is 
fastened  within  another  ball,  so  as  to  allow 
perfect  freedom  without  permitting  the  least 
escape  !  And  again,  the  endless  variety  of 
lamps,  and  especially  of  solar  lamps,  which 
are  in  great  demand  from  foreign  countries, 
where  oil  of  various  qualities  abounds  !  On 
these  things  we  must  not  enlarge,  but  rather 
observe  the  finishing  of  the  articles. 

The  technical  term  "  finishing "  means 
putting  together  the  parts  to  make  the  article 
complete  ;  but  as  the  word  slips  from  our 
pen,  it  means  putting  the  last  finish  of  beauty. 
The  technical  "  finishing "  is  done  by  the 
soldering  with  which  we  are  familiar.  As 
for  our  meaning  of  the  word,  it  leads  us  to 
the  counters  of  the  burnishers.  The  bur- 
nishers here  are  not  women,  as  at  some  estab- 
lishments near.  This  work,  of  burnishing 


196 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


brass,  is  too  hard  for  women.  The  strongest 
men  look  as  if  it  was  enough  for  them.  They 
rub  away  with  their  hard  steel  burnishers,  or 
with  bloodstones  ;  they  rub  away  at  a  veiu- 
ing  of  a  leaf  here,  at  the  swelling  of  an  acorn 
or  a  grape  there,  at  the  niceties  of  a  pattern, 
of  which  a  part  is  to  be  left  "dead."  Such 
common  things  as  hinges  and  door-handles 
are  polished  by  a  brush  and  rottenstoue. 
While  seeing  these  things,  we  have  been 
passing  from  room  to  room,  from  counter  to 
counter  ;  moving  among  scores  of  machines, 
till  the  place  appears  a  labyrinth  of  unknown 
extent.  The  gas-fitting  stock,  and  the  prepa- 
ration of  it,  seems  like  a  great  establishment 
in  itself.  But  we  are  coming  to  the  end  of 
the  business.  We  are  to  see  the  final  process 
of  lacquering. 

This  is  the  process  which  we  alluded  to  as 
being  such  a  pity,  spoiling  as  it  does  the  beauty 
of  the  hue  of  the  metal.  But  this  lacquering 
is  essential  to  its  preservation.  If  it  could  be 
dispensed  with,  it  certainly  would,  for  out  of 
this  process  come  the  greatest  annoyance  and 
expense  of  the  manufacturer.  The  coating 
consists  of  seed-lac  and  spirit  of  wine.  Now, 
the  duty  on  spirit  of  wine  is  so  high  that  the 
cost  of  the  la'jquer  amounts,  in  an  establish- 
ment employing  three  hundred  people,  to  no 
less  than  two-thirds  of  the  rent.  In  many 
large  establishments,  the  cost  of  this  raw 
material,  essential  to  the  manufacture,  is  not 
less  than  from  ten  shillings  to  twenty  shillings 
per  day ;  while  foreigners  obtain  for  four 
shillings  and  sixpence  articles  which  we  have 
to  pay  eighteen  shillings  or  nineteen  shillings 
for.  In  order  to  compete  with  the  French 
and  Germans  under  such  a  disadvantage  as 
this,  the  manufacturer  has  to  lower  his  own 
profits,  and  his  people's  wages  ;  so  that  the 
operation  of  this  pernicious  duty  is  truly 
disastrous  on  a  large  working-class.  Here, 
again,  we  meet,  as  everywhere,  complaints  of 
the  paper-duty  ;  and  it  is  proved,  to  our  con- 
viction, that  the  wrapping-up  of  some  of  the 
commoner  articles  in  this  manufacture  costs 
-more  than  the  finished  article  itself.  This  is 
very  ridiculous  and  very  sad  ;  hard  upon  the 
maker  at  home,  and  the  purchaser  abroad. 
Another  thing  ridiculous  enough,  but  tending 
to  lessen  sadness  when  discovered,  is  a  mis- 
take made  by  the  statistical  calculators,  who 
have  been  alarming  us  all  about  the  deadly 
amount  of  spirit-drinking  in  England.  Gen- 
tlemen sitting  at  desks,  to  calculate  from 
Excise  and  Customs  returns,  without  being 
familiar  with  the  processes  of  our  manufac- 
tures, may  easily  fall  into  such  mistakes  ;  but 
it  is  a  great  comfort  to  have  them  cleared  up. 
Such  an  enormous  error,  for  instance,  as  the 
negligent  supposition  that  all  the  spirit  of 
wine  used  in  lacquering  here,  and  everywhere 
else,  is  the  sort  of  spirit  that  may  go  down 
somebody's  throat !  If  three  hundred  or 
four  hundi'ed  pounds  a-year  is  charged  against 
this  establishment,  and  as  much  to  a  dozen 
or  two  of  other  brassfounders  in  the  town,  as 


spirituous  liquors,  what  a  libel  it  is  upon  the 
place  !  and  how  comforting  it  is  to  discover 
that,  instead  of  our  people  spending  seventy 
millions  per  year  in  intoxicating  drinks,  some 
gentlemen  in  London  have  something  to  learn 
about  the  application  of  distilled  spirits  in 
the  arts  of  life !  We,  as  a  nation,  tax  ourselves 
dismally  enough  for  strong  drinks  :  but  we 
are  not  yet  such  a  nation  of  sots  as  to  drink 
all  the  spirits  of  wine  on  which  duty  is 
paid. 

After  talking  this  over,  we  almost  fear  to 
enter  the  rooms  where  the  lacquering  is 
going  on,  lest  we  should  be  drunk  with  the 
fumes,  and  so  have  to  take  our  place  among 
the  sots  who  lie  under  this  spirituous  cen- 
sure. But,  though  the  air  is  sufficiently 
loaded,  it  is  not  in  an  intoxicating  way. 
There  sit  companies  of  women,  looking  sober 
enough.  One  wonders  that  they  can  be 
healthy,  sitting  in  such  a  heat,  and  in  such 
a  smell.  They  earn  good  wages.  The  de- 
mand for  female  handiwork,  in  Birmingham, 
has  .so  increased,  that  women's  wages  have 
risen  lately  about  twenty  per  cent.  Here, 
some  are  earning  eleven  shillings  per  week, 
under  the  disadvantage,  we  must  remember, 
of  the  duty  on  lacquer.  The  lacquer  is  laid 
on  Avith  a  brush,  while  the  article  is  hot ;  so 
that  the  spirit  evaporates,  leaving  a  coating 
of  the  gum.  Sometimes  the  lacquer  is 
coloured.  We  saw  some  green  ;  an  imitation 
of  bronze,  not  very  successful,  but  in  some 
demand,  or  it  would  not  be  there.  We  need 
not  say  that  the  commonest  lacquer  gives 
simply  a  deeper  yellow  to  the  brass. 

Next,  and  lastly  (as  the  farthest  wajr  about 
is  the  nearest  way  home),  we  step  into 
Bohemia.  We  have  only  to  say  we  are  there, 
and  there  is  evidence,  all  about  us,  of  the 
fact.  Rows  and  layers  of  exquisite  glass  fill 
the  chamber,  and  everybody  who  enters  it  is 
subject  to  a  fever  about  lamp-stands.  We 
must  not  go  into  any  raving  about  them,  as 
our  subject  is  brass;  but  we  may  just  men- 
tion one  solid  fact,  that  the  dark-red  lamp- 
stands,  so  splendidly  produced  in  Bohemia 
are  to  be  eschewed,  as  they  absorb  the  light. 

Now,  thought  we — as  we  came  away,  with 
some  of  the  beautiful  designs  we  had  seen, 
lodged  in  certain  of  the  best  chambers  of  our 
brain — what  are  we  about,  that  we  do  not 
offer  our  reverence  to  the  spirit  of  Art  in 
Birmingham,  as  we  do  in  old  Italy,  or  any 
other  place,  that  is  only  far  enough  off  in 
space  or  time  ?  Why  do  we  dare  to  talk  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  and  other  divine  crafts- 
men, with  reverence,  while  giving  no  heed  to 
the  extraordinary  progress  of  popular  Art  in 
our  own  towns,  and  our  own  day  1  It  must 
be  from  ignorance,  for  it  is  impossible  to 
despise  some  things  that  are  done  among  us 
now ;  but  that  ignorance  makes  our  talk 
about  ancient  Art,  and  foreign  Art,  look  very 
like  affectation.  We  should  like  to  know 
how  many  British  travellers — who  rush  into 
enthusiasms  about  fountains  in  Germany  and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  TALE  OF  MID- AIR 


197 


Italy — will  trouble  themselves  to  go  and  look 
at  the  fountain  just  opened  in  the  Market 
House,  at  Birmingham  ?  And,  if  they  go, 
what  will  they  say  ?  How  will  they  bring 
in  the  word  "  Brummagem  1 "  Will  they 
venture  to  apply  it  to  the  four  bronze  boys 
who  represent  Birmingham  ?  There  they 
are  :  the  one  shouldering  his  musket  ;  and 
another  blowing  his  bubble  of  glass — boy- 
fashion  ;  and  the  third — thoughtful  one — 
Avith  his  sextant  in  his  hand,  and  a  cog-wheel 
by  his  side ;  and  the  fourth,  proud  and  careful 
of  his  charge  of  an  elegant  vase  !  Will  no 
charm  be  found  here,  because  these  symbols 
are  of  native  conception  ?  Will  the  bronzes 
below  be  slighted,  while  sure  of  admiration 
if  fancied  to  be  ancient  1  the  four  groups 
and  garlands — the  fish,  the  poultry,  the  vege- 
tables, and  the  flowers  and  fruit  ?  These 
things  will  not,  at  least,  be  despised  by  those 
who  see  most  of  them.  The  Birmingham 
people  seem  to  enjoy  their  vocation,  more 
than  any  townful  of  people  we  ever  remember 
to  have  seen.  Their  taste,  and  their  scientific 
faculties,  find  a  constant  gratification  in  the 
pursuit  of  their  ordinary  business.  It  is  on 
behalf  of  persons  who  know  little  of  the 
place,  that  one  forms  the  wish  that  we  could 
all  relish  beauty,  wherever  it  is  to  be  found, 
and  honour  Art,  whatever  may  be  the  name 
of  its  dwelling-place.  Tubal-cain  has  always 
been  an  interesting  person,  from  his  having 
begun  his  hard  work  so  extremely  early  in 
human  life.  It  is  absurd  to  despise  his  later 
and  prettier  doings,  because  the  roar  of  his 
furnace  and  the  whiz  of  his  tools  are  among 
not  only  the  imagery  of  books,  but  the 
common  sounds  of  every  day. 


A  TALE  OF  MID-AIE. 


IN  a  cottage  in  the  valley  of  Sallanches, 
near  the  foot  of  Mont  Blanc,  lived  old  Bernard 
and  his  three  sons.  One  morning  he  lay  in 
bed  sick,  and,  burning  with  fever,  watched 
anxiously  for  the  return  of  his  son,  Jehan, 
who  had  gone  to  fetch  a  physician.  At 
length  a  horse's  tread  was  heard,  and  soon 
afterwards  the  doctor  entered.  He  examined 
the  patient  closely,  felt  his  pulse,  looked  at  his 
tongue,  and  then  said,  patting  the  old  man's 
cheek,  "  It  will  be  nothing,  my  friend — 
nothing  ! "  but  he  made  a  sign  to  the  three 
lads,  who,  open-mouthed  and  anxious,  stood 
grouped  around  the  bed.  All  four  withdrew 
to  a  distant  corner,  the  doctor  shook  his  head, 
thrust  out  his  lower  lip,  and  said,  "  'Tis  a 
serious  attack — very  serious— of  fever.  He 
is  now  in  the  height  of  the  tit,  and  as  soon  as 
it  abates,  he  must  have  sulphate  of  quinine." 

"  What  is  that,  doctor  1 " 

"  Quinine,  my  friend,  is  a  very  expensive 
medicine,  but  which  you  may  procure  at 
Sallanches.  Between  the  two  fits  your  father 
must  take  at  least  three  francs  worth.  I  will 
write  the  prescription.  You  can  read,  Guil- 
laume  ?  " 


"  Yes,  doctor." 

"  And  you  will  see  that  he  takes  it  1 " 

"  Certainly." 

When  the  physician  was  gone,  Guillaume, 
Pierre,  and  Jehan  looked  at  each  other  in 
silent  perplexity.  Their  whole  stock  of  money 
consisted  of  a  franc  and  a  half,  and  yet  the 
medicine  must  be  procured  immediately. 

"  Listen,"  said  Pierre,  "  I  know  a  method 
of  getting  from  the  mountain  before  night 
three  or  four  five-franc  pieces." 

"  From  the  mountain  ? " 

"I  have  discovered  an  eagle's  nest  in  a 
cleft  of  a  frightful  precipice.  There  is  a 
gentleman  at  Sallanches,  who  would  gladly 
purchase  the  eaglets  ;  and  nothing  made  me 
hesitate  but  the  terrible  risk  of  taking  them  ; 
but  that 's  nothing  when  our  father's  life  is 
concerned.  We  may  have  them  now  in  two 
hours." 

"  I  will  rob  the  nest,"  said  Guillaume. 

"  No,  no,  let  me,"  said  Jehati,  "  I  am  the 
youngest  and  lightest." 

"I  have  the  best  right  to  venture,"  said 
Pierre,  "  as  it  was  I  who  discovered  it." 

"  Come,"  said  Pierre,  "  let  lis  decide  by 
drawing  lots.  Write  three  numbers,  Guil- 
laume, put  them  into  my  hat,  and  whoever 
draws  number  one  will  try  the  venture." 

Guillaume  blackened  the  end  of  a  wooden 
splinter  in  the  fire  ;  tore  an  old  card  into  three 
pieces  ;  wrote  on  them  one,  two,  three,  and 
threw  them  into  the  hat. 

How  the  three  hearts  beat  !  Old  Bernard 
lay  shivering  in  the  cold  fit,  and  each  of  his 
sons  longed  to  risk  his  own  life,  to  save  that 
of  his  father. 

The  lot  fell  on  Pierre,  who  had  discovered 
the  nest ;  he  embraced  the  sick  man. 

"  We  shall  not  be  long  absent,  father,"  he 
said,  "  and  it  is  needful  for  us  to  go  together." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  1 " 

"  We  will  tell  you  as  soon  as  we  come  back." 

Guillaume  took  down  from  the  wall  an  old 
sabre,  which  had  belonged  to  Bernard  when 
he  served  as  a  soldier  ;  Jehan  sought  a  thick 
cord  which  the  mountaineers  use  when  cutting 
down  trees  ;  and  Pierre  went  towards  an  old 
wooden  cross,  reared  near  the  cottage,  and  knelt 
before  it  for  some  minutes  in  fervent  prayer. 

They  set  out  together,  and  soon  reached  the 
brink  of  the  precipice.  The  danger  consisted 
not  only  in  the  possibility  of  falling  several 
hundred  feet,  but  still  more  in  the  probable 
aggression  of  the  birds  of  prey,  inhabiting  the 
wild  abyss. 

Pierre,  who  was  to  brave  these  perils,  was 
a  fine  athletic  young  man  of  twenty-two. 
Having  measured  with  his  eye  the  distance  he 
would  have  to  descend,  his  brothers  fastened 
the  cord  around  his  waist,  and  began  to  let 
him  down.  Holding  the  sabre  in  his  hand,  he 
safely  reached  the  nook  that  contained  the 
nest.  In  it  were  four  eaglets  of  a  light  yellow- 
ish-brown colour,  and  his  heart  beat  with  joy 
at  the  sight  of  them.  He  grasped  the  nest 
firmly  in  his  left  hand,  and  shouted  joyfully 


198 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


to  his  brothers,  "  I  have  them !  Draw  me 
up !  " 

Already  the  first  upward  pull  was  given  to 
the  cord,  when  Pierre  felt  himself  attacked 
by  two  enormous  eagles,  whose  furious  cries 
proved  them  to  be  the  parents  of  the  nestlings. 

"  Courage,  brother  !  defend  thyself !  don't 
fear  ! " 

Pierre  pressed  the  nest  to  his  bosom,  and 
with  his  right  hand  made  the  sabre  play 
around  his  head. 

Then  began  a  terrible  combat.  The  eagles 
shrieked,  the  little  ones  cried  shrilly,  the 
mountaineer  shouted  and  brandished  his 
sword.  He  slashed  the  birds  with  its  blade, 
which  flashed  like  lightning,  and  only  rendered 
them  still  more  enraged.  He  struck  the  rock, 
and  sent  forth  a  shower  of  sparks. 

Suddenly  he  felt  a  jerk  given  to  the  cord 
that  sustained  him.  Looking  up  he  perceived 
that,  in  his  evolutions,  he  had  cut  it  with 
his  sabre,  and  that  half  the  strands  were 
severed  ! 

Pierre's  eyes,  dilated  widely,  remained  for 
a  moment  immovable,  and  then  closed  with 
terror.  A  cold  shudder  passed  through  his 
veins,  and  he  thought  of  letting  go  both  the 
nest  and  the  sabre. 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  eagles  pounced 
on  his  head,  and  tried  to  tear  his  face.  The 
Savoyard  made  a  last  effort,  and  defended 
himself  bravely.  He  thought  of  his  old 
father,  and  took  courage. 

Upwards,  still  upwards,  mounted  the  cord : 
friendly  voices  eagerly  uttered  words  of  en- 
couragement and  triumph  ;  but  Pierre  could 
not  reply  to  them.  When  he  reached  the 
brink  of  the  precipice,  still  clasping  fast  the 
nest,  his  hair,  which  an  hour  before  had  been 
as  black  as  a  raven's  wing,  was  become  so 
completely  white,  that  Guillaume  and  Jehan 
could  scarcely  recognise  him. 

What  did  that  signify  ?  the  eaglets  were  of 
the  rarest  and  most  valuable  species.  That 
same  afternoon  they  were  earned  to  the 
village  and  sold.  Old  Bernard  had  the  medi- 
cine, and  every  needful  comfort  beside,  and  the 
doctor  in  a  few  days  pronounced  him  con- 
valescent. 


THE  HARMONIOUS  BLACKSMITH. 


I  LEAVE  Carlisle  early  this  fine  morning, 
in  no  way  matrimonially  inclined.  I  set  out 
to  explore  the  recesses  of  Gretna  Green  with 
perfect  confidence.  This  confidence  is  the 
result  of  two  facts.  The  first,  that  I  am  a 
married  man  ;  the  second,  that  bigamy  is  im- 
possible, since  I  have  no  lady  with  me. 
Through  dark  boglands,  and  past  prim  fir- 
plantations,  the  train  whisks  me  to  the  station, 
the  name  of  which  an  uupoetical  station- 
porter  shouts  into  railway  carriages,  without 
a  thought  of  the  flutter  into  which  it  throws  a 
young  lady  deeply  veiled,  who  is  sitting  in  the 
first-class  compartment  nearest  the  engine.  I,  a 
married  man  with  a  houseful  of  children,  hear 


the  word"  Gretna  "  with  no  kind  of  emotion  ; 
but  two  fellow-passengers  are  ready  to  bless  the 
only  official  who  announces  the  arrival  of  the 
train  at  the  charmed  spot.  Yet  I  do  feel  a  kind 
of  nervous  interest  in  the  place.  I  think  of  the 
scenes  which  have  been  acted  here  ;  of  the 
fathers  who  have  stamped  furiously  upon  this 
classic  ground ;  of  the  trembling  girls  who  have 
hurried  hence  across  the  Border,  and  to  the 
famous  Hall,  to  dream  of  unclouded  happiness 
shining  every  step  of  the  way  from  that  spot 
to  their  distant  grave.  I  think  of  the  cunning 
lovers  who  used  to  engage  all  the  post-horses 
of  Carlisle,  so  that  their  pursuers  might  not 
reach  them  before  the  marriage  ceremony  was 
over  ;  of  the  impudent  impositions  of  the 
Carlisle  postboys  ;  of  the  determined  lover 
who  shot  the  horses  of  his  pursuer  from  the 
carriage  window  ;  and  of  other  memorable 
matters  with  which  Gretna  is  associated  in 
the  minds  of  most  of  us.  If  there  be  a  touch 
of  poetry  in  my  present  reflections,  that  touch 
is  speedily  effaced  by  the  spirit  of  competition 
that  arises  before  me.  A  couple,  evidently 
bent  upon  matrimony,  though  they  are 
making  painful  efforts  to  appear  at  their  ease, 
and  to  regard  the  place  with  a  placid  indiffe- 
rence, are  addressed  eagerly  by  one  or  two 
men  of  common  appearance.  Are  these  indi- 
viduals making  offers  for  the  conveyance  of 
the  couple's  luggage  ?  The  station-man  looks 
on  at  the  warm  conference,  with  a  sardonic 
grin ;  and,  with  a  quick  twitch  of  the  head, 
draws  the  attention  of  the  guard  to  the  in- 
teresting group.  The  tram  goes  forward,  and 
the  conference  breaks  up.  One  of  the  men 
conducts  the  lady  and  gentleman  to  a  little 
red-brick  hotel  close  by ;  and  the  others 
retire  discontentedly.  I  inquire  about  this 
rivalry,  and  am  informed  that  it  is  a  clerical 
contest.  And  here  I  am  made  party  to  a 
curious  local  secret.  This  little  red-brick 
hotel  is  the  property  of  Mr.  Murray. 
Mr.  Murray  also  inhabits  the  famous  toll- 
bar  which  is  on  the  Scotch  bank  of  the 
little  stream  that  marks  the  borders  of  the 
country.  Thus  this  sagacious  toll-keeper 
pounces  upon  the  couples  at  the  station  ; 
removes  them  to  his  "  Gretna  Hotel,"  and  then 
drives  them  down  a  narrow  lane,  and  over  the 
bridge  to  the  toll-bar,  where  he  marries  them. 
In  this  way  it  appears  Murray  has  contrived 
to  monopolise  five-sixths  of  the  trade  matri- 
monial. It  should  be  observed,  however,  by 
persons  about  to  marry,  that  there  is  a  Gretna 
station,  and  a  Gretna  Green  station ;  and 
that  the  latter  is  the  point  which  deposits 
happy  couples  opposite  Gretna  Hall.  How- 
ever, as  I  am  altogether  ignorant  of  the 
superior  convenience  of  the  "  Green  "  station, 
I  may  be  pardoned  the  mistake,  which  makes 
a  walk,  in  a  dense  shower  of  rain,  through 
slippery  lanes,  a  necessity.  I  advance  briskly, 
however ;  pass  the  famous  toll-bar,  near 
which  a  bluff  Scotch  ploughboy  is  yoking 
horses  to  a  waggon,  and  presently  approach 
the  Green.  It  is  a  pretty  place  enough,  but 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  HARMONIOUS  BLACKSMITH. 


199 


very  quiet  and  very  muddy  just  now.     The  ( three  different  places,  lest  the  interesting  fact 
Green  is  a  triangular  patch  of  ragged  turf, ' 


in  front  of  the  village"  church.  The  church 
is  rather  dirty  and  neglected  in  its  ap- 
pearance than  old  ;  and  from  the  roof 
hangs  a  stout  cord;  which  is  attached  to 
the  bell,  and  is  now  lazily  rocking  to  and  fro 
in  the  breeze.  Children  of  various  sizes,  and 
in  indescribable  costumes,  stare  at  me  from 
various  cottage-doors.  It  is  evident  that  I  am 
taken  for  a  young  man  bent  upon  marriage. 
I  turn  to  the  left,  and  through  a  gateway  to 
the  Hall.  It  is  evident  that  no  marriage 
is  going  forward  to-day.  Desolate,  and 
thoroughly  soaked  with  rain,  appears  the 
large  square  house,  flanked  on  one  side  by  a 
farm-yard.  I  advance,  under  cover  of  some 
tall  trees,  to  the  front  door.  It  is  closed  and 
barred.  T  give  a  perfectly  metropolitan  double 
knock.  In  a  few  minutes  a  man — rather  a 
surly  man,  I  think — begins  leisurely  to  with- 
draw the  bolts.  Seeing  me  alone,  he  looks  a 
little  surprised  —  perhaps  disappointed.  I 
begin  to  feel  that  I  ought  to  apologise  for 
coming  without  a  lady.  I  boldly  ask  whether 
I  can  breakfast  at  the  Hall.  The  man  does 
not  oblige  me  with  a  direct  answer ;  but 
pointing  to  the  right,  growls  that  he  will 
send  somebody  to  me,  and  disappears. 

I  advance  into  a  long  low  room.  It  is  a 
curious  mixture  of  a  village  tap-room,  with 
the  pretensions  of  an  hotel.  At  one  end  a 
massive  sideboard  displays  a  quantity  of 
valuable  plate  ;  over  the  mantel-piece  is  an 
engraving  after  Turner ;  but,  to  the  left  of  this 
production,  is  one  of  those  compositions  which, 
about  a  century  ago,  were  admired  in  all  the 
country  villages  of  England,  Scotland,  and 
Ireland.  A  woman  with  a  crimson  lake  face  is 
looking,  with  a  blotched  expression  of  affection, 
upon  a  child  whose  head  seems  to  have 
dropped  casually  upon  shoulders  made  for 
some  other  infant,  and  the  colours  of  whose 
frock  run  into  various  surrounding  objects. 
This  production  bears  the  following  touching 
couplet : — 

"  Come,  father's  hope,  and  mother's  glory, 
Now  listen  to  a  pretty  story." 

I  am  hardly  convinced  that  I  am  in  the 
celebrated  Gretna  Hall  till  I  have  read  the 
directions  to  visitors,  which  are  pasted  upon 
the  looking-glass.  "  Please  not  to  write  on 
the  walls,  windows,  or  shutters,  &c."  Having 
read  this  direction  I  am  convinced  that  I  have 
reached  a  place  where  many  curious  country- 
men have  been  before  me.  I  turn  to  the  win- 
dows, and  at  once  recognise  the  necessity  for 
the  request.  Every  pane  is  covered  with  names, 
sorry  jests,  and  revelations  of  ages,  professions, 
and  other  matters.  W.  Thorborne,  of  Man- 
chester, has,  I  find,  left  his  celebrated  name, 
coupled  with  the  inference  that  he  possesses, 
or  did  possess,  a  diamond  ring,  upon  one 
"window,  in  company  with  S.  Goodacre  of 
Liverpool.  But  G.  Howell,  also  of  Liverpool, 
has  recorded  his  visit  to  the  Hall  in  two  or 


should  be  lost  to  posterity. 

Upon  one  window  I  find  this  instructive  sen- 
tence : — "John  Anderson  made  a  fool  of  himself 
in  Gretna,  1831."  It  is  information  also  that 
"  Sally  Norton,  late  Sally  Western,"  has  been 
here,  and  that  the  fame  of  the  place  has  at- 
tracted hither  "  Jane  Stordy,  of  Stanway." 
A  greasy  book,  in  shape  like  a  ledger,  marked 
'  Visitors'  Book,"  lies  upon  the  window-sill. 
Many  pages  have  been  torn  away  ;  so  that  the 
only  records  it  now  contains  date  back  only  to 
last  October.  The  entries  consist  of  a  series  of 
very  melancholy  jokes.  The  first  remarkable 
name  I  notice  is  that  of  Maria  Manning,  to  . 
which  name  some  obliging  historian  has  sub- 
sequently added  the  words  "hanged  since." 
"  Brick,  from  London,"  is  the  next  entry,  and 
he  is  followed  by  an  "  Early  Closing  Quadrill 
Party."  It  strikes  me  as  a  pity  that  before 
forming  a  "  Quadrill "  party,  the  party  did 
not  form  a  spelling  class.  I  next  find  that  a 
wit  of  the  North  has  recorded  his  visit  in 
these  words  :  "  David  Rae,  thief-catcher, 
Dumfries  ;"  and  that  a  lady  has  been  carried 
away  by  the  high  spirits  of  the  foregoing,  to 
this  extent  :  "Mrs.  Grimalkin  (to  be  Mrs. 
Gabriel  Grub)." — Here  I  am  interrupted  by 
the  entrance  of  a  widow,  who  announces 
herself  as  the  relict  of  the  late  parson  of  the 
Hall,  Mr.  Linton.  She  offers  me  a  substantial 
breakfast,  and  while  it  is  preparing,  is  not 
disinclined  to  answer  any  questions  I  may  put 
on  the  subject  of  the  matrimonial  trade.  Of 
course,  thinking  with  the  rest  of  my  country- 
men that  Gretna  Green  marriages  are  of  rare 
occurrence  now-a-days,  I  begin  by  asking 
how  long  it  is  since  the  last  marriage  was 
celebrated  at  the  Hall.  The  old  lady  very 
quietly  turns  >to  her  maid  who  is  laying  the 
breakfast  cloth,  and  says  —  "  Was  it  Tuesday 
or  Monday  last,  that  couple  came  ?  " 

The  maid,  holding  a  substantial  joint  of 
cold  meat  in  her  hand,  while  she  thinks  on 
the  subject,  replies  presently,  "Monday." 

I  am  surprised,  and  inform  Mr.  Linton's 
widow  that  it  was  my  impression  Gretna 
marriages  were  quite  matters  of  the  past. 
She  assures  me,  in  reply,  that  they  have  a 
good  sprinkling  still  throughout  the  year ; 
but  not  so  many  as  twenty  or  thirty  years 
ago,  when  her  husband  first  began.  She  dis- 
appears for  a  few  minutes.  Ha  !  here  she 
comes,  with  some  heavy  substance  carefully 
tied  up  in  an  old  silk  handkerchief.  •  She 
deposits  her  load  upon  the  table  (having  pre- 
viously brushed  the  place),  deliberately 
arranges  her  massive  spectacles,  and  now 
carefully  unties  her  treasure.  Two  gaudily- 
bound  books  lie  before  me  ;  I  am  about  to 
open  them  eagerly,  but  the  widow  of  Mr. 
Linton  will  not  allow  the  volumes  to  suffer 
my  desecrating  touch.  She  gently  repulses 
my  hand,  and  carefully  opens  the  thickest. 
The  thin  volume  is  an  index  to  the  thick 
one,  which  is  a  formal  register  of  the  mar- 
riages celebrated  at  the  Hall.  The  entries, 


200 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


however,  only  reach  back  to  1826  ;  yet 
the  list  includes  many  celebrated  names. 
The  widow  proudly  points  to  one  or  two 
German  dukes,  to  Miss  Penelope  Smith  and 
her  princely  betrothed,  to  the  well-known 
name  of  Sheridan,  to  Lady  Adela  Villiers 
and  her  husband.  Against  all  the  notable 
couples,  distinguishing  marks  are  placed. 
Having  shown  me  these  signatures,  the  old 
lady  carefully  spreads  out  the  silk  handker- 
chief, upon  which  I  find  a  rude  map  of  Eng- 
land is  printed,  re-covers  her  treasure,  and 
holds  it  securely  in  her  arms  while  she  conti- 
nues to  talk  to  me.  She  tells  me  that,  in  times 
gone  by,  it  was  by  no  means  unusual  to  give  the 
Gretna  Green  parson  as  much  as  one  hundred 
pounds ;  and  that  fifty  pounds,  even  lately, 
was  not  at  all  an  uncommon  marriage-fee. 
The  parson  charges  according  to  the  ostensible 
means  of  the  contracting  parties.  "  Old  Lang" 
was  the  regular  village  parson  before  the  late 
Mr.  Liuton  began.  Mr.  Linton  confined  his 
attention  entirely  to  marrying  runaway 
couples.  She  knows  nothing  about  the 
blacksmith,  and  doesn't  believe  such  a  man 
ever  married  couples.  As  far  as  she  knows, 
these  kind  of  marriages  began  to  be  cele- 
brated at  Gretiia  about  one  hundred  years 
ago. 

I  express  a  wish  to  see  the  room  in  which 
the  marriages  at  the  Hall  are  celebrated. 
The  widow  of  Mr.  Linton  directs  me  down  a 
long  passage,  past  two  cases  of  stuffed  owls, 
to  a  long  room,  fitted  up  with  some  care  ;  and 
from  the  bow-windows  of  which  there  is  a 
picturesque  view  of  the  village.  It  is  a  quaint 
room.  Over  the  doorway  stands  a  huge 
model  of  a  ship.  The  pictures  exhibit  an  odd 
taste.  On  one  side  is  a  painting,  in  which 
Cupid  and  Venus  are  represented  ;  and  op- 
posite are  two  large  pieces  of  canvas,  covered 
with  horsemen  in  the  vigorous  pursuit  of  the 
fox  ;  upon  which  scenes,  the  placid  counte- 
nance of  a  Quaker  is  serenely  gazing.  The 
bow-window  is  marked  with  the  initials  of 
various  captains — the  captains,  I  remark, 
strangely  predominate  among  the  visitors. 
Opening  by  a  door  from  this  room,  is  the 
bridal  chamber,  fitted  up  luxuriously  with 
yellow  satin-damask  hangings.  Even  here, 
the  English  habit  of  scrawling  upon  furniture 
is  indulged.  I  open  the  looking-glass  drawer, 
and  even  herein  find  these  inscriptions  : — 
"  Thomas  Parker  to  Mother  Vv7almsley." 
"  Joseph  Lee  to  Betty  Booth." 

Strangely  interested  in  the  peculiarities  of 
the  Hall,  I  return  to  the  breakfast-table.  I 
find  that  sentiment  has  not  preyed  upon  my 
appetite.  I  do  perfect  justice  to  the  fine 
haddock  and  the  exquisite  marmalade  pro- 
vided by  the  widow  of  Mr.  Lintoii.  I  am 
so  interested  in  this  village,  that  I  think  I 
will  take  a  stroll,  and  return  to  dine  at  the 
Hall.  I  intimate  this  intention  to  the  maid, 
and  emerge  upon  the  green,  determined  to 
know  something  more  of  Gretua  aud  its 
marriage-trade. 


A  dirty  road,  hedged  by  cottages,  leads  to 
the  village,  which  is  within  the  same  parish  as 
Gretna,  and  is  called  Springfield.  This  village 
is  larger  than  its  more  famous  neighbour  ; 
the  houses  are  larger,  there  is  more  apparent 
life,  and  it  boasts  two  or  three  inns.  It 
appears  to  me  highly  probable  that  at  one  of 
these  inns  I  shall  hear  much  quaint  gossip 
about  Gretna  marriages.  I  enter  the  most 
inviting.  The  kitchen  at  once  forcibly  re- 
minds me  of  one  of  Wilkie's  village  sketches. 
Even  the  details  of  the  scene  suggest  the 
pencil  of  the  great  Scotchman.  The  solid 
black  chairs  placed  under  the  overhanging 
chimney  ;  the  huge  black  pot  suspended  by  a 
powerful  crane  over  the  fire  ;  the  mud  floor  ; 
the  old  clock  in  a  rude  case  ;  the  milk-pails  in 
a  row  upon  a  shelf  ;  the  limited  crockery  of 
the  establishment  proudly  arranged  in  a  cup- 
board, the  door  of  which  is  intentionally  open. 
The  figures,  too,  are  Wilkie's.  Before  the  win- 
dow is  a  cutting-board,  upon  which  sits — her 
pretty  feet  dangling  in  the  air — the  village 
dressmaker.  As  I  advance  towards  the  fire,  I 
notice  the  figure  of  a  young  Scot  (with  his 
broad  bonnet)  turning  over  the  leaves  of  a 
very  greasy  song-book — but  chiefly  occupied 
casting  furtive  glances  at  the  young  lady  upon 
the  cutting-board.  These  are  obviously  lovers, 
and  I  am  obviously  no  welcome  intruder. 
However,  the  landlord,  a  broad,  squat  man, 
with  much  to  say  about  his  ale,  puts  a  cheerful 
face  upon  matters,  and  stands  ready  to  furnish 
anything  I  may  request  in  the  shape  of  re- 
freshment. I  order  a  glass  of  whiskey,  and 
hope  the  landlord,  will  drink  one  with  me. 
My  invitation  is, accepted.  I  think  I  may 
now  fairly  open  the  question  of  Gretna — or 
rather  Springfield — marriages.  I  ask,  by  way 
of  jest,  whether  mine  host  has  ever  married 
stray  couples.  The  girl  behind  me  titters, 
and  the  father  fairly  laughs  at  my  simplicity. 
"  Married  any  ?  Ay,  a  many  of  them,  in  this, 
very  room  ;  and  fine  folk,  too  !  " 

Twirling  a  willow  stick  in  his  hand,  and 
kicking  his  heels  against  the  legs  of  a  table 
upon  which  he  is  sitting,  mine  host  gossips, 
as  nearly  as  I  can  follow  him,  in  this  wise  : — 

"  Ay  !  there  have  been  a  many  marriages  in 
this  room.  Lord  Erskine  was  married  where 
I  am  sitting — in  woman's  clothes  ;  his  lady 
held  her  children  under  her  cloak  the  while. 
The  people  who  come  to  be  married  now  are 
mostly  poor  people — a  great  many  of  them 
being  from  Edinburgh.  They  can  as  easily  be 
married  anywhere  in  Scotland  ;  somehow, 
they  come  here  :  the  place  is  known  for  it,  I 
suppose.  But  here  comes  Lang  ;  he  will  be 
able  to  tell  you  more  than  I  can." 

A  spare  old  man,  dressed,  not  as  a  simple 
villager,  but  with  a  pretension  to  gentility  and 
to  a  clerical  simplicity,  hobbles  into  the  room, 
rubbing  his  left  leg  vigorously.  He  is  suffering 
an  acute  attack  of  rheumatism  ;  yet  this  does 
not  prevent  him  from  taking  his  seat  at  a 
little  round  table,  and  accepting  the  tumbler 
of  whiskey  which  I  offer  him.  He  refuses, 


diaries  Dickens.] 


THE  HARMONIOUS  BLACKSMITH. 


201 


I  notice,  to  spoil  the  spirit  by  the  admix- 
ture of  water ;  but  continues,  even  when 
seated,  to  rub  vigorously  the  calf  of  hi 
leg.  He  apprehends  at  once  that  his  expe- 
rience as  a  parson  is  to  be  pumped  from 
him  ;  he  gives  himself  up  cheerfully  to  the 
operation.  He  seems  to  know  that  he  is  an 
object  of  curiosity  to  all  visitors,  and  is,  there- 
fore, not  particularly  nattered  by  the  interest 
I  appear  to  take  in  him.  Of  course  I  ask  him, 
as  an  opening  question,  whether  there  is  any 
truth  iu  the  blacksmith  legend.  To  my 
astonishment,  I  find  that  the  blacksmith  is 
utterly  unknown  in  these  parts.  There  stands 
the  landlord  expressing  unfeigned  surprise. 
He  who  had  lived  all  his  life  here,  has  never 
heard  of  the  blacksmith  ! 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure  !  "  continues  Parson  Lang 
— vigorously  rubbing  his  leg  the  while — 
"  Old  Colthard,  as  far  as  I  can  tell,  was  the 
first  regular  Gretna  Green  parson.  He  nou- 
rished somewhere  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty  years  ago.  He  was  either  a  regular 
blacksmith  or  a  nailer — I  can't  say  which. 
His  old  house  is  pulled  down,  now ;  it  used 
to  stand  on  the  ground  where  the  school 
now  stands,  or  close  there."  I  show  par- 
ticular interest  in  the  parson's  narrative, 
which  amuses  the  girl  upon  the  cutting- 
board  and  her  sly  lover  with  his  greasy  song- 
book.  I  ask  Lang  whether  he  can  trace  the 
parsons — that  is  to  say,  the  regular  parsons — 
from  Colthard  down  to  himself. 

Still  vehemently  rubbing  his  leg,  Parson 
Lang  continues  :  "  To  be  sure  I  can.  After 
Colthard — let  me  see — came  Pasley  and  Elliot, 
who  both  flourished  together  :  Pasley  was  my 
father's  uncle.  Then  came  my  father,  old 
Parson  Lang,  as  they  called  him.  He  lived 
at  the  Hall,  and  married  people  in  the  busy 
days  of  Gretna  Green.  Afcer  him,  I  came  :  " 
which  advent  appears  to  the  parson  to  con- 
stitute the  climax  of  the  curious  histoiy. 
"  But,"  he  goes  oil  statistically,  "  weddings 
continued  to  increase  up  to  the  year  1833, 
when,  I  should  say,  they  amounted  to  three 
hundred  or  thereabouts.  After  that  they  fell 
off.  They  now  average  about  one  hundred 
a-year. 

I  now  make  an  unfortunate  allusion  when 
I  inquire  whether  Parson  Lang  is  in  the  habit 
of  officiating  at  the  Hall. 

"  No,"  the  parson  replies,  rubbing  his  leg 
with  great  vehemence,  and  indulging  in  a 
sarcastic  smile  ;  "  no,  no  ;  I  have  nothing  to 
do  with  the  Hall  ;  there  they  seem  to  think  a 
shoemaker,  who  lives  opposite,  can  marry  as 
well  as  anybody  else." 

I  see  at  once  that  this  is  a  sore  point  with 
the  parson.  I  change  the  topic  by  asking 
whether  the  villagers  of  Springfield  and 
Gretna  are  married  at  the  Hall,  or  by  Parson 
Lang.  This  question  highly  amuses  the 
lovers,  who  interchange  significant  glances. 
"  Oh  deai',  no  !  "  Parson  Lang  replies  ;  "  I 
have  been  married  twice,  but  was  always 
asked  iu  church  ;  so  are  all  hereabouts.  I 


hardly  know  how  Gretna  first  came  to  be 
celebrated  for  marriages  ;  but  I  have  heard 
some  story  like — once  a  queen  was  returning  to 
England  from  Scotland  with  an  army.  Well, 
the  soldiers  were  followed  by  a  number  of 
women  who  were  in  love  with  them,  to  the 
border  hereabouts  ;  and  then,  when  they  were 
to  part  with  them,  they  all  set  a-greeting, 
which  means  crying  ;  and  this,  folks  say,  gave 
the  village  the  name  of  Greta  or  Gretna 
Green.  However,  the  queen  was  so  touched 
by  the  distress  of  the  women,  that  she  made 
the  officers  act  on  the  spot  as  parsons,  and 
marry  the  women  at  once  to  the  soldiers ; 
and  then  they  all  went  to  the  south  to- 
gether." The  parson  now  begins  to  philo- 
sophise a  little  about  the  facilities  offered  in 
Scotland  to  persons  about  to  marry ;  and 
intersperses  his  theories  with  many  illustra- 
tive anecdotes.  But  whenever  I  touch  upon 
the  subject  of  fees,  he  is  discreetly  silent.  He 
seems  to  admit  that  they  vary  considerably ; 
I  suspect  from  a  silver  coin  and  a  glass  of 
whiskey,  to  a  bank-note  of  considerable  value. 
He  remembers  that,  only  two  years  ago,  a 
waiter  at  the  chief  Carlisle  hotel,  got  married, 
at  short  intervals,  to  three  of  his  fellow- 
servants  ;  that,  to  this  day,  the  fellow  has 
been  allowed  to  go  unpunished,  and  that  he 
has  returned  to  his  first  love.  Having  gleaned 
these  facts  from  Parson  Lang,  I  begin  to 
think  about  my  dinner  at  the  Hall.  The 
parson  condescends  to  shake  hands  with  me, 
the  eyes  of  the  lovers  sparkle  as  they  see  me 
rise  to  depart,  and  the  landlord,  as  I  pass 
into  the  road,  bids  me  a  hearty  farewell. 

The  widow  of  Mr.  Linton  has  prepared  me 
a  very  snug  dinner.  While  I  am  enjoying  it, 
she  brings  me  a  copy  of  the  forms  filled  up 
by  the  persons  who  are  married  at  her  esta- 
blishment. While  I  proceed  with  my  salmon, 
the  reader  may  amuse  himself  with  the  docu- 
ment. Here  is  a  literal  copy  of  it : — 

KINGDOM     OF     SCOTLAND. 

COUNTS   OF  DUMFRIES, 

PARISH     OP    GRETNA. 

THESE  are  to  Certify  to  all  to  whom  these  Presents 
may  come,  That  ,  from  the  parish 

of  ,  in  the  county  of  , 

and  ,  from  the  parish  of  , 

iu  the  county  of  ,  being  now  here  present, 

and  having-  declared  themselves  single  persons,  were 
this  day  Married,  agreeable  to  the  Laws  of  Scotland, 
as  witness  our  hands. 

Gretna  Hall,  this        day  of 

Witnesses      •< 

I  find  that  excellent  cigars  are  obtainable 
at  the  Hall.  I  attribute  this  to  the  fact  that 
captains  generally  smoke.  Provided  with 
many  suggestive  facts,  I  take  leave  of  the  late 
parson's  establishment,  not  dissatisfied  with 
the  method  with  which  his  disconsolate  widow 
carries  on  her  business.  Gretua  Hall — the 
ancestral  seat  of  the  Maxwells — is  still  licensed 


202 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


to  sell  marriage  contracts  ;  and  I  can  assure 
persons  about  to  marry,  will  provide  an  ex- 
cellent dinner  for  those  prosaic  visitors  who 
do  not  pretend  to  live  upon  love  altogether. 
I  hear  the  railway  bell. 

THE  GREAT  BRITISH  GUM  SECRET. 

IN  the  course  of  inquiries,  by  which  we 
were  enabled  to  draw  up  the  article  on  Queen's 
Heads  (vol.  iv.,  p.  510),  we  were  shown,  in  the 
"  adhesive  "  department  of  Messrs.  Perkins 
and  Company's  establishment,  several  large 
barrels  filled  with  a  fine  powder,  of  a  dark 
straw  colour.  This  powder  is,  we  were  told, 
the  basis  of  the  adhesive  paste  with  which 
the  backs  of  postage  labels  are  coated. 

"It    is    composed   of   1"   we    asked, 

helping  the  tip  of  the  tongue  with  a  taste 
of  it. 

"  That,"  said  our  cicerone,  "was  a  secret." 

We  have  since  learnt  the  mighty  secret. 

In  journeying  from  Dublin  westward,  by 
the  banks  of  the  Liffey,  we  pass  the  village  of 
Chapelizod,  and  hamlet  of  Palmerstown.  The 
water  power  of  the  Liffey  has  attracted  ma- 
nufacturers at  different  times,  who,  with 
less  or  greater  success,  but,  unfortunately, 
with  a  general  ill- success,  have  established 
works  there.  Paper-making,  starch-making, 
cotton-spinning  and  weaving,  bleaching  and 
printing  of  calicoes,  have  been  attempted. 
But  all  have  been  in  turn  abandoned,  though 
occasionally  renewed  by  some  new  firm  or 
private  adventurer.  Into  the  supposed  causes 
of  failure  it  is  not  here  necessary  to  inquire. 
The  manufacture  of  starch  has  survived 
several  disasters. 

The  article  British  gum,  which  is  now  so 
extensively  used  by  calico-printers,  by  makers- 
up  of  stationery,  by  the  Government  in  pos- 
tage-stamp making,  and  in  various  industrial 
arts,  was  first  made  at  Chapelizod.  Its  origin 
and  history  are  somewhat  curious. 

The  use  of  potatoes  in  the  starch  factories 
excited  the  vehement  opposition  of  the  people, 
whose  chief  article  of  food  was  thus  consumed 
and  enhanced  in  price.  These  factories  were 
several  times  assailed  by  angry  multitudes, 
and  on  more  than  one  occasion  set  on  fire  by 
means  never  discovered.  The  fires  were  not 
believed  to  have  been  always  accidental. 

On  the  fifth  of  September,  1821,  George 
the  Fourth,  on  his  return  to  England  from 
visiting  Ireland,  embarked  at  Dunleary  har- 
bour, near  Dublin.  On  that  occasion  the 
ancient  Irish  name  of  Dunleary  was  blotted 
out,  and  in  honour  of  the  royal  visit  that  of 
Kingston  was  substituted.  In  the  evening 
the  citizens  of  Dublin  sat  late  m  taverns 
and  at  supper  parties.  Loyalty  and  punch 
abounded.  In  the  midst  of  their  revelry  a 
cry  of  "  fire  "  was  heard.  They  ran  to  the 
streets,  and  some,  following  the  glare  and  the 
cries,  found  the  fire  at  a  starch  manufactory 
near  Chapelizod.  The  stores  not  being  of  a 
nature  to  burn  rapidly,  were  in  great  part 


saved  from  the  fire,  but  they  were  so  freely 
deluged  with  water,  that  the  starch  was 
washed  away  in  streams  ankle-deep  over  the 
roadways  and  lanes  into  the  Liffey. 

Next  morning,  one  of  the  journeymen 
block-printers — whose  employment  was  at  the 
Palmerstowu  print-works,  but  who  lodged  at 
Chapelizod — woke  with  a  parched  throat  and 
headache.  He  asked  himself  where  he  had 
been.  He  had  been  seeing  the  King  away  ; 
drinking,  with  thousands  more,  Dunleary  out 
of,  and  Kingston  into,  the  map  of  Ireland. 
Presently,  his  confused  memory  brought  him 
a  vision  of  a  fire  :  he  had  a  thirsty  sense  of 
having  been  carrying  buckets  of  water  ;  of 
hearing  the  hissing  of  water  on  hot  iron  floors ; 
of  the  clanking  of  engines,  and  shouts  of  people 
working  the  pumps  ;  and  of  himself  tumbling 
about  with  the  rest  of  the  mob,  and  rolling 
over  one  another  in  streams  of  liquefied 
wreck,  running  from  the  burning  starch 
stores. 

He  would  rise,  dress,  go  out,  inquire  about 
the  fire,  find  his  shopmates,  and  see  if  it  was 
to  be  a  working  day,  or  once  again  a  drinking 
day.  He  tried  to  dress  ;  but — a — hoo  ! — his 
clothes  were  gummed  together.  His  coat 
had  no  entrance  for  his  arms  until  the  sleeves 
were  picked  open,  bit  by  bit  ;  what  money 
he  had  left  was  glued  into  his  pockets  ;  his 
waistcoat  was  tightly  buttoned  up  with — 
what  1  Had  he  been  bathing  with  his  clothes 
on,  in  a  sea  of  gum-arabic — that  costly  article 
used  in  the  print-works  1 

This  man  was  not  the  only  one  whose 
clothes  were  saturated  with  gum.  He  and 
four  of  his  shopmates  held  a  consultation,  and 
visited  the  wreck  of  the  starch  factory.  In 
the  roadway,  the  starch,  which,  in  a  hot, 
calcined  state,  had  been  watered  by  the  fire- 
engines  the  night  before,  was  now  found  by 
them  lying  in  soft,  gummy  lumps.  They,  took 
some  of  it  home  ;  they  tested  it  in  their  trade  ; 
they  bought  starch  at  a  chandler's  shop,  put 
it  in  a  frying-pan,  burned  it  to  a  lighter  or 
darker  brown,  added  water,  and  at  last  dis- 
covered themselves  masters  of  an  article, 
which,  if  not  gum  itself,  seemed  as  suitable 
for  their  trade  as  gum-arabic,  and  at  a  fraction 
of  the  cost. 

It  was  their  own  secret ;  and,  could  they 
have  conducted  their  future  proceedings  as 
discreetly  as  they  made  their  experiments, 
they  might  have  realised  fortunes,  and  had 
the  merit  of  practically  introducing  an  article 
of  great  utility — one  which  has  assisted  in 
the  fortune-making  of  some  of  the  wealthiest 
firms  in  Lancashire  (so  long  as  they  held 
it  as  a  secret),  and  which  now  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  British  empire  manufacture  for 
themselves. 

Its  subsequent  history  is  not  less  curious 
than  that  just  related.  Unfortunately  for  the 
operative  block-printers,  who  discovered  it, 
their  share  in  its  history  is  soon  told. 

It  is  said  that  six  of  them  subscribed  money 
to  send  one  of  their  number  to  Manchester 


Charlei  Dickcns.j 


PKIVILEGES  OF  THE  FRENCH  NOBILITY. 


203 


•with  samples  of  the  new  gum  for  sale ;  the 
reply  which  he  received  from  drysalters  and 
the  managers  of  print-works,  was  either  that 
they  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  his  sam- 
ples, or  an  admonition  to  go  home  for  the 
present,  and  return  when  he  was  sober.  His 
fellow-workmen,  hearing  of  his  non-success 
and  fearing  the  escape  of  the  secret,  sent 
another  of  their  number  to  his  aid  with  more 
money.  The  two  had  no  better  success  than 
the  one.  The  remaining  four,  after  a  time, 
left  their  work  at  Dublin,  and  joined  the  two 
in  Manchester.  They  now  tried  to  sell  their 
secret.  Before  this  was  effected,  one  died ; 
two  were  imprisoned  for  a  share  in  some 
drunken  riots ;  and  all  were  in  extreme 
poverty.  What  the  price  paid  for  the  secret 
was,  is  not  likely  to  be  revealed  now.  Part  of 
it  was  spent  in  a  passage  to  New  Orleans, 
where  it  is  supposed  the  discoverers  of  British 
gum  did  not  long  survive  their  arrival. 

The  secret  was  not  at  first  worked  with 
success.  It  passed  from  its  original  Lancashire 
possessor  to  a  gentleman  who  succeeded  in 
making  the  article  of  a  sufficiently  good  qua- 
lity ;  and  at  so  low  a  price  that  it  found  a 
ready  introduction  in  the  print-works.  But 
he  could  not  produce  it  in  large  quantity 
without  employing  assistants,  whom  he  feared 
to  trust  with  a  knowledge  of  a  manufacture 
so  simple  and  so  profitable.  In  employing 
men  to  assist  in  some  parts  of  the  work,  and 
shutting  them  out  from  others,  their  curiosity, 
or  jealousy,  could  not  be  restrained.  On  one 
or  two  occasions  they  caused  the  officers  of 
Excise  to  break  in  upon  him  when  he  was 
burning  his  starch,  under  the  allegation  that 
he  was  engaged  in  illicit  practices.  His  ma- 
nufactory was  broken  into  in  the  night  by 
burglars,  who  only  wanted  to  rob  him  of 
his  secret.  Once  the  place  was  maliciously 
burned  down.  Other  difficulties,  far  too 
numerous  for  present  detail,  were  encountered. 
Still,  he  produced  the  British  gum  in  sufficient 
quantities  for  it  to  yield  him  a  liberal  income. 
At  last,  in  a  week  of  sickness,  he  was  pressed 
by  the  liead  of  a  well-known  firm  of  calico- 
printers  for  a  supply.  He  got  out  of  bed; 
went  to  his  laboratory  ;  had  the  fire  kindled  ; 
put  on  his  vessel  of  plate-iron ;  calcined  his 
starch,  added  the  water,  observed  the  tem- 
perature ;  and  all  the  while  held  conversa- 
tion with  his  keen-eyed  customer,  whom  he 
had  unsuspectingly  allowed  to  be  present. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  this  acute  calico- 
printer  never  required  any  more  British  gum 
of  the  convalescent's  making.  Gradually  the 
secret  spread,  although  the  original  purchaser 
of  it  still  retained  a  share  of  the  manufacture. 

When  penny  postage  came  into  operation, 
it  was  at  first  doubtful  whether  adhesive 
labels  could  be  made  sufficiently  good  and 
low-priced,  which  would  not  have  been  the 
case  with  gum-arabic.  British  gum  solved 
the  difficulty  ;  and  the  manufacturer  made  a 
contract  with  Messrs.  Perkins,  Bacon,  and 
Heath,  to  supply  it  for  the  labels.  In  the 


second  year  of  his  contract,  a  rumour  (alluded 
to  in  our  article  on  Queen's  Heads)  was 
spread,  that  the  adhesive  matter  on  the  postage 
itamps  was  a  deleterious  substance,  made  of  the 
refuse  of  fish,  and  other  disgusting  materials. 
The  great  British  gum  secret  was  then  spread 
far  and  wide.  The  public  was  extensively 
informed  that  the  postage-label  poison  was 
made  simply  of — potatoes. 


CHIPS. 


PRIVILEGES  OF    THE  FRENCH  NOBILITY. 

A  RECENT  decree  of  the  President  of  the 
French  Republic  has  restored  their  titles  to 
the  nobility  of  France  ;  but,  judging  from  the 
lion's  share  of  power  which  the  Restorer  has 
taken  for  himself,  it  does  not  seem  likely  that 
the  privileges  enjoyed  by  that  once  highly 
favoured  class  are  likely  to  be  euperadded, 
by  way  of  making  the  titles  of  any  real 
value.  So  much  the  better  ;  for  it  must  be 
confessed  that  those  privileges  were,  accord- 
ing to  all  reasonable  notions  of  liberty,  tyran- 
nically excessive  both  in  number  and  degree. 
Happening  to  fall  in  with  an  unpublished 
document  (copied  about  five  years  since  from 
the  "  Archives  du  Royaume  ")  bearing  upon 
the  subject  of  "privileged  nobility,"  we 
thought  we  might  as  well  add  this  mite  of 
information  to  the  general  stock. 

It  was  not  simply  in  the  affairs  of  this 
world  that  privilege  was  claimed  by  and  con- 
ceded to  those  of  royal  or  noble  lineage : 
their  "  great  greatness  " — as  Jonathan  Wild 
would  have  called  it — could  only  be  satisfied 
by  spiritual  as  well  as  by  temporal  advantages. 
An  amusing  instance  of  the  liberal  view 
which  the  higher  classes  in  France  were  in 
the  habit  of  taking  of  the  excesses  of  their 
royal  masters,  is  given  in  the  following 
anecdote  related  in  the  Memoires  de  Dangeau. 

On  the  27th  of  September,  1693,  Prince 
Philip,  one  of  the  "  hopes  "  of  France,  sud- 
denly departed  this  life,  after  having  diver- 
sified his  career  by  every  vice  that  could 
deform  it.  A  knot  of  courtiers  were  moralising 
on  the  event  in  one  of  the  ante-chambers 
of  Versailles,  and  expressing  their  doubts  of 
His  Royal  Highness's  fitness  for  the  celestial 
spheres,  when  they  were  interrupted  by 
Madame  la  Marechale  de  la  Mailleraye,  who, 
with  an  air  of  profound  conviction,  observed, 
with  no  wilful  intention  to  utter  blasphemy — 
"  I  assure  you  God  thinks  twice  before  he 
condemns  persons  of  the  Prince's  quality." 

These  royal  personages  were  also  prepared 
for  Heaven  after  a  fashion  of  their  own.  In 
taking  the  Sacrament  the  Princes  and  the 
Princesses  of  the  blood  did  not  communicate 
with  the  common  wafer  such  as  the  people 
swallowed,  but  had  a  kind  manufactured  for 
themselves  ;  and  the  Memoirs  above  cited 
tell  us  that  the  Dauphine  was  once  "  put  to 
much  inconvenience  "  by  having  to  wait,  the 
priest  who  officiated  having  forgottea  to 


204 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


prepare  an  exclusive  wafer  (" hostie  choisie") 
for  her  use. 

It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  these  "  exclusives  " 
fancied  they  condescended  in  allowing  them- 
selves to  be  redeemed  at  all ;  and  the  Cha- 
noine-Comtes  of  the  Chapter  of  Saint  John 
of  Lyons  were  so  impressed  with  their  own 
dignity,  that  they  actually  refused  to  kneel 
during  the  celebration  of  mass  and  elevation 
of  the  host ;  and  what  was  more  extra- 
ordinary, were  confirmed  iu  this  "  privilege  " 
(which  Louis  the  Fourteenth  abrogated)  by 
an  ecclesiastical  decree.  The  Canonesses  of 
Verdun  also  enjoyed  the  same  immunity  from 
genuflexion,  and  wore  their  heads  covered 
at  the  religious  processions. 

The  Abbe  de  Pompadour,  who,  although 
a  clergyman,  was  of  the  secular  order,  was 
of  opinion  that  it  would  be  as  serviceable 
to  his  soul,  as  probably  it  was,  if  he  said  his 
prayers  by  deputy  ;  he  accordingly  gave  his 
valet  extra  wages  to  read  his  breviary  for 
him  in  the  ante-chamber,  while  he,  most  likely, 
was  playing  at  cards  in  the  salon.  This  pious 
Abb6  died  in  1710. 

We  could  multiply  anecdotes  like  the  above, 
but  our  document  awaits  us.  It  is  intituled, 
"  Petition  of  the  Dukes  and  Duchesses" 
(M.Mgrs.  les  Dues  et  M.Mmes.  les  Duchesses) 
"  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of  Orleans, 
Regent,"  and  commences  in  the  following 
(humble)  strain  : — 

"MONSEIGNEUR, — So  little  respect  is  paid 
to  us  in  public  ('  dans  le  monde '),  that  it  is 
necessary  we  should  have  an  express  law 
enacted  to  replace  us  iu  our  rights  and  pri- 
vileges, with  regard  to  the  people,  the  inferior 
nobility,  and  the  clergy.  Who  can  be  ignorant 


on  their  arrival,  those  who  are  sitting  there 
must  immediately  withdraw  ;  any  other  ar- 
rangement, Monseigneur,  would  neither  be 
just  nor  endurable.  A  peer  has  no  occasion 
for  fighting  a  duel  with  a  private  nobleman, 
even  if  it  should  happen  that  he  has  been 
well  beaten  by  him  ('  quand  meme  il  en  aurait 
recu  des  coups  de  bdton '). 

"  No  one  can  pretend  to  hold  any  place 
until  it  has  been  refused  by  the  peers,  the 
peers  being  so  completely  above  the  people, 
that  they  really  are  not  called  upon  to  recog- 
nise their  existence  ('  lesquels  pairs  sont  telie- 
ment  au-dessus  du  peuple,  qu'u,  peine  Us  doivent 
le  connoitre.'')  No  workman  or  mechanic 
should  be  allowed  to  compel  them  by  process 
of  law  (les  contraindre  juridiquement)  to  pay 
their  debts.  This  sort  of  persons  ought  only 
to  give  them  a  polite  intimation  of  the  fact 
of  their  indebtedness  (les  avertir  honne'te- 
ment),  and  the  peers  will  satisfy  them,  if  they 
think  proper  to  do  so  (s'ils  lejufjent  apropos). 

"  Finally,  Monseigneur,  on  the  same  prin- 
ciple that  a  nobleman  has  not  the  right  to  draw 
his  sword  upon  a  duke ;  so  the  servants  of 
noblemen  cannot  force  those  of  dukes  to 
make  use  of  their  fists  in  self-defence  ;  and 
the  latter  should  rather  allow  themselves  to 
be  thoroughly  milled  (se  laisserent  plutdt  rouer 
de  coups)  than  compromise  the  honour  which 
they  enjoy,  of  being  in  the  service  of  their 
masters." 

One  wquld  think  that  this  "  document " 
was  the  production  of  a  farceur  who  wished 


to  raise  a  laugh  against  the  pretensions  of 
'airs  ;"  but  no  such  thing ;  it 


the  "  Dues  et 


is  a  veritable  State  paper,  taken  from  box  K, 
of  the  Archives  of  France,  in  Paris,   and  so 


that  the  clergy  are  only  allowed  to  be  any-  I  extracted,  as  we   have  already  said,   in  the 


thing  in  the  State,  but  because  a  certain 
number  of  Peers  have  not  disdained  the  titles 
of  Bishop  and  Archbishop  1  It  is  nesessary 
that  a  bishop,  at  the  least,  should  be  the 
person  to  administer  the  sacrament  to  us. 
We  alone  have  the  right  to  carry  cushions 
(to  kneel  upon  '  carreaux ')  to  church.  It  is 
our  privilege  to  receive  the  sacred  bread 
before  any  one  else,  no  matter  who  !  If  we 
go  to  a  conventual  church,  we  must  be 
waited  for  at  least  half-an-hour,  whenever  we 
should  happen  to  be  detained.  In  the  streets, 
all  the  other  classes  of  nobility  must  give  the 
right-hand  side  ('  le  haut  du  pave ')  to  a  peer, 
whether  that  peer  be  in  a  carriage  or  on 
horseback  ;  and  as  to  the  coaches  of  people 
of  the  commonalty  ('gem  de  la  roture  '),  they 
must  be  obliged  to  draw  up  as  we  pass, 
however  inconvenient  it  may  happen  to  be. 

"  A  peer  and  peeress  occupy,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  the  back  seat  of  the  carriage ; 
indeed,  it  is  necessary  that  the  law  should 
restrain  them  from  giving  up  their  places, 
if  moved  to  it  by  politeness  or  natural 
modesty.  At  table  their  healths  ought  to  be 
drunk  before  those  of  the  master  and  mistress 
of  the  house.  At  the  theatre,  they  are  to 
occupy  the  best  boxes,  and  if  these  are  filled 


last  year  of  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe. 


STILL  ON  THE  WING. 


TROT  away,  ye  good  and  steady-footed 
steeds.  On,  Andrew,  on,  till  the  sea  once 
more  stops  us.  We  are  out  again  to  seek 
our  fortune.  With  such  a  bright  sun,  and 
such  a  soft  breeze,  it  is  impossible  to  despond. 
The,  Eastern  princes,  who  went  out  in  search 
of  the  singing  tree  and  the  golden  waters,  did 
not  come  home  without  bringing  back  some 
pleasant  results  of  travel  with  them  ;  nor 
shall  we. 

It  is  impossible  to  proceed  far  without 
observing,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  fre- 
quent "  bals"  displaying  their  respectable 
proportions.  They  are  a  little  mysterious, 
like  people  of  known  good  property,  who 
keep  the  exact  amount  of  it  to  themselves. 
They  look  "  keenly,"  that  is  to  say,  kindly — 
[an  expression,  which  is  matched  by  the 
Germanism  of  a  friendly-looking  house] — 
especially  those  that  have  "  pretty  courses  of 
ore,"  as  far  down  as  "  the  forty-fourth  level" — 
"  courses  of  ore,"  ninety  feet  "  big."  The  beau- 
tiful bals  !  They  pay  dividends,  and  give 


CJiarlcs  Dickens.) 


STILL  ON  THE  WING. 


205 


crack  dinners  ;  and  the  man  who  doubts  the 
healing  virtue  of  a  good  dinner,  is  sunk  into 
the  lowest  abyss  of  scepticism.  Better  bring 
one's  savings  to  a  good  bal,  than  send  them 
to  friendly  Pennsylvanian  repudiators.  Sin- 
gular enough,  that  beds  should  give  dinners  ; 
but  the  "pusser,"  or  if  you  prefer  it,  the 
purser,  would  be  wretched  without  them. 
Is  it  not  clear  that  any  one  who  can  seriously 
and  soberly  find  fault  with  the  appearance  of 
a  bal,  must  be  a  soured  and  spiteful  misan- 
thrope, who  does  it  through  sheer  envy  ?  Why, 
the  very  crumbs  from  their  table  are  worth 
picking.  Depend  upon  it,  the  remains  of  the 
dinner  would  give  us  an  excellent  luncheon 
next  day,  if  we  could  but  hit  upon  the  correct 
date.  I  am  far  from  despising  creature- 
comforts  ;  and  shall  in  future  adapt  new 
words  to  the  beautiful  glee  : — 

"  Mine  be  a  bal  beside  a  hill, 

A  bee-hive's  luim  shall  soothe  mine  ear, 
And  milky  streams  adown  the  rill 
With  inuuy  a  full  shall  lingor  near." 

"  With  many  a  fall  shall  linger  near  !  " — 
— The  prosperous  idea  makes  one  quite 
vocal. 

But  a  deep  narrow  valley  receives  us; 
an  avenue  of  hills,  with  the  Atlantic  to  close 
the  perspective.  We  descend  ;  we  cross  the 
little  brook  at  the  bottom  ;  we  mount  again, 
in  persevering  pursuit  of  our  wandering  black 
birds.  Not  all  the  concentrated  cunning  of 
the  corvidoB  can  save  them  when  man  has 
once  set  a  determined  foot  upon  their  trail. 
We  now  are  going  to  try  the  environs  of  the 
Logan  Hock  :  and  this  is  the  village  ;  a  droll, 
criukum-crankum,  helter-skelter  group  of 
houses,  over  which  might  float  a  Bag  with 
the  inscription,  "  THE  WORLD'S  END."  No  one 
would  deny  its  propriety. 

And  now  comes  the  inn ;  a  tidy,  comfort- 
able looking  snuggery,  with  clean  white 
window-curtains,  and  a  prepossessing  appear- 
ance of  well-aired  beds,  where  a  botanist,  an 
artist,  or  a  pen-and-ink  gentleman,  might  put 
up  for  a  week,  and  profitably  pursue  his 
studies  in  the  neighbourhood.  I  have  only  to 
observe  further,  that  if  the  sign  of  this  inn  is 
an  accurate  representation  of  the  Logan  Rock, 
my  curiosity  is  satisfied,  and  I  do  not  care  to 
see  any  more  of  it.  Neither  Stanfield,  nor 
Turner,  nor  Copley  Fielding,  nor  Martin,  left 
this  oil-painting  in  discharge  for  an  unpaid 
score. 

I  must  here  remark,  at  the  risk  of  letting 
loose  a  whole  host  of  enterprising  dilettanti, 
that  Cornwall  is  exactly  the  subject  for  an 
artistic  mind  to  grapple  with.  The  special 
reason  may  be  told  in  few  words  :  at  the 
same  time  that  it  contains  great  variety 
of  detail,  including  objects  suggestive  of  the 
deepest  thought  ;  while  it  is  original,  fresh, 
devoid  of  conventional  picturesqueiiess,  and 
is  naturally,  not  artificially,  romantic,  it  is 
neither  so  vast  nor  so  wide  spread  as  to  be 
beyond  the  admirer's  grasp.  It  is  all  per- 


fectly comprehensible,  perfectly  reducible, 
both  on  canvas  and  in  print. 

There  are  in  the  world  Immensities  which 
defy  art.  Though  they  may  not  satisfy  the 
imagination,  they  baffle  the  copyist,  and  per- 
haps, also,  disgust  by  their  monotony.  Even 
hi  the  heart  of  the  Tyrol  or  of  Savoy,  scenery 
on  a  still  grander  scale  is  perfectly  imagin- 
able by  the  amateur,  whose  sketch-book  and 
whose  journal  have  long  been  cast  aside,  as 
useless  incumbrances.  It  is  after  having  been 
thus  vanquished  by  the  unbearable  weight  of 
Nature's  magnificence,  that  the  traveller,  who 
is  in  search  of  something  more  than  the  mere 
excitement  of  wonder,  is  charmed  to  find  a 
perfect  whole,  sufficient  to  delight,  but  insuf- 
ficient to  overpower  him.  Just  such  a  spot 
is  Cornwall.  The  artist  there,  escaped  from 
the  vast  features  of  Continental  landscapes, 
has  exactly  the  feeling  of  a  man  who  has 
long  been  burdened  by  the  cares  of  a  large 
house  and  establishment  far  beyond  his 
means;  and  who  finds  himself  at  last,  by  a 
prudent  coup  d'etat,  the  tenant  of  a  pleasant 
cottage,  with  every  comfort,  and  with  no 
superfluities  attached  to  it. 

The  "  World's  End  "  is  behind  us,  and  the 
fag-end  of  all  things  begins  to  promise  well. 
We  walk  along  the  uppermost  convexity  of  a 
rounded  promontory,  not  utterly  destitute  of 
a  little  sheep's  "  meat."  At  last  we  descend 
amidst  some  granite  rocks  that  have  been 
carelessly  tossed  about  on  the  slope  of  the 
declivity.  Two  guides,  a  senior  and  a  junior, 
have  not  offered  their  services,  but  have  joined 
company.  Is  not  the  wilderness  free  to  all  ? 
Before  us  is  a  most  exquisite  pile  of  granite 
rocks,  heaped  together  in  pyramidal  form  : 
harmonious  in  colouring  and  perfect  in  ar- 
rangement ;  with  patches  of  green  grass,  grey 
and  yellow  lichen,  dark  tufts  of  fern  pro- 
truding from  obscure  crannies ;  with  the 
purple  sea  and  its  white  foam  ;  and  us,  little 
things  of  men,  groping  about  and  displaying  our 
littleness  by  contrast  with  the  vast  blocks  of 
stone — altogether,  it  is  one  of  the  most  complete 
pictures  I  have  ever  seen.  There  is  nothing 
out  of  place  ;  nothing  incongruous  to  spoil  it. 

What  is  that  absurd  noise  ?  Looking  back 
to  the  declivity  already  passed,  we  see  a 
foolish  dog  giving  chase  and  tongue  to  a 
rabbit  he  has  started.  Capital  fun  for  the 
rabbit  !  In  and  out,  between  the  massive 
lumps,  his  white  tail  flashes  and  dodges,  till 
he  thinks  he  has  given  the  colly  a  suflicient 
breathing  ;  then  he  is  seen  no  more. 

To  the  left,  a  narrow  sheep- path  winds 
round  the  outside  of  the  pyramid,  overhanging 
the  sea.  You  will  surely  not  go  that  way. — 
Why  not  ?  Where  the  sheep  walks,  there 
walk  I.  Why  should  there  be  more  real 
danger  for  the  man  than  for  the  quadruped  ? 
It  is  not  reason  which  is  the  guide  in  such 
performances — it  is  nerve  and  instinct  ;  a 
consciousness  of  ability  to  do  it.  I  would  not 
mind  taking  a  high-spirited  child  to  see  the 
Logan  Hock,  being  careful  all  the  while  never 


206 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


to  slacken  a  firm  grasp  of  the  hand  ;  but  to 
the  Land's  End — not  for  the  world !  How- 
ever, instead  of  this  path,  which  is  optional, 
we  will  thread  the  labyrinthine  masses  of  the 
pile,  more  venerable  and  more  ancient  than 
the  famous  pyramids  of  Egypt. 

We  emerge.  Before  us  is  a  hollow  gully, 
easily  passable.  Directly  opposite,  facing  you, 
is  a  sort  of  natural  Cyclopean  wall,  all  built 
with  huge  fragments  of  granite — nothing  but 
granite  all  around — and  on  the  top  of  the 
wall,  quite  at  the  edge,  lies,  amongst  others,  a 
rudely  long-squared  lump,  with  one  of  its 
ends,  not  the  sides,  towards  us.  That  is 
THE  LOGAN  KOCK,  or  the  Hocking  Stone. 

Man's  very  feebleness  increases  his  own 
self-admiration,  when  he  finds  what  feats  he 
can  nevertheless  accomplish ;  which  ought 
thence  to  rise  to  admiration  of  the  Power 
who  made  him  what  he  is.  That  such  a 
creature  should  be  able  to  measure  the  dis- 
tance from  hence  to  the  sun,  and  weigh  the 
planets  respectively  ;  that  a  being,  sent  into 
the  world  as  naked  and  as  helpless  as  a  worm, 
should  buifet  with  seas  and  storms,  and  find 
his  way  direct  from  England  to  the  Anti- 
podes ;  that  a  block  of  stone,  of  enormous 
weight,  shoidd  yield  to  the  cunningly-applied 
pressure  of  an  animal  who  looks  almost  like 
a  fly,  ready  to  be  crushed  beneath  its  move- 
ment ! — A  man  is  assuredly  delighted  with 
himself  to  find  that  he  can  stir  the  Logan  Bock. 

We  are  silent  in  admiration.  Not  a  sail  is 
in  view,  not  a  shred  of  civilisation  is  to  be 
perceived,  and  the  primaeval  character  of  the 
scene  overpowers  the  thoughts.  We  are 
gazing  on  a  portion  of  Great  Britain  left  just 
in  the  state  in  which  it  was  before  the  first 
human  inhabitant  set  foot  upon  the  shore. 

Our  younger  guide  finds  all  this  dull,  and 
begins  to  get  impatient,  like  a  greyhound 
wanting  to  be  let  slip.  He  was  not,  however, 
at  all  of  the  greyhound  build  ;  but  a  short, 
stout,  healthy  lad,  of  one  or  two-and-twenty, 
with  a  true  good-humoured  Cornish  face, 
which,  by  the  way,  is  quite  distinct  from 
our  mixed  Anglo-Normo-liomano-Saxon  phy- 
siognomy. My  companion  correctly  inter- 
preted the  restlessness,  and  supposed  that 
though  a  corpulent  person  like  myself  might 
be  in  no  hurry  to  scale  the  ramparts  of  the 
Logan  Rock,  I  might  still  wish  to  see  it  moved. 

At  a  word,  down  rushed  our  young  Cornish- 
man  into  the  intervening  hollow  ;  up  again 
at  the  other  side  to  the  foot  of  one  end  of  the 
Cyclopean  wall  ;  up  again,  hop,  skip,  and 
jump,  leaping  in  mid  air  from  ledge  to  ledge 
with  fearless  agility.  A  slight  pause  at  the 
foot  of  the  Logan  ;  then,  clapping  his  shoulder 
to  its  lowest  edge,  and  planting  his  feet  firmly 
on  an  opposite  block,  he  began  to  heave,  and 
heave.  A  slight  tremor  in  the  mass  was  first 
observable  ;  then,  as  he  began  to  grow  red 
in  the  face  with  the  exertion,  a  very  visible 
rolling  of  the  Logan  to  and  fro  was  apparent, 
which  looked  as  if  it  would  increase  till  it 
overbalanced  itself — possibly  on  his  side. 


"  Enough  !  "  we  shouted  ;  "  that  will  do  for 
the  present."  Then,  rising  from  his  almost 
horizontal  position,  he  stepped  back  half  a 
pace,  and  with  a  spring,  by  the  aid  of  hands 
and  feet,  mounted  the  Logan  itself,  and  stood 
perched  and  upright  on  the  very  top,  before 
it  had  hardly  ceased  its  quivering. 

"  Bravo  ! — Admirable  ! — Hurra  !  hurra  ! — 
Very  good,  indeed,  young  tin-man  !  " 

Our  adventurer  (as  critics  would  say)  looks 
around  him  a  moment  or  two,  as  careless  as 
a  crow  roosting  on  a  tree-top,  and  then  dashes 
down  the  rugged  steep  as  last  as  the  laws  of 
gravity  aid  him  in  so  doing.  He  reaches  the 
bottom  of  the  hollow  safely,  and  in  a  minute 
more  stands  panting  at  our  side. 

My  companion  had  been  painfully  overcome 
by  terror  at  the  performance  ;  but  was  re- 
assured, by  information  from  our  Nestoviau 
friend,  that  the  performer,  during  a  consider- 
able part  of  the  year,  practised  the  profession 
of  a  sailor,  and  was  no  stranger  to  the  top- 
mast, and  those  other  parts  of  a  ship's  rigging 
wherein  it  is  so  pleasant  to  take  the  air. 

Nestor  is  asked  if  he  could  do  that.  Nestor 
shakes  Iris  head,  to  intimate  that  his  dancing 
days  are  over ;  but,  if  we  wish  it,  the  other 
one  will  do  it  again,  instead.  Again,  then, 
let  us  see  the  mighty  mass  roll  on  its  side. 
The  will  was  as  good  as  ever,  and  the  feat 
was  executed.  But  there  are  some  things 
which  it  is  not  possible  for  a  man  to  perform 
perfectly  more  than  once  or  twice  in  the  day. 
It  was  like  asking  Carlotta  Grisi,  at  the  con- 
clusion of  a  brilliant  and  long- continued  corus- 
cation of  her  many-twinkling  feet,  immediately 
to  repeat  the  same  air,  with  variations.  Our 
young  friend  did  his  best  ;  but  the  bound  and 
the  spring  of  his  former  flight  were  wanting. 
It  revealed  one  thing,  however,  which  much 
diminished  our  fears  for  'his  safety :  that 
what  we  deemed  a  rash  improvisation,  was, 
in  fact,  a  practised,  well- arranged  succession 
of  movements  ;  every  step,  and  stride  and  leap 
being  the  same,  at  the  same  spot  as  before. 
Other  people  do  contrive  to  get  to  the  summit 
of  the  Logan  Kock  ;  but  most  of  them  do  it 
very  clumsily.  Nothing  but  a  course  of 
gymnastic  lessons  from  a  resident  professor 
would  enable  an  amateur  to  acquit  himself 
creditably. 

"  'Tis  an  enormous  thing  for  one  man  to 
stir.  Thirty-six,  tons,  you  say,  it  weighs  ? 
Why,  Murray's  Hand-Book  calculates  it  at 
eighty-sin." 

"  Murray  is  right,  sir,  though  I  don't  know 
the  gentleman ;  I  said  airty-six..  And  yet 
that  foolish  Lieutenant  managed  to  upset  it." 

And  then  Nestor  gave  us  a  yarn  : — How 
a  gentleman  in  the  British  navy,  having  heard 
the  popular  belief  that  the  Logan  Rock, 
though  moveable,  was  not  displaceable,  deter- 
mined to  capsize  it.  How  he  came  with  his 
crew,  unobserved  as  he  thought,  and  de- 
parted with  the  proud  consciousness  of  having 
destroyed  one  of  the  most  remarkable  natural 
curiosities  in  Great  Britain.  How  the  whole 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


207 


country  was  in  an  uproar,  and  would  have 
pelted  the  gang  of  brigands  with  Logan 
Eocks,  if  possible.  How  the  Admiralty 
quietly  ordered  their  smart  Lieutenant  to 
replace  the  Logan  Rock  as  it  was  before, 
on  pain  of  losing  his  commission.  How  the 
guides  looked  on  and  grinned,  while  the  sulky, 
shame-faced  sailor.-;  were  straining  away  at 
their  machinery.  How  at  last  they  got  it 
back  again,  though  even  now,  they  say,  it 
does  not  rock  quite  so  beautifully  as  before. 
The  Lieutenant  had  had  enough  of  it  before 
he  had  done.  It  was  an  excellent  lesson  to 
those  gentry  who  take  mischief  for  wit  ;  who 
believe  lamp-breaking  to  be  a  highly  intel- 
lectual amusement ;  and  who  would  glory  in 
having  executed  a  brilliant  sally,  by  decapi- 
tating the  Dying  Gladiator,  breaking  the  legs 
of  Apollo  Belvidere,  or  knocking  off  the 
Venus  de  Medici's  nose. 

The  printed  accounts  of  this  honourable 
exploit  read  as  if  our  naval  iconoclast  had 
thrown  the  Logan  Rock  down,  from  the 
summit  of  what  I  have  called  the  Cyclopean 
wall,  into  the  hollow  beneath  it.  Such  was 
not  the  case  ;  had  it  been  so,  he  would  have 
had  considerably  more  difficulty  in  settling 
his  accounts  with  the  Admiralty.  He  merely 
turned  it  over  on  one  side  :  but  that  was 
enough  to  destroy  its  character.  There  it 
lay,  a  poor,  prostrate,  defunct  Rocking  Stone  : 
the  bread  was  snatched  out  of  the  Guides' 
mouths  ;  and  the  inn,  in  spite  of  its  then 
historical  sign,  might  shut  up  shop. 

Nestor  is  intelligent  and  obliging,  though 
utterly  free  from  toadyism — a  disreputable 
habit  which  I  never  once  witnessed  among 
the  working  people  of  Cornwall.  Nestor 
thinks  I  should  like  a  well-rooted  specimen 
of  Asplenium  marimim  —  pronouncing  the 
name  accurately — to  take  home  ;  and  pro- 
cures one  from  a  chink  in  the  granite.  While 
accepting  the  fern,  I  thank  him  for  this 
attention,  and  whisper  in  his  ear  that  there 
is  one  thing  I  do  long  for  and  earnestly 
desire,  and  that  is,  to  see,  and  to  procure,  a 
pair  of  live  Cornish  daws — those  charming 
birds  with  the  red  legs  and  bill.  Nestor 
ruminates  ; — would  if  he  could,  but  there  are 
no  daws  here  at  present.  I  must  search 
elsewhere  ;  and  I  am  once  more  thrown  on 
the  flat  of  my  back  almost  desponding.  We 
retire,  gratified  confessedly ;  but  with  at 
least  one  craving  of  the  heart  unsatisfied. 

Look  !  what  a  state  my  gloves  are  in,  from 
holding  on  so  tight  to  your  tiresome  rocks  ! 
A  blind  man  would  say  he  was  handling  a 
mountain  of  nutmeg-graters. 

Your  gloves,  indeed  !  What  a  thing  to 
think  about  in  such  a  spot !  Think,  rather, 
of  the  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  miserable 
wretches  who  have  looked  up  from  those 
waters  to  these  very  rocks,  in  desperate  hope 
of  climbing  them  ;  who  have  grasped  some 
jutting  point  with  their  naked  flesh,  all  torn 
and  bleeding,  till  sti'ength  failed  and  the  wave 
drew  them  back  to  bury  them  in  the  deep. 


You  remember  the  little  islet  we  saw  at 
the  Land's  End,  off  Cape  Cornwall  1  Not 
long  since,  a  man  and  his  wife,  shipwrecked 
there,  managed  to  crawl  up  to  one  of  its 
ledges,  beyond  the  reach  of  the  breakers. 
They  were  seen  by  the  people  on  the  main- 
land, but  no  boat  could  reach  them.  The 
storm  continued  to  rage,  and  no  assistance 
ould  be  afforded, — pity  only.  There  they  sat 
on  that  rocky  islet,  night  and  day — cold,  wet, 
unsheltered,  and  starving.  The  weather  sub- 
sided a  little,  and  a  few  bold  men  determined 
to  rescue  them,  if  possible.  A  boat  was 
launched  :  they  rowed  to  the  rock  as  near  as 
they  dared  without  being  dashed  to  pieces ; 
a  rope  was  thrown  to  them,  to  tie  round  them 
and  be  dragged  to  the  boat  through  the  sea. 
The  woman  hesitated ;  but  it  was  the  only 
chance,  and  she  was  persuaded.  One  last 
embrace,  one  parting  kiss,  and  she  made  the 
plunge.  She  was  got  into  the  boat  alive,  and 
that  was  all.  The  rope  was  thrown  to  the 
man,  and  he,  too,  was  thus  dragged  into  the 
boat.  But  the  suffering  and  the  shock  were 
too  much  for  his  partner ;  she  died  almost 
immediately.  He  was  safely  landed,  and 
kindly  treated  ;  but  went  mad. 

We  will  bid  good-bye  to  the  Logan  Rock 
with  a  less  doleful  recollection.  Some  dozen 
years  ago  a  French  vessel  was  wrecked  near 
this  famous  stone.  The  crew  were  all  saved — 
which  vindicates  the  character  of  the  present 
Cornish  from  the  old  charge  of  cruelty  as 
wreckers ;  but  property  was  not  then  so 
carefully  looked  after  by  the  Coast- Guard  as 
now ;  and  a  great  deal  of  Champagne  came 
ashore,  and  was  dispersed  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. The  people  seemed  to  regard  it  as  a 
superior  sort  of  ginger-pop,  and  to  be  ignorant 
of  its  intoxicating  properties  ;  so  that,  without 
the  least  suspicion  on  their  part,  they  were 
kept  in  a  constant  state  of  excitement  for 
some  weeks.  So  long  as  it  lasted,  a  bottle  of 
Champagne  could  easily  be  had  by  any  lion- 
hunting  tourist  who  had  penetrated  so  far. 

And  what  am  I  to  do  about  my  Cornish 
Choughs,  now  1  I  don't  know  ;  I  never  was 
more  at  a  loss  in  my  life.  Day  after  day, 
and  can't  catch  sight  of  a  tip  of  a  wing. 
Have  them  I  must ;  but  whether  I  am  lucky 
enough  to  track  them  in  their  British  home, 
or  to  find  them  amongst  the  peaks  of  the 
Tyrol,  or  along  the  shores  of  the  Bay  of 
Biscay,  my  friends  shall  be  sure  to  hear  of  it. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

ROGER  MORTIMER,  the  Queen's  lover  (who 
escaped  to  France  in  the  last  chapter),  was 
far  from  profiting  by  the  examples  he  had 
had  of  the  fate  of  favourites.  _Haviug, 
through  the  Queen's  influence,  come  into  pos- 
session of  the  estates  of  the  two  Despensers, 
he  became  extremely  proud  and  ambitious, 
and  sought  to  be  the  real  ruler  of  England. 


208 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


The  young  King,  who  was  crowned  ut  four- 
teen years  of  age  with  all  the  usual  so- 
lemnities, resolved  not  to  bear  this,  and  soon 
pursued  Mortimer  to  his  ruin. 

The  people  themselves  were  not  fond  of 
Mortimer — first,  because  he  was  a  Royal 
favourite ;  secondly,  because  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  helped  to  make  a  peace  with 
Scotland,  which  now  took  place,  and  iu  virtue 
of  which  the  young  King's  sister  Joan,  only 
seven  years  old,  was  promised  in  marriage 
to  David,  the  son  and  heir  of  Robert  Bruce, 
who  was  only  five  years  old.  The  nobles  hated 
Mortimer  because  of  his  pride,  riches,  and 
power.  They  went  so  far  as  to  take  up  arms 
against  him  ;  but  were  obliged  to  submit. 
The  Earl  of  Kent,  one  of  those  who  did  so, 
but  who  afterwards  went  over  to  Mortimer 
and  the  Queen,  was  made  an  example  of  in 
the  following  cruel  manner  : 

He  seems  to  have  been  anything  but  a 
wise  old  earl ;  and  he  was  persuaded  by  the 
agents  of  the  favourite  and  the  Queen,  that 
poor  King  Edward  the  Second  was  not  really 
dead  ;  and  thus  Avas  betrayed  into  writing 
letters  favouring  his  rightful  claim  to  the 
throne.  This  was  made  out  to  be  high  treason, 
and  he  was  tried,  found  guilty,  and  sentenced 
to  be  executed.  They  took  the  poor  old  lord 
outside  the  town  of  Winchester,  and  there 
kept  him  waiting  some  three  or  four  hours 
until  they  could  find  somebody  to  cut  off  his 
head.  At  last,  a  convict  said  he  would  do  it, 
if  the  government  would  pardon  him  in  re- 
turn ;  and  they  gave  him  the  pardon  ;  and  at 
one  blow  he  put  the  Earl  of  Kent  out  of  his 
last  suspense. 

While  the  Queen  was  in  Trance,  she  had 
found  a  lovely  and  good  young  lady,  named 
Phillipa,  who  she  thought  would  make  an 
excellent  wife  for  her  son.  The  young  King 
married  this  lady,  soon  after  he  came  to  the 
throne  ;  and  her  first  child,  Edward,  Prince 
of  Wales,  afterwards  became  celebrated,  as 
we  shall  presently  see,  under  the  famous  title 
of  EDWARD  THE  BLACK  PRINCE. 

The  young  King,  thinking  the  time  ripe  for 
the  downfall  of  Mortimer,  took  counsel  with 
Lord  Montacute  how  he  should  proceed.  A 
Parliament  was  going  to  be  held  at  Notting- 
ham, and  that  lord  recommended  that  the 
favourite  should  be  seized  by  night  in 
Nottingham  Castle,  where  he  was  sure  to  be. 
Now,  this,  like  many  other  things,  was  more 
easily  said  than  done  ;  because,  to  guard 
against  treachery,  the  great  gates  of  the 
Castle  were  locked  every  night,  and  the  great 
keys  were  carried  upstairs  to  the  Queen,  who 
laid  them  under  her  own  pillow.  But  the 
Castle  had  a  governor,  and,  the  governor 
being  Lord  Montacute's  friend,  confided  to 
him  how  he  knew  of  a  secret  passage  under- 
ground, hidden  from  observation  by  the  weeds 
and  brambles  with  which  it  was  overgrown  ; 
and  how,  through  that  passage,  the  conspira- 
tors might  enter  in  the  dead  of  night,  and  go 
straight  to  Mortimer's  room.  Accordingly, 


upon  a  certain  dark  night,  at  midnight,  they 
made  their  way  through  this  dismal  place  : 
startling  the  rats,  and  frightening  the  owls 
and  bats :  and  came  safely  to  the  bottom  of 
the  main  tower  of  the  Castle,  where  the  King 
met  them,  and  took  them  up  a  profoundly- 
dark  staircase  in  a  deep  silence.  They  soon 
heard  the  voice  of  Mortimer  in  council  with 
some  friends  ;  and  bursting  into  the  room 
with  a  sudden  noise,  took  him  prisoner.  The 
Queen  cried  out  from  her  bed-chamber, 
"  Oh,  my  sweet  son,  my  dear  son,  spare  my 
gentle  Mortimer  !  "  They  carried  him  off, 
however  ;  and,  before  the  next  Parliament, 
accused  him  of  having  made  differences 
between  the  young  King  and  his  mother,  and 
of  having  brought  about  the  death  of  the  Earl 
of  Kent,  and  even  of  the  late  King  ;  for,  as 
you  know  by  this  time,  when  they  wanted  to 
get  rid  of  a  man  in  those  old  days,  they  were 
not  very  particular  of  what  they  accused  him. 
Mortimer  was  found  guilty  of  all  this,  and 
was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  at  Tyburn.  The 
King  shut  his  mother  up  in  a  genteel  con- 
finement, where  she  passed  the  rest  of  her 
life  ;  and  now  he  became  King  in  earnest. 

The  first  effort  he  made  was  to  conquer 
Scotland.  The  English  lords  who  had  lands 
in  Scotland,  finding  that  their  rights  were 
not  respected  under  the  late  peace,  made 
war  on  their  own  account :  choosing  for 
their  general,  Edward,  the  son  of  John 
Baliol,  who  made  such  a  vigorous  fight, 
that  iu  less  than  two  months  he  won  the 
whole  Scottish  Kingdom.  He  was  joined, 
when  thus  triumphant,  by  the  King  and 
Parliament ;  and  he  and  the  King  in  person 
besieged  the  Scottish  forces  in  Berwick.  The 
whole  Scottish  army  coming  to  the  assistance 
of  their  countrymen,  suck  a  furious  battle 
ensued,  that  thirty  thousand  men  are  said  to 
have  been  killed  in  it.  Baliol  was  then 
crowned  King  of  Scotland,  doing  homage  to 
the  King  of  England  ;  but  little  came  of  his 
successes  after  all,  for  the  Scottish  men  rose 
against  him,  within  no  very  long  time,  and 
David  Bruce  came  back  within  ten  years  and 
took  his  kingdom. 

France  was  a  far  richer  country  than 
Scotland,  and  the  King  had  a  much  greater 
mind  to  conquer  it.  So,  he  let  Scotland  alone, 
and  pretended  that  he  had  a  claim  to  the 
French  throne  in  right  of  his  mother.  He  had, 
in  reality,  no  claim  at  all  ;  but  that  mattered 
little  in  those  times.  He  brought  over  to  his 
cause  many  little  princes  and  sovereigns,  and 
even  courted  the  alliance  of  the  people  of 
Flanders — a  busy,  working  community,  who 
had  very  small  respect  for  kings,  and  whose 
head  man  was  a  brewer.  With  such  forces  as  he 
raised  by  these  means,  Edward  invaded  France; 
but  he  did  little  by  that,  except  run  into  debt 
in  carrying  on  the  war  to  the  extent  of  three 
hundred  thousand  pounds.  The  next  year  he 
did  better  ;  gaining  a  great  sea-fight  in  the 
harbour  of  Sluys.  This  success,  however,  was 
very  short-lived,  for  the  Flemings  took 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


209 


fright  at  the  siege  of  Saint  Omer  and  ran 
away,  leaving  their  weapons  and  baggage 
behind  them.  Philip,  the  French  King, 
coming  up  with  his  army,  and  Edward  being 
very  anxious  to  decide  the  war,  proposed 
to  settle  the  difference  by  single  combat  with 
him,  or  by  a  fight  of  one  hundred  knights  on 
each  side.  The  French  King  said,  he  thanked 
him  ;  but  being  very  well  as  he  was,  he  would 
rather  not.  So,  after  some  skirmishing  and 
talking,  a  short  peace  was  made. 

It  was  soon  broken  by  King  Edward's 
favouring  the  cause  of  John,  Earl  of  Mont- 
ford  ;  a  French  nobleman,  who  asserted  a 
claim  of  his  own  against  the  French  King,  and 
offered  to  do  homage  to  England  for  the 
Crown  of  France,  if  he  could  obtain  it  through 
England's  help.  This  French  lord,  himself, 
was  soon  defeated  by  the  French  King's  son, 
and  shut  up  in  a  tower  in  Paris  ;  but  his  wife, 
a  courageous  and  beautiful  woman,  who  is 
said  to  have  had  the  courage  of  a  man,  and 
the  heart  of  a  lion,  assembled  the  people  of 
Brittany,  where  she  then  was  ;  and,  showing 
them  her  infant  son,  made  many  pathetic 
entreaties  to  them  not  to  desert  her  and  their 
young  Lord,  They  took  fire  at  this  appeal, 
and  rallied  around  her  in  the  strong  castle  of 
Hennebon.  Here  she  was  not  only  besieged 
without  by  the  French  under  Charles  de 
Blois,  but  was  endangered  within  by  a 
dreary  old  bishop,  who  was  always  repre- 
senting to  the  people  what  horrors  they 
must  undergo  if  they  were  faithful — first 
from  famine,  and  afterwards  from  fire  and 
sword.  But  this  noble  lady,  whose  heart 
never  failed  her,  encouraged  her  soldiers  by 
her  own  example  ;  went  from  post  to  post  like 
a  great  general ;  even  mounted  on  horseback 
fully  armed,  and,  issuing  from  the  castle  by 
a  bye-path,  fell  upon  the  French  camp,  set 
fire  to  the  tents,  and  threw  the  whole  force 
into  disorder.  This  done,  she  got  safely  back 
to  Hennebon  again,  and  was  received  with  loud 
shouts  of  joy  by  the  defenders  of  the  castle, 
who  had  given  her  up  for  lost.  As  they  were 
now  very  short  of  provisions,  however,  and  as 
they  could  not  dine  off  enthusiasm,  and  as  the 
old  bishop  was  always  saying,  "  I  told  you 
what  it  would  come  to  !  "  they  began  to  lose 
heart,  and  to  talk  of  yielding  the  castle  up. 
The  brave  Countess  retiring  to  an  upper  room 
and  looking  with  great  grief  out  to  sea,  where 
she  expected  relief  from  England,  saw,  at  this 
very  time,  the  English  ships  in  the  distance, 
and  was  relieved  and  rescued  !  Sir  Walter 
Manny,  the  English  commander,  so  admired 
her  courage,  that,  being  come  into  the 
castle  with  the  English  knights,  and  having 
made  a  feast  there,  he  assaulted  the  French 
by  way  of  dessert,  and  beat  them  off  tri- 
umphantly. Then  he  and  the  knights  came 
back  to  the  castle  with  great  joy  ;  and  the 
Countess,  who  had  watched  them  from  a  high 
tower,  thanked  them  with  all  her  heart,  and 
kissed  them  every  one. 

This  noble  lady  distinguished  herself  after- 


wards in  a  sea-fight  with  the  French  off 
Guernsey,  when  she  was  on  her  way  to 
England  to  ask  for  more  troops.  Her  great 
spirit  roused  another  lady,  the  wife  of  another 
French  lord  (whom  the  French  King  very 
barbarously  murdered),  to  distinguish  herself 
scarcely  less.  The  time  was  fast  coming, 
however,  when  Edward,  Prince  of  Wales, 
was  to  be  the  great  star  of  this  French  and 
English  war. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  July  in  the  year 
one  thousand  three  hundred  and  forty-six, 
when  the  King  embarked  at  Southampton 
for  France,  with  an  army  of  about  thirty 
thousand  men  in  all,  attended  by  the  Prince 
of  Wales  and  by  several  of  the  chief  nobles. 
He  lauded  at  La  Hogue  in  Normandy  ;  and, 
burning  and  destroying  as  he  went,  according 
to  custom,  advanced  up  the  left  bank  of  the 
River  Seine,  and  fired  the  small  towns  even 
close  to  Paris ;  but,  being  watched  from  the 
right  bank  of  the  river  by  the  French  King 
and  all  his  army,  it  came  to  this  at  last,  that 
Edward  found  himself,  on  Saturday  the 
twenty-sixth  of  August  one  thousand  three 
hundred  and  forty-six,  on  a  rising  ground 
behind  the  little  French  village  of  Crecy,  face 
to  face  with  the  French  King's  force.  And, 
although  the  French  King  had  an  enormous 
army — in  number  more  than  eight  times  his 
— he  there  resolved  to  beat  him  or  be  beaten. 

The  young  Prince,  assisted  by  the  Earl  of 
Oxford  and  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  led  the  first 
division  of  the  English  army ;  two  other 
great  Earls  led  the  second  ;  and  the  King,  the 
third.  When  the  morning  dawned,  the  King 
received  the  sacrament,  and  heard  prayers, 
and  then,  mounted  on  horseback  with  a  white 
wand  in  his  hand,  rode  from  company  to 
company,  and  rank  to  rank,  cheering  and 
encouraging  both  officers  and  men.  Then 
the  whole  army  breakfasted,  each  man  sitting 
on  the  ground  where  he  had  stood  ;  and  then 
they  remained  quietly  on  the  ground  with 
their  weapons  ready. 

Up  came  the  French  king  with  all  his  great 
force.  It  was  dark  and  angry  weather  ;  there 
was  an  eclipse  of  the  sun  ;  there  was  a 
thunder-storm,  accompanied  with  tremendous 
rain  ;  the  frightened  birds  flew  screaming 
above  the  soldiers'  heads.  A  certain  captain  in 
the  French  army  ad  vised  the  French  King,  who 
was  by  no  means  cheerful,  not  to  begin  the 
battle  until  the  morrow.  The  King,  taking 
this  advice,  gave  the  word  to  halt.  But,  those 
behind  not  understanding  it,  or  desiring  to  be 
foremost  with  the  rest,  eame  pressing  on. 
The  roads  for  a  great  distance  were  covered 
with  this  immense  army,  and  with  the  common 
people  from  the  villages,  who  were  flourishing 
their  rude  weapons,  and  making  a  great  noise. 
Owing  to  these  circumstances,  the  French 
army  advanced  in  the  greatest  confusion ; 
every  French  lord  doing  what  he  liked  with 
his  own  men,  and  putting  out  the  men  of 
every  other  French  lord. 

Now,  their  King   relied   strongly  upon  a 


210 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


great  body  of  cross-bowmen  from  Genoa ; 
and  these  he  ordered  to  the  front  to  begin 
the  battle,  on  finding  that  he  could  not 
stop  it.  They  shouted  once,  they  shouted 
twice,  they  shouted  three  times,  to  alarm  the 
English  archers ;  but,  the  English  archers  would 
have  heard  them  shout  three  thousand  times 
and  would  have  never  moved.  At  last  the 
cross-bowmen  went  forward  a  little,  and  began 
to  discharge  their  bolts  ;  upon  which,  the 
English  let  fly  such  a  hail  of  arrows,  that  the 
Genoese  speedity  made  off — for  their  cross- 
bows, besides  being  heavy  to  carry,  required 
to  be  wound  up  with  a  handle,  and  conse- 
quently took  time  to  re-load ;  the  English,  on 
the  other  hand,  could  discharge  their  arrows 
almost  as  fast  as  the  arrows  could  fly. 

When  the  French  King  saw  the  Genoese 
turning,  he  cried  out  to  his  men  to  kill  those 
scoundrels,  who  were  doing  harm  instead  of 
service.  This  increased  the  confusion.  Mean- 
while the  English  archers,  continuing  to  shoot 
as  fast  as  ever,  shot  down  great  numbers 
of  the  French  soldiers  and  knights  ;  whom 
certain  sly  Cornish-men  and  Welchmen,  from 
the  English  army,  creeping  along  the  ground, 
despatched  with  great  knives.  The  Prince 
and  his  division  were  at  this  time  so  hard- 
pressed,  that  the  Earl  of  Warwick  sent  a 
message  to  the  King,  who  was  overlooking 
the  battle  from  a  windmill,  beseeching  him 
to  send  more  aid.  "  Is  my  son  killed  1 "  said 
the  King.  No,  sire,  please  God,"  returned  the 
messenger.  "  Is  he  wounded  ?  "  said  the 
King  ?  "  No,  sire."  "  Is  he  thrown  to  the 
ground  ? "  said  the  king.  "  No,  sire,  not 
so  ;  but,  he  is  very  hard-pressed."  "  Then," 
said  the  King,  "  go  back  to  those  who  sent 
you,  and  tell  them  that  I  shall  send  no 
aid ;  because  I  set  my  heart  upon  my  son 
proving  himself  this  day  a  brave  knight, 
and  because  I  am  resolved,  please  God,  that 
the  honour  of  a  great  victory  shall  be  his  !  " 
These  bold  words,  being  reported  to  the 
Prince  and  his  division,  so  raised  their 
spirits,  that  they  fought  better  than  ever. 
The  King  of  France  charged  gallantly 
with  his  men  many  times  ;  but  it  was  of  no 
use.  Night  closing  in,  his  horse  was  killed 
under  him  by  an  English  arrow,  and  the 
knights  and  nobles  who  had  clustered  thick 
about  him  early  in  the  day,  were  now  com- 
pletely scattered.  At  last,  some  of  his  few 
remaining  followers  led  him  off  the  field  by 
force,  since  he  would  not  retire  of  himself, 
and  they  journeyed  away  to  Amiens.  The 
victorious  English,  lighting  their  watch-fires, 
made  merry  on  the  field,  and  the  King, 
riding  to  meet  his  gallant  son,  took  him  in  his 
arms,  kissed  him,  and  told  him  that  he  had 
acted  nobly,  and  proved  himself  worthy  of  the 
day  and  of  the  crown.  While  it  was  yet 
night,  King  Edward  was  hardly  aware  of  the 
great  victory  he  had  gained  ;  but,  next  day, 
it  was  discovered  that  eleven  princes,  twelve 
hundred  knights,  and  thirty  thousand  com- 
mon men,  lay  dead  upon  the  French  side. 


Among  these  was  the  King  of  Bohemia,  an 
old  blind  man  ;  who,  having  been  told  that 
his  son  was  wounded  in  the  battle,  and  that 
no  force  could  stand  against  the  Black  Prince, 
called  to  him  two  knights,  put  himself  on 
horseback  between  them,  fastened  the  three 
bridles  together,  and  dashed  in  among  the 
English,  where  he  was  presently  slain.  He 
bore  as  his  crest  three  white  ostrich  feathers, 
with  the  motto  Ich  dien,  signifying  in  English 
"  I  serve."  This  crest  and  motto  were  taken 
by  the  Prince  of  Wales  in  remembrance  of 
that  famous  day,  and  have  been  borne  by  the 
Prince  of  Wales  ever  since. 

Five  days  after  this  great  battle,  the 
King  laid  siege  to  Calais.  This  siege — ever 
afterwards  memorable — lasted  nearly  a  year. 
In  order  to  starve  the  inhabitants  out,  King 
Edward  built  so  many  wooden  houses  for 
the  lodgings  of  his  troops,  that  it  is  said 
their  quarters  looked  like  a  second  Calais 
suddenly  sprung  up  around  the  first.  Early 
in  the  siege,  the  governor  of  the  town  drove 
out  what  he  called  the  useless  mouths,  to 
the  number  of  seventeen  hundred  persons, 
men  and  women,  young  and  old.  King 
Edward  allowed  them  to  pass  through  his 
lines,  and  even  fed  them,  and  dismissed  them 
with  money ;  but,  later  in  the  siege,  he  was 
not  so  merciful — five  hundred  more,  who 
were  afterwards  driven  out,  dying  of  starva- 
tion and  misery.  The  garrison  were  so  hard- 
pressed  at  last,  that  they  sent  a  letter  to  King 
Philip,  telling  him  that  they  had  eaten  all  the 
horses,  all  the  dogs,  and  all  the  rats  and  mice 
that  could  be  found  in  the  place  ;  and,  that  if 
he  did  not  relieve  them,  they  must  either 
surrender  to  the  English,  or  eat  one  another. 
Philip  made  one  effort  to  give  them  relief ; 
but  they  were  so  hemmed  in  by  the  English 
power,  that  he  could  not  succeed,  and  was 
fain  to  leave  the  place.  Upon  this  they 
hoisted  the  English  flag  and  surrendered  to 
King  Edward.  "  Tell  your  general,"  said  he 
to  the  humble  messengers  who  came  out  of 
the  town,  "  that  I  require  to  have  sent  here, 
six  of  the  most  distinguished  citizens,  bare- 
legged, and  in  their  shirts,  with  ropes  about 
their  necks ;  and  let  those  six  men  bring 
with  them  the  keys  of  the  castle  and  the 
town." 

When  the  Governor  of  Calais  related  this 
to  the  people  in  the  Market-place,  there  was 
great  weeping  and  distress  ;  in  the  midst  of 
which,  one  worthy  citizen,  named  Eustace  de 
Saint  Pierre,  rose  up  and  said,  that  if  the  six 
men  required  were  not  sacrificed,  the  whole 
population  would  be  ;  therefore,  he  offered 
himself  as  the  first.  Encouraged  by  this 
bright  example,  five  other  worthy  citizens 
rose  up  one  after  another,  and  offered  them- 
selves to  save  the  rest.  The  Governor,  who 
was  too  badly  wounded  to  be  able  to  walk, 
mounted  a  poor  old  horse  that  had  not  been 
eaten,  and  conducted  these  good  men  to  the 
gate,  while  all  the  people  cried  and  mourned. 

Edward    received    them    wrathfully,   and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOKY  OF  ENGLAND. 


211 


ordered  the  Leads  of  the  whole  six  to  be 
struck  off.  Sir  "Walter  Manny  pleaded  for 
them,  but  in  vain.  However,  the  good  Queen 
fell  upon  her  knees,  and  besought  the  King  to 
give  them  up  to  her.  The  King  replied,  "I 
wish  you  had  been  somewhere  else;  but  I 
cannot  refuse  you."  So  she  had  them  properly 
dressed,  made  a  feast  for  them,  and  sent  them 
back  with  a  handsome  present,  to  the  great 
rejoicing  of  the  whole  camp.  I  hope  the 
people  of  Calais  loved  the  daughter  to  whom 
she  gave  birth  soon  afterwards,  for  her  gentle 
mother's  sake. 

Now,  came  that  terrible  disease,  the  Plague, 
into  Europe,  hurrying  from  the  heart  of 
China ;  and  killed  the  wretched  people — espe- 
cially the  poor — in  such  enormous  numbers, 
that  one-half  of  the  inhabitants  of  England 
are  related  to  have  died  of  it.  It  killed  the 
cattle,  in  great  numbers,  too  ;  and  so  few 
working  men  remained  alive,  that  there  were 
not  enough  left  to  till  the  ground. 

After  eight  years  of  differing  and  quarrel- 
ling, the  Prince  of  Wales  again  invaded  France 
with  an  army  of  sixty  thousand  men.  He 
went  through  the  south  of  the  country,  burning 
and  plundering  wheresoever  he  went  ;  while 
his  father,  who  had  still  the  Scottish  war 
upon  his  hands,  did  the  like  in  Scotland,  but 
was  harassed  and  worried  in  his  retreat 
from  that  country  by  the  Scottish  men,  who 
repaid  his  cruelties  with  interest. 


but  his  surrender,  with  a  hundred  of  his  chief 
knights,  the  treaty  was  broken  off,  and  the 
Prince  said,  quietly — "  God  defend  the  right ; 
we  shall  fight  to-morrow." 

Therefore,  on  the  Monday  morning,  at 
break  of  day,  the  two  armies  prepared  for 
battle.  The  English  were  posted  in  a  strong 
place,  which  could  only  be  approached  by  one 
narrow  lane,  skirted  by  hedges  on  both  sides. 
The  French  attacked  them  by  this  lane ; 
but  were  so  galled  and  slain  by  English 
arrows  from  behind  the  hedges,  that  they 
were  forced  to  retreat.  Then,  went  six 
hundred  English  bowmen  round  about,  and, 
coming  upon  the  rear  of  the  French  army, 
rained  arrows  on  them  thick  and  fast.  The 
French  knights,  thrown  into  confusion,  quitted 
their  banners  and  dispersed  in  all  directions. 
Said  Sir  John  Chandos  to  the  Prince,  "  Eide 
forward,  noble  Prince,  and  the  day  is  yours. 
The  King  of  France  is  so  valiant  a  gentleman, 
that  I  know  he  will  never  fly,  and  may  be 
taken  prisoner."  Said  the  Prince  to  this, 
"  Advance  English  banners,  in  the  name  of 
God  and  St.  George  ! "  and  on  they  pressed 
until  they  came  up  with  the  French  King, 
fighting  fiercely  with  his  battle-axe,  and, 
when  all  his  nobles  had  forsaken  him,  at- 
tended faithfully  to  the  last  by  his  youngest  son 
Philip,  only  sixteen  years  of  age.  Father  and 
son  fought  well,  and  the  King  had  already 
two  wounds  in  his  face,  and  had  been  beaten 


The  French  King,  Philip,  was  now  dead,  j  down,  when  he  at  last  delivered  himself  to  a 
and   was  succeeded   by  his   son   John.     The !  banished  French  Knight,  and  gave  him  his 
Black    Prince,    called   by    that    name    from  right-hand  glove  in  token  that  he  had  done  so. 
the   colour   of  the  armour  he  wore  to  set 
off  his  fair   complexion,  continuing  to   burn 
and   destroy   in    France,   roused   John   into 

determined   opposition ;    and    so    cruel    had  j  table,  and,  when  they  afterwards  rode  into 
the  Black  Prince  been  in  his  campaign,  and   London  in  a  gorgeous,  procession,   mounted 

the  French  King  on  a  fine   cream-coloured 


The  Black  Prince  was  generous  as  well  as 
brave,  and  he  invited  his  royal  prisoner  to 
supper  in  his  tent,  and  waited  upon  him  at 


so  severely  had  the  French  peasants  suffered, 
that  he  could  not  find  one  who,  for  love,  or 
money,  or  the  fear  of  death,  would  tell  him 
what  the  French  King  was  doing,  or  where 
he  was.  Thus  it  happened  that  he  came 
upon  the  French  King's  forces,  all  of  a  sudden, 
near  the  town  of  Poictiers,  and  found  that 
the  whole  neighbouring  country  was  occupied 
by  a  vast  French  army.  "  God  help  us  ! " 
said  the  Black  Prince,  "  we  must  make  the 
best  of  it." 

So,  on  a  Sunday  morning,  the  eighteenth  of 
September,  the  Prince  —  whose  army  was 
now  reduced  to  ten  thousand  men  in  all — 
prepared  to  give  battle  to  the  French  King, 
who  had  sixty  thousand  horse  alone.  While 
he  was  so  engaged,  there  came  riding  from 
the  French  camp,  a  Cardinal,  who  had  per- 
suaded John  to  let  him  offer  terms,  and  try 
to  save  the  shedding  of  Christian  blood. 
"Save  my  honour,"  said  the  Prince  to  this 
good  priest,  "and  save  the  honour  of  my 
army,  and  I  will  make  any  reasonable 
terms."  He  offered  to  give  up  all  the  towns, 
castles,  and  prisoners  he  had  taken,  and  to 
swear  to  make  no  war  in  France  for  seven 
years  ;  but,  as  Philip  would  hear  of  nothing 


horse,    and    rode    at    his    side    on 


little 


pony.  This  was  all  very  kind,  but  I  think  it 
was,  perhaps,  a  little  theatrical  too,  and  has 
been  made  more  meritorious  than  it  deserved 
to  be  ;  especially  as  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  greatest  kindness  to  the  King  of 
France  would  have  been  not  to  have  shown 
him  to  the  people  at  all.  However,  it  must 
be  said,  for  these  acts  of  politeness,  that,  in 
course  of  time,  they  did  much  to  soften  the 
horrors  of  war  and  the  passions  of  conquerors. 
It  was  a  long,  long  time  before  the  common 
soldiers  began  to  have  the  benefit  of  such 
courtly  deeds  ;  but  they  did  at  last  ;  and  thus 
it  is  possible  that  a  poor  soldier  who  asked 
for  quarter  at  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  or  any 
other  such  great  fight,  may  have  owed  his  life 
indirectly  to  Edward  the  Black  Prince. 

At  this  time  there  stood  in  the  Strand,  in 
London,  a  palace  called  the  Savoy,  which  was 
given  up  to  the  captive  King  of  France  and 
his  son  for  their  residence.  As  the  King  of 
Scotland  had  now  been  King  Edward's  cap- 
tive for  eleven  yeai's  too,  his  success  was,  at 
this  time,  tolerably  complete.  The  Scottish 
business  was  settled  by  the  prisoner  being 


212 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


released  under  the  title  of  Sir  David,  King 
of  Scotland,  and  by  his  engaging  to  pay  a 
large  ransom.  The  state  of  France  encouraged 
England  to  propose  harder  terms  to  that 
country,  where  the  people  rose  against  the 
unspeakable  cruelty  and  barbarity  of  its 
nobles  ;  where  the  nobles  rose  in  their  turn 
against  the  people  ;  where  the  most  frightful 
outrages  were  committed  on  all  sides  ;  and 
where  this  insurrection  of  the  peasants,  called 
the  insurrection  of  the  Jacquerie,  from 
Jacques,  a  common  Christian  name  among  the 
country  people  of  France,  awakened  terrors 
and  hatreds  that  have  scarcely  yet  passed 
away.  A  treaty  called  the  Great  Peace,  was 
at  last  signed,  under  which  King  Edward 
agreed  to  give  up  the  greater  part  of  his 
conquests,  and  King  John  to  pay,  within  six 
years,  a  ransom  of  three  million  crowns  of 
gold.  He  was  so  beset  by  his  own  nobles 
and  courtiers  for  having  yielded  to  these  con- 
ditions— though  they  could  help  him  to  no 
better — that  he  came  back  of  his  own  will  to 
his  old  palace-prison  of  the  Savoy,  and  there 
died. 

There  was  a  Sovereign  of  Castile  at  that 
time,  called  PEDRO  THE  CRUEL,  who  deserved 
the  name  remarkably  well :  having  committed, 
among  other  cruelties,  a  variety  of  murders. 
This  amiable  monarch  being  driven  from  his 
throne  for  his  crimes,  went  to  the  province  of 
Bourdeaux,  where  the  Black  Prince — now 
rnai-ried  to  his  cousin  JOAN,  a  pretty  widow 
— was  residing,  and  besought  his  help.  The 
Prince,  who  took  to  him  much  more  kindly 
than  a  prince  of  such  fame  ought  to  have  taken 
to  such  a  ruffian,  readily  listened  to  his  fair 
promises,  and,  agreeing  to  help  him,  sent 
secret  orders  to  some  troublesome  disbanded 
soldiers  of  his  and  his  father's,  who  called 
themselves  the  Free  Companions,  and  who 
had  been  a  pest  to  the  French  people  for  some 
time,  to  aid  this  Pedro.  The  Prince,  himself, 
going  into  Spain  to  head  the  army  of  relief, 
soon  set  Pedro  on  his  throne  again — where 
he  no  sooner  found  himself,  than,  of  course, 
he  behaved  like  the  villain  he  was,  broke  his 
word  without  the  least  shame,  and  abandoned 
all  the  promises  he  had  made  to  the  Black 
Prince.  Now,  it  had  cost  the  Prince  a  good 
deal  of  money  to  pay  soldiers  to  support  this 
murderous  King  ;  and  finding  himself,  when 
he  came  back  disgusted  to  Bourdeaux,  not 
only  in  bad  health,  but  deeply  in  debt,  he 
began  to  tax  his  French  subjects  to  pay  his 
creditors.  They  appealed  to  the  French  King, 
CHARLES  ;  war  again  broke  out ;  and  the 
French  town  of  Limoges,  which  the  Prince 
had  greatly  benefited,  went  over  to  the  French 
King.  Upon  this  he  ravaged  the  province  of 
which  it  was  the  capital ;  burnt,  and  plundered, 
and  killed,  in  the  old  sickening  way  ;  and 
refused  mercy  to  the  prisoners,  men,  women, 
and  children  taken  in  the  offending  town, 
though  he  was  so  ill  and  so  much  in  need  of 
pity  himself  from  Heaven,  that  he  was  carried 
in  a  litter.  He  lived  to  come  home  and  make 


himself  popular  with  the  people  and  par- 
liament, and  he  died  on  Trinity  Sunday,  the 
eighth  of  June,  one  thousand  three  hundred 
and  seventy-six,  at  forty-six  years  old. 

The  whole  nation  mourned  for  him  as  one 
of  the  most  renowned  and  beloved  princes 
it  had  ever  had  ;  and  he  was  buried  with 
great  lamentations  in  Canterbury  Cathedral. 
Near  to  the  tomb  of  Edward  the  Confessor, 
his  monument,  with  his  figure,  carved  in  stone, 
and  represented  in  the  old  black  armour, 
lying  on  its  back,  may  be  seen  at  this  day, 
with  an  ancient  coat  of  mail,  a  helmet,  and  a 
pair  of  gauntlets  hanging  from  a  beam  above 
it,  which  most  people  like  to  believe  were 
once  worn  by  the  Black  Prince. 

King  Edward  did  not  outlive  his  renowned 
son,  long.  He  was  old,  and  one  Alice  Perrers, 
a  beautiful  lady,  had  contrived  to  make  him 
so  fond  of  her  in  his  old  age,  that  he  conld  re- 
fuse her  nothing,  and  made  himself  ridiculous. 
She  little  deserved  his  love,  or — what  I  dare 
say  she  valued  a  great  deal  more — the  jewels 
of  the  late  Queen,  which  he  gave  her  among 
other  rich  presents.  She  took  the  very  ring 
from  his  finger  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
when  he  died,  and  left  him  to  be  pillaged  by 
his  faithless  servants.  Only  one  good  priest 
was  true  to  him,  and  attended  him  to  the 
last. 

Besides  being  famous  for  the  great  victories 
I  have  related,  the  reign  of  King  Edward  the 
Third  was  rendered  memorable  in  better 
ways,  by  the  growth  of  architecture  and  the 
erection  of  Windsor  Castle.  In  better  ways 
still,  by  the  rising  up  of  WICKLIFFE,  originally 
a  poor  parish  priest  :  who  devoted  himself  to 
exposing,  with  wonderful  power  and  success, 
the  ambition  and  corruption  of  the  Pope,  and 
of  the  whole  church  of  which  he  was  the 
head. 

Some  of  those  Flemings  were  induced  to 
come  to  England  in  this  reign  too,  and  to 
settle  in  Norfolk,  where  they  made  better 
woollen  cloths  than  the  English  had  ever  had 
before.  The  Order  of  the  Garter  (a  very  fine 
thing  in  its  way,  but  hardly  so  important 
as  good  clothes  for  the  nation)  also  dates  from 
this  period.  The  King  is  said  to  have  picked 
up  a  lady's  garter  at  a  ball,  and  to  have  said, 
Ifoni  soit  qui  mal  y  pense — in  English,  "Evil 
be  to  him  who  evil  thinks  of  it."  The  courtiers 
were  usually  glad  to  imitate  what  the  King 
said  or  did,  and  hence  from  a  slight  incident 
the  Order  of  the  Garter  was  instituted.  a:;d 
became  a  great  dignity. 


jVoto  Ready,  Price  3s.  Grf., 
THE  FIRST  VOLUME  OF 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

To  be  completed  in  three  Volumes,  of  the  same  size  and  price. 

Collected  and  revised  from  "  Household  Words," 

With  a  Table  of  Dates. 

BRADBURY  AND  EVANS,    11,   BOUVEBIE   STREET. 


fubli.bed  at  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  Nortu,  Strand.    Printed  \>j  BKADBUHT  &  ETAKI,  Whltefri»r«,  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS."—3 


HAK.ESPBARB 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOUKNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  MAY  22,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id. 


THE  HARVEST  OF  GOLD. 

THREE  years  ago,  one  Mr.  Smith,  a  gentle- 
man engaged  in  iron-works  in  Australia, 
made  his  appearance  at  the  Government  House, 
Sydney,  with  a  lump  of  gold.  He  offered,  for 
a  large  sum  of  money,  to  point  out  where 
he  had  got  it,  and  where  more  was  to  be 
found  in  abundance.  The  Government,  how- 
evei*,  thinking  that  this  might  be  no  more 
than  a  device,  and  that  the  lump  produced 
might,  in  reality,  have  come  from  California, 
declined  to  buy  a  gold  field  in  the  dark,  but 
advised  Mr.  Smith  to  unfold  his  tale,  and 
leave  his  payment  to  the  liberality  of  Govern- 
ment. This  Mr.  Smith  refused  to  do,  and 
there  the  matter  ended. 

On  the  third  of  April,  1851,  Mr.  Hargraves, 
who  had  recently  returned  from  California, 
addressed  the  Government,  stating  that  the 
result  of  his  experience  in  that  country  had 
led  him  to  expect  gold  in  Australia ;  that 
the  results  of  his  exploring  had  been  highly 
satisfactory  ;  and  that  for  the  sum  of  five 
hundred  pounds  he  would  point  out  the 
precious  districts.  The  same  answer  was 
returned  that  had  disposed  of  Mr.  Smith,  but 
with  an  opposite  effect ;  for  Mr.  Hargraves 
declaring  himself  "satisfied  to  leave  the  re- 
muneration for  his  discovery  to  the  liberal 
consideration  of  the  Government,"  at  once 
named  the  districts,  which  were  Lewis  Ponds, 
Summer-Hill  Creek,  and  Macquarie  River,  in 
Bathurst  and  Wellington — the  present  Ophir. 
Mr.  Hargraves  was  directed  to  place  himself 
at  once  in  communication  with  the  Govern- 
ment Surveyor. 

Meantime,  the  news  began  to  be  whispered 
about.  A  man  who  appeared  in  Bathurst 
with  a  lump  of  gold  worth  thirty  pounds, 
which  he  had  picked  up,  created  a  great 
sensation,  and  numbers  hastened  to  see  whe- 
ther they  could  not  do  likewise.  The  Com- 
missioner of  Crown  Lands  became  alarmed. 
He  warned  all  those  who  had  commenced 
their  search,  of  the  illegality  of  their  pro- 
ceedings, and  made  earnest  application  for 
efficient  assistance,  imagining  that  the  doings 
in  California  were  to  be  repeated  in  Bathurst, 
and  that  pillage  and  murder  were  to  be  the 
order  of  the  day.  The  Government  im- 
mediately took  active  measures  for  the  main- 
tenance of  order.  Troops  were  despatched  to 


the  Gold  fields,  and  the  Inspector-General  of 
Police  received  a  discretionary  power  to 
employ  what  force  he  thought  proper. 

Great  was  the  excitement  in  Sydney  upon 
the  confirmation  of  all  this  intelligence.  Hasty 
partings,  deserted  desks,  and  closed  shops, 
multiplied  in  number.  Every  imaginable 
mode  of  conveyance  was  resorted  to,  and 
hundreds  set  off  on  foot. 

On  the  fourteenth  of  May,  the  Government 
Surveyor  reported  that  in  communication  with 
Mr.  Hargraves,  he  had  visited  the  before- 
mentioned  districts,  and  after  three  hours' 
examination,  "  had  seen  quite  enough :" — gold 
was  everywhere  plentiful. 

A  Proclamation  was  at  once  issued,  for- 
bidding any  person  to  dig  without  a  license, 
setting  forth  divers  pains  and  penalties  for 
disobedience.  Licenses  were  to  be  obtained 
upon  the  spot,  at  the  rate  of  thirty  shillings 
per  month,  liable  to  future  alteration.  No 
licenses  were  granted  to  any  one  who  could 
not  produce  a  certificate  of  discharge  from  his 
last  service,  or  otherwise  give  a  satisfactory 
account  of  himself ;  and  the  descriptions  of 
such  as  were  refused  were  registered.  A 
small  body  of  mounted  police  were  at  the 
same  time  organised,  who  were  paid  at  the 
somewhat  curious  rate  of  three  shillings  and 
threepence  per  day,  with  rations,  and  lodgings 
when  they  could  be  procured.  Fortunately, 
there  was  no  attempt  at  distux-bance,  for  the 
Governor  in  a  despatch  states,  "  that  the  rush 
of  people  (most  of  them  armed)  was  so  great, 
that  had  they  been  disposed  to  resist,  the 
whole  of  the  troops  and  police  would  have 
been  unable  to  cope  with  them."  The  licenses, 
too,  were  all  cheerfully  paid  for,  either  iu 
coin  or  gold. 

On  the  third  of  June,  Mr,  Hargraves  (who, 
in  the  meantime,  had  received  a  responsible 
appointment)  underwent  an  examination  before 
the  Legislative  Council,  when  he  stated  that 
he  was  led  to  search  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Bathurst,  by  observing  the  similarity  of  the 
country  to  California.  He  found  gold  as  soou. 
as  he  dismounted.  He  found  it  everywhere  ; 
rode  from  the  head  of  the  Turon  River  to 
its  confluence  with  the  Macquarie,  about  one 
hundred  miles  ;  found  gold  over  the  whole 
extent ;  afterwards  found  it  all  along  the 
Macquarie.  "  Bathurst,"  observed  Mr.  Har- 
graves, "is  the  most  extraordinary  place  I 


VOL.  v. 


113 


214 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


ever  saw.  Gold  is  actually  found  lying  oil 
the  ground,  close  to  the  surface."  And  Mr, 
Commissioner  Green,  two  days  afterwards, 
reported,  that  "  gold  was  found  in  every  pan 
of  earth  taken  up." 

But  the  most  important  event  connected 
•with  these  discoveries,  and  which  is  without 
parallel  in  the  world's  history,  remains  to  be 
told. 

On  the  sixteenth  of  July,  The  Bathurst  Free 
Press,  commenced  a  leader  with  the  following 
passage  : — 

"  Bathurst  is  mad  again  !  The  delirium  of 
golden  fever  has  returned  with  increased 
intensity.  Men  meet  together,  stare  stupidly 
at  one  another,  and  wonder  what  will  happen 
next.  Everybody  has  a  hundred  times  seen 
a  hundred-weight  of  flour.  A  hundred- 
weight of  sugar  is  an  every-day  fact ;  but  a 
hundred-weight  of  gold  is  a  phrase  scarcely 
known  in  the  English  language.  It  is  beyond 
the  range  of  our  ordinary  ideas  ;  a  sort  of 
physical  incomprehensibility ;  but  that  it  is  a 
material  existence,  our  own  eyes  bore  witness." 
Now  for  the  facts. 

On  Sunday,  eleventh  July,  it  was  whispered 
about  in  Sydney,  that  a  Dr.  Kerr  had  found 
a  hundred-weight  of  gold  !  Few  believed  it. 
It  was  thought  a  capital  joke.  Monday 
arrived,  and  all  doubts  were  dispelled  ;  for  at 
mid-day  a  tandem,  drawn  by  two  greys,  drew 
up  in  front  of  the  Free  Press  Office.  Two  im- 
mense lumps  of  virgin  gold  were  displayed  in 
the  body  of  the  vehicle ;  and  being  freely 
handed  1'ound  to  a  quickly  assembled  crowd, 
created  feelings  of  wonder,  incredulity,  and 
admiration,  which  were  increased,  when  a 
large  tin  box  was  pointed  to,  as  containing 
the  remainder  of  the  hundred- weight  of  gold. 
The  whole  was  at  once  lodged  at  the  Union 
Bank  of  Australia,  where  the  process  of 
weighing  took  place  in  the  presence  of  a  party 
of  gentlemen,  including  the  lucky  owner  and 
the  manager  of  the  bank.  The  entire  mass 
weighed  about  three  hundred  pounds,  which 
yielded  one  hundred  and  six  pounds  of  pure 
gold,  valued  at  four  thousand  pounds.  This 
magnificent  mass  was  accidentally  discovered 
by  an  educated  aboriginal  in  the  service  of  Dr. 
IKerr  ;  who,  while  keeping  his  master's  sheep, 
had  his  attention  attracted  to  something 
shining  on  a  block  of  quartz,  and  breaking 
off  a  portion  with  his  tomahawk,  this  hitherto 
hidden  treasure  stared  him  in  the  face.  The 
lump  was  purchased  by  Messrs.  Thacker  and 
Company,  of  Sydney,  and  consigned  to  an 
eminent  firm  in  London. 

Meanwhile,  the  Commissioner  reported  a 
gold  field  many  miles  in  extent,  north-east  of 
Bathurst,  adding  that  it  would  afford  em- 
ployment for  live  thousand  persons,  the 
average  gain  of  each  person  being  then  one 
pound  per  day  ;  while  provisions,  which  at 
one  time  had  been  enormously  high,  owing  to 
the  cupidity  of  speculators,  had  fallen  so  low, 
that  the  sum  of  ten  shillings  a-week  was 
quite  sufficient  for  one  individual's  subsistence. 


The  Kepoi'ts  from  the  other  Commissioners 
were  equally  favourable  ;  and  it  is  gratifying 
to  find  that  they  all  spoke  in  the  highest 
terms  of  the  orderly  and  exemplary  conduct 
of  the  diggers. 

Since  the  discoveries  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Sydney,  there  have  been  found,  in  South 
Australia,  large  tracts  of  country,  abounding 
in  gold,  only  sixteen  miles  from  Melbourne. 
The  most  recent  accounts  (December  15, 1851) 
from  these  regions  are  of  a  most  astounding 
character.  In  the  first  week  in  December 
nearly  fifty  thousand  pounds  value  in  gold 
was  brought  into  Melbourne  and  Geelong. 
The  amount  would  have  been  greater  but  for 
want  of  conveyance.  •"  To  find  quartz,"  says 
the  Austral  ian  and  New  Zealand  Gazette, "  is  to 
find  gold.  It  is  found  thirty-two  feet  from  the 
surface  in  plenty.  Gold  is  actually  oozing 
from  the  earth."  Nuggets  of  gold,  from  four- 
teen ounces  to  twenty- seven  pounds,  are  to 
be  found  in  abundance.  A  single  quartz 
"  nuggeV  found  in  Louisa  creek,  sold  for  one 
thousand  one  hundred  and  fifty-five  pounds. 
The  Alert  was  on  her  way  home  with  one 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  pounds  sterling 
in  gold,  and  two  other  vessels  with  similar 
rich  cargoes. 

Every  town  and  village  were  becoming 
gradually  deserted.  "  Those  who  remain 
behind  to  mind  the  flocks  demand  such  wages, 
that  farming  will  not  long  pay.  Labour  is 
in  such  demand  that  anybody  with  a  pair  of 
hands  can  readily  command  thirty-five  shil- 
lings per  week,  with  board  and  lodging."  The 
Government  Commissioners  had  given  in  their 
unanimous  report,  that  the  gold  fields  were 
already  so  extensive  as  to  afford  remunerative 
employment  for  one  hundred  thousand  persons. 
In  conclusion,  the  last  advices  describe  the 
excitement  as  so  intense  that  fears  were 
entertained  that  sufficient  hands  would  not  be 
left  to  get  in  the  standing  crops. 

Every  week  the  number  multiplies,  of  gold- 
seekers'  colonies  planted  about  streams  in 
Australia  ;  at  all,  the  conduct  of  the  diggers 
is  exemplary.  Most  of  them  cease  from 
labour  on  the  Sunday,  and  spend  that  day  as 
they  would  spend  it  if  they  were  in  town. 
The  first  keg  of  spirits  taken  into  an  Aus- 
tralian gold  field  had  its  head  punched  out  by 
the  miners ;  and  Government  has  since  assisted 
them  in  the  endeavour  to  repress  the  use  of 
stronger  stimulants  than  wine  or  beer.  Where 
very  member  of  the  community  possesses 
more  or  less  of  the  great  object  of  desire ; 
where  stolen  gold  could  never  be  identified ; 
where  it  would  be  far  from  easy  to  identify  a 
thief  who  passes  to-aud-fro  among  communi- 
ties composed  entirely  of  chance-comers, 
having  faces  strange  one  to  another,  a  little 
Irunkenness  might  lead  to  a  great  deal  of 
lawlessness  and  crime.  There  are  men,  how- 
ever, who  will  drink  ;  and  what  are  called  by 
the  miners  "sly  grog-sellers"  exist,  and  elude 
discovery  in  every  gold  settlement.  Yet  we 
read  of  one  man  who,  being  drunk,  had  dropped 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  HARVEST  OF  GOLD. 


215 


the  bottle  which  contained  his  gold,  and  are 
informed  that  lie  was  afterwards  sought  out, 
and  received  due  restoration  of  his  treasure 
from  its  finder.  Some  settlements  are  much 
more  lawless  than  the  rest,  and  we  have  read, 
perhaps,  more  ill  of  Ballarat  than  any  other  ; 
yet  it  is  of  Ballarat  that  we  receive  the  fol- 
lowing sketch  from  a  private  correspondent. 

The  writer,  with  a  party  of  four  young 
friends,  quitted  a  farm  near  Geelong,  in 
October  last  year,  to  experiment  as  a  digger 
at  Ballarat  until  the  harvest.  One  man  at  a 
gold  field  can  do  little  for  himself ;  a  party  of 
about  four  is  requisite  to  make  a  profitable 
division  of  the  labour.  "  With  this  party,"  our 
correspondent  says,  "I  started  on  Thursday, 
October  the  second,  for  the  Gold  City  of 
Ballarat.'  We  took  with  us  all  requisite  tools  ; 
a  large  tarpaulin  to  make  into  a  tent ;  and 
provisions  to  last  us  for  two  months.  All 
this  was  stowed  away  in  our  own  dray  ;  and 
our  man  Tom  accompanied  it. 

"This  mode  of  travelling  —  the  universal 
mode  in  Australia — is  very  pleasant  in  fine 
weather.  We  used  to  be  up  at  daybreak,  and 
start  as  soon  as  we  had  breakfasted.  We 
would  go  on  leisurely — for  bullocks  won't  be 
hurried — and  get  through  a  stage  of  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  miles,  according  to  the  state 
of  the  roads,  allowing  an  interval  of  one  hour 
for  dinner.  Then  we  would  stop  for  the  night 
at  some  convenient  camping-ground,  where 
there  was  a  good  supply  of  grass,  wood,  and 
water.  There,  our  first  proceedings  were  to 
make  a  big  fire,  and  a  great  kettle  of  tea — a 
kettle,  mind  ;  then  we  rigged  out  a  temporary 
tent,  spread  our  beds  on  the  ground,  and  went 
to  sleep  as  comfortably  as  if  we  were  at  a 
first-rate  hotel. 

"  On  Monday  night — having  left  the  farm 
on  the  previous  Thursday — we  camped  about 
two  miles  from  the  diggings  ;  and  making  a 
very  early  start,  we  got  in  sight  of  them  a 
little  after  sunrise. 

"  It  certainly  was  the  most  extraordinary 
sight  I  ever  beheld.  Imagine  a  valley,  varying 
in  width  from  one  hundred  to  five  hundred 
yards,  enclosed  on  either  side  by  high  ranges  of 
hills,  thickly  timbered.  Through  the  middle  of 
this  valley  there  winds  a  rapid  little  stream,  or 
'  creek,'  as  it  is  termed  here.  On  the  banks 
of  the  creek,  and  among  the  trees  of  the 
surrounding  ranges,  were  clustered  tents, 
bark-huts  formed  after  the  native  fashion 
with  boughs  of  trees,  and  every  kind  of  tem- 
porary habitation  which  could  be  put  up  in 
the  course  of  an  hour  or  two. 

"Some  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  number 
of  tents  and  other  habitations,  when  I  say 
that  there  were  then  at  least  five  thousand 
men  at  work  within  a  space  of  about  half-a- 
mile  up  the  creek.  All  these  had  collected 
together  in  a  few  weeks ;  for  it  was  only  in 
the  latter  end  of  August  that  gold  was  first 
found  in  this  out-of-the-way  forest  valley — 
now  the  site  of  the  'City  of  Ballarat,'  as  it 


"We  chose  a  place  for  our  tent  on  a  rather 
retired  spot,  not  far  from  the  creek  ;  in  a 
couple  of  hours  our  '  house  '  was  put  up,  the 
stores  stowed  away  inside  it,  and  Tom  and  his 
team  were  off  on  the  home  journey  to  Geelong. 
Leaving  the  others  to  '  set  our  house  in, 
order,'  get  in  a  stock  of  firewood,  bake  a 
damper,  and  perform  various  other  odd  jobs 
attendant  upon  taking  up  one's  residence  in 
the  Bush — Fred,  and  I  set  out  to  reconnoitre 
the  scene  of  our  future  operations. 

"  The  place  where  there  was  the  richest  de- 
posit of  gold  was  on  the  face  of  a  hill,  which, 
sloped  gradually  down  from  the  edges  on  the 
right-hand  (or  east)  side  of  the  creek,  going 
towards  the  source.  I  mention  these  par- 
ticulars, because  it  is  worthy  of  note  that 
almost  all  the  principal  diggings  have  been 
discovered  in  places  similarly  situated.  The 
whole  of  the  hill  was  what  geologists  call  an 
'  alluvial  deposit :'  consisting  of  various  strata 
of  sand,  gravel,  large  quartz  boulders,  and 
white  clay,  in  the  order  I  have  named  them. 
It  is  in  this  white  clay,  immediately  beneath 
the  quartz,  that  the  gold  is  found.  In  one 
part  of  the  hill,  where  the  discovery  was 
first  made,  this  layer  of  quartz  was  visible 
at  the  surface,  or  '  cropped  out :'  in  other 
parts  it  is  to  be  met  with  at  various  depths, 
of  from  five  to  thirty  feet. 

"  When  first  these  diggings  were  discovered, 
there  were,  as  might  be  expected,  continual 
disputes  as  to  how  much  ground  each  man 
should  have  for  his  operations.  One  party 
applied  to  the  Government,  which  imme- 
diately appointed  a  Commissioner  and  a  whole 
staff  of  subordinates,  to  maintain  order  and 
enforce  certain  regulations,  made  ostensibly 
for  the  benefit  of  the  diggers.  Of  these 
regulations  the  two  principal  ones  were,  that 
each  person  must  pay  thirty  shillings  per 
month  for  a  license  to  '  dig,  search  for,  and 
remove  gold'  (I  enclose  you  my  license  as  a 
curiosity)  ;  and  that  no  person  could  claim 
more  than  eight  feet  square  of  ground  to  work 
at,  at  one  time.  In  consequence  of  this  last 
regulation,  the  workings  were  concentrated 
in  a  small  part  of  the  hill,  where  the  gold  was 
chiefly  to  be  found.  This  spot  was  perfectly 
riddled  with  holes,  of  from  eight  to  sixteen 
feet  square,  separated  by  narrow  pathways, 
which  formed  the  means  of  communication 
between  each  hole  and  the  creek.  A  walk 
about  this  honeycomb  of  holes  was  most 
amusing.  The  whole  place  swarmed  with 
men ;  some  at  work  in  the  pits ;  others 
carrying  down  the  auriferous  earth  to  be 
washed  in  the  creek — in  wheel-barz-ows,  hand- 
barrows,  sacks,  and  tin  dishes  on  their  heads. 
In  some  of  the  holes  I  even  saw  men  digging 
out  bits  of  gold  from  between  the  stones  with 
a  table-knife. 

"  Busy  as  this  scene  was,  I  think  the  scene 
at  the  creek  was  busier.  Both  banks,  for  half- 
a-mile,  were  lined  with  men,  hard  at  work 
washing  the  earth  in  cradles.  Each  cradle 
employs  three  men ;  and  all  the  cradles  are 


216 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


placed  close  to  one  another,  at  intervals  of 
not  more  than  a  yard.  The  noise  produced 
by  the  incessant  '  rock-rock'  of  these  cradles 
•was  like  that  of  an  immense  factory.  This — 
together  with  continual  hammering  of  a 
thousand  picks,  and  the  occasional  crashing 
fall  of  immense  trees,  whose  roots  had  been 
undermined  by  some  mole  of  a  gold-digger — 
made  a  confusion  of  sounds,  of  which  you  will 
find  it  difficult  to  form  a  just  idea." 

Our  correspondent's  party  was  not  very 
fortunate  in  its  researches  at  Eallarat.  Having 
explained  this  to  us,  he  continues  to  give  his 
impressions  of  the  place. 

'•'  When  we  arrived  there,  the  influx  of 
people  was  still  going  on  ;  tents  springing  up 
at  the  rate  of  fifty  per  diem.  This  continued 
until  the  third  week  in  September,  when 
the  number  of  persons  on  the  ground  was 
estimated  at  seven  thousand.  Strange  as 
was  the  appearance  of  the  place  by  day,  it 
was  still  stranger  at  night.  Before  every  tent 
was  a  fire ;  and  in  addition  to  this  general 
illumination,  there  was  not  unfrequently  a 
special  one — the  accidental  burning  down  of 
some  tent  or  other.  These  little  conflagra- 
tions produced  splendid  effects  ;  the  bright 
glare  suddenly  lighting  up  the  gloomy  masses 
of  trees,  and  the  groups  of  wild-looking 
diggers. 

"  Noise,  too,  was  a  prominent  feature  of 
'  Ballarat  by  night.'  From  dusk  till  eleven 
p.  m.,  there  was  a  continuous  discharge  of  fire- 
arms ;  for  almost  every  one  brought  some 
kind  of  weapon  with  him  to  the  diggings. 
Then  there  was  a  band  which  discoursed  by 
no  means  eloquent  music  :  nine-tenths  of  the 
score  being  monopolised  by  the  drum.  In 
the  pauses  of  this — which  occurred,  I  suppose, 
whenever  the  indefatigable  drummer  had 
made  his  arms  ache — we  would  hear  rising 
from  some  of  the  tents  music  of  a  more 
pleasing  character.  The  party  next  ours 
sang  hymns  very  correctly  in  four  parts ; 
and  from  another  tent  the  '  Last  Rose  of 
Summer'  sometimes  issued,  played  very  pathe- 
tically on  the  flageolet, 

"  Sunday  was  always  well  observed  at  the 
diggings,  so  far  as  absence  from  work  was 
concerned  :  and  there  was  Service  held  twice 
a  day  by  different  ministers.  Altogether, 
though  there  were  occasional  fights — par- 
ticularly on  Sundays — there  was  much  less 
disorder  than  one  would  have  expected,  where 
a  large  body  of  such  men  were  gathered 
together.  While  we  stayed,  there  happened 
only  one  murder  and  two  or  three  robberies. 
You  must  not  take  the  quantity  of  gold  we 
got  as  any  criterion  of  the  amount  found  by 
other  parties.  Numbers  made  fortunes  in  a 
few  weeks.  One  party  that  I  knew  obtained 
thirty  pounds  weight — troy — in  seven  weeks  ; 
and  a  youth  of  seventeen,  who  came  out  with 
me  in  the  'Anna  Maria,'  received  five  hundred 
pounds  as  his  share  of  six  weeks'  work.  These 
are  but  ordinary  cases.  The  greatest  quantity 
known  to  have  been  taken  out  in  one  day,  was 


sixty-three  pounds  weight,  nearly  three  thou- 
sand pounds  worth. 

"  On  Wednesday,  November  fifth,  we  packed 
up,  left  Ballarat,  and  set  off  for  Mount  Alex- 
ander, where  we  arrived  on  the  Saturday  follow- 
ing. The  Diggings  there  are  not  confined  to  one 
spot,  but  extend  for  twelve  miles  up  a  valley. 
The  gold  is  found  mostly  among  the  surface- 
soil  :  some  I  have  even  seen  lying  among  the 
grass.  We  tried  first  at  a  place  where  there 
was  only  one  party  at  work  ;  and  the  trial 
proving  satisfactory,  we  stayed  there  three 
weeks,  and  obtained  thirty-six  ounces  of  gold. 
For  a  few  days  we  did  nothing  ;  and  then  we 
went  over  to  some  other  Diggings  about  five 
miles  off.  Here  we  went  "  prospecting  "  for 
ourselves,  and  the  first  day  found  out  a  spot 
from  which  we  took  thirty-five  ounces  in  one 
week — the  last  of  our  stay  ;  eighteen  ounces 
we  found  in  a  single  day. 

"  We  then  started  off,  back  to  Geelong  ; 
for  I  was  anxious  to  be  back  for  the  harvest. 
We  reached  home  on  Saturday,  December 
twentieth." 

Writing  on  the  twenty-eighth  of  December, 
our  informant  adds  : — 

"  This  gold  discovery  has  sent  the  whole 
country  mad.  There  are  now  upwards  of 
fifty  thousand  men  at  work  at-  the  various 
diggings  ;  of  which  I  have  only  mentioned 
the  two  principal  ones,  Ballarat  and  Mount 
Alexander.  Everybody  who  can  by  any 
means  get  away,  is  off.  It  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  obtain  labourers  at  any  wages.  Half 
the  wheat  in  the  country  will  most  likely  rot 
on  the  ground  for  want  of  hands  to  reap  it. 
Fortunately  we  shall  be  able  to  get  in  ours 
ourselves,  for  our  man  Tom  is  still  with  us,  and 
Mr.  E.'s  four  brothers  will  lend  us  a  hand. 
We  have  a  very  good  crop  of  wheat,  for  the 
first  year :  the  barley,  of  which  we  had  an 
acre  or  two,  we  have  already  cut  and  threshed,  , 
and  are  going  to  send  a  load  in  to  Geeloug 
to-morrow.  I  can  handle  the  sickle  and 
flail  pretty  well  for  a  beginner.  We  shall  cut 
the  wheat  next  Tuesday.  As  soon  as  the 
harvest  is  over,  and  the  wheat  threshed  out 
and  sold,  Mr.  E.  and  I  mean  to  make  up  an- 
other party  and  be  off  to  the  diggings.  We 
cannot  do  all  the  work  on  the  farm  ourselves, 
and  hiring  servants  now  is  out  of  the  question. 
Men  are  asking  seven  shillings  and  sixpence 
a-day  wages,  and  will  only  hire  by  the  week 
at  that  rate.  Things  will  soon  be  in  the  same 
state  as  they  are  in  California.  All  ordinary 
employments  will  be  put  a  stop  to  for  a  time  :. 
but  there  will  no  doubt  come  a  reaction  in 
the  course  of  a  year  or  two." 

The  reaction  anticipated  by  the  writer 
will  not  consist  in  a  disgust  at  gold,  or  a 
decrease  in  the  number  of  gold-diggers.  It 
will  be  less  a  reaction  than  a  recovery 
of  balance.  Although  the  gold  in  Australia  isr 
on  the  whole,  peculiarly  accessible,  and  so 
abundant  that  a  persevering  worker  cannot 
fail  to  draw  a  livelihood  out  of  the  diggings ; 
yet  there  are  very  many  workers  who  are 


Charles  Dickens.; 


THE  HAEVEST  OF  GOLD. 


217 


not  disposed  to  persevere.  Experience  has 
shown,  that  a  large  number'  of  men  who 
rush  upon  the  gold  field  to  pick  up  a  fortune, 
like  all  sanguine  people,  take  up  quickly  with 
despair,  and  come  away  after  a  few  weeks  of 
bad  success.  Of  the  large  number  of  people 
who  will  be  induced  by  their  gold  to  emigrate 
into  the  Australian  colonies,  many  will  try  the 
gold  fields  and  abandon  them,  many  will  find 
their  health  or  their  acquired  habits  unsuited 
to  the  rough  work  of  the  diggings,  and  the 
"  Home  of  the  Gold  Miners  " — as  one  sees  it 
advertised  in  Sydney  papers,  "  weighing  only 
twelve  pounds — nine  feet  square  by  eight  feet 
high,  for  thirty-five  shillings."  Such  men 
and  others  will  be  more  ready  to  spread  about 
the  towns  and  through  the  pastures.  In  a 
year  or  two  there  will  be  in  Australia  labour 
willing  to  employ  itself  as  readily  upon  the 
fields  as  vipon  the  gold,  while  the  work  will 
proceed  at  the  gold  fields  steadily  enough. 

The  contrast  is  very  great  between  the 
orderly  behaviour  at  the  gold  fields  in  Aus- 
tralia, and  the  disorders  of  California.  There 
are  few  fields,  we  are  told,  at  which  a  miner 
might  not  have  his  wife  and  family ;  if  he 
eould  provide  accommodation  for  them,  they 
would  be  as  safe,  and  meet  with  just  as  much 
respect  as  if  they  lived  in  their  own  house  in 
town.  A  clergyman,  quitting  the  Turon 
settlement,  publicly  returns  his  "  sincere 
thanks  to  the  commissioners  of  the  Turon, 
and  to  the  mining  population  in  general,  for 
the  many  acts  of  kindness  which  he  expe- 
rienced during  his  short  residence  among 
them.  He  considers  it  his  duty,"  he  says, 
"  thus  publicly  to  state,  not  only  his  own  per- 
sonal obligations,  but  also  the  pleasure  which 
he  felt  in  witnessing  the  general  desire  of  all 
classes  to  promote  the  object  of  his  mission, 
and  to  profit  by  his  humble  labours  ;  and 
if,"  he  says,  "  he  were  to  judge  from  their 
orderly  conduct,  and  from  the  earnest  attention 
and  apparent  devotion  with  which  they  all 
joined  in  the  religious  services  of  the  sabbath, 
he  could  not  help  forming  a  very  favourable 
opinion  of  the  miners.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  the  great  majority  are  sober,  industrious, 
and  well-disposed." 

The  file  of  a  Sydney  daily  paper  since  the 
commencement  of  gold  discoveries,  is  quite  a 
study  for  philosophers.  Wonderful  tales  of 
treasures  brought  to  town,  condensed  into  the 
weekly  "  Gold  Circular,"  are  waited  upon  by 
an  array  of  light,  social  absurdities,  and  sup- 
ported by  an  admirable  body  of  sound  human 
feeling.  In  one  week,  for  example,  twenty- 
five  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  gold  has  come 
to  town,  against  which  uprises  a  wholesale 
und  retail  grocer,  who  advertises  that  "  Eco- 
nomy is  a  sure  road  to  a  Gold  Field,"  and 
requests  the  public  to  look  rather  to  his  Teas 
and  Coffees.  Then  our  English  eyes  do, 
indeed,  dwell  a  little  on  his  list,  when  we  re- 
member our  own  taxes,  and  see  that  the  gold 
diggers  may  buy  gunpowder  tea  at  two 
shillings  a  pound,  and  sugar  at  twopence. 


No  wonder  that   they    make    their  £eav  iu 
kettles. 

The  next  weekly  "  Gold  Circular  "  tells  of 
fifteen  thousand  pounds'  worth  that  has  come 
in  by  Government  escort — an  unpopular, 
because  a  dear  conveyance,  the  charge  being 
one  per  cent. ;  and,  as  for  the  gold  privately 
transmitted,  adds  the  Circular,  '•  When  we 
know  of  one  man  bringing  down  a  thousand 
ounces  in  a  horse-collar,  it  is  impossible  to 
state  correctly  what  may  come  into  town." 
On  the  same  day,  a  draper  declares  that  he 
is  determined  to  sell  ten  thousand  pounds' 
worth  of  haberdashery  at  an  alarming  sacrifice, 
"  it  being  perfectly  evident  that  at  the  present 
time  it  is  the  only  means  by  which  a  trade 
can  be  done," — and  so  on.  In  the  same  paper 
there  is  advertised  Number  One  of  a  new 
periodical,  to  be  called  "  The  Golden  Age  ; " 
and  another  bookseller  announces  as  "  The 
only  readable  book  ever  published  in  Austra- 
lia, '  The  Gold  Calculator  ;  or,  Diggers'  and 
Dealers'  Eeady  Eeckoner.'  "  That  being  the 
humour  of  Australian  authors,  an  Australian, 
musician  offers,  in  the  same  good  cause,  "  The 
Ophir  Schottische ; "  while  the  public  is  in 
various  places  strongly  recommended  to  buy 
pumps  and  cradles. 

In  another  paper,  we  meet  with  an  in- 
telligent calculation  of  the  advantages  that 
will  be  derived  by  the  Australian  colonies, 
from  the  immigration  caused  by  gold.  Among 
these,  it  is  remembered  that  more  mouths 
will  want  more  mutton,  and  pay  to  the  now 
troubled  agriculturists  better  price  for  car- 
cases, that  hitherto  have  only  been  available 
for  tallow.  In  this  calculation,  we  meet  with  an 
item  that  again  falls  curiously  on  our  English 
ears  : — "  The  consumption  of  meat  at  Sydney 
is  at  the  rate  of  about  three  hundred  and 
thirty  pounds  per  head  per  annum  ;  that  of 
the  bush  much  more,  as  there  is  a  small 
proportion  of  children,  and  the  adults  have, 
at  least,  five  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  per 
annum,  and  a  large  proportion  from  six  hun- 
dred to  seven  hundred  and  twenty  pounds." 

Then  we  come  upon  a  narrative  of  the 
attempts  that  have  been  made  to  put  down 
sly-grog-men  at  the  gold-fields.  "  I  went 
out,"  says  the  writer,  "  one  or  two  nights  with 
the  Commissioners  on  the  Turon,  and  after 
blundering  about  all  night  among  deep  pita 
and  high  banks,  crossing  a  flooded  river  half- 
a-dozen  times  on  slippery  logs,  I  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  to  be  out  of  bed  on  any  such 
errand,  was  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 
We  knew  that  we  were  within  a  few  yards  of 
the  grog-shop  ;  saw  drunken  men  lying  about, 
but  everything  was  perfectly  quiet  ;  not  a 
move,  nor  a  sound,  except  the  monotonous 
declaration  of  a  drunken  fellow,  that— he  was 
a  man."  Perhaps  he  was  sober  enough  to 
feel  that  he  incurred  some  risk  of  being  taken 
for  a  beast. 

In  another  paper  we  are  told  of  the  first 
passage  of  "  the  gold  coach  "  through  a  quiet 
village,  and  of  the  consequent  defection  of  the 


218 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


labourers.  In  the  same  paper  we  have  news 
from  Mount  Alexander,  that  might  well  turn 
the  head  of  any  villager.  One  person  "  left 
Melbourne  on  Saturday,  and  returned  on  the 
Monday  week  following,  bringing  fourteen 
pounds  weight  of  gold  with  him,  dug  up  by 
himself.  Another  man,  after  working  ten 
days,  brought  back  twenty-two  pounds  weight. 
A  friend  of  mine,  a  gentleman  who  only  went 
to  see,  was  anxious  to  try  his  luck,  and  begged 
a  dishful  of  earth,  to  have,  as  he  thought,  a 
few  grains  to  take  home  with  him ;  a  few 
minutes  washing  gave  him  nearly  two  ounces 
of  gold."  The  gold  at  Mount  Alexander, 
the  richest  field  discovered  yet,  lies  near 
the  surface.  Two  men  there  obtained  four 
hundred  ounces  in  three  weeks.  As  for  the 
weekly  "  Gold  Circular,"  at  Sydney,  it  gets 
poetical : — 

"  In  our  first  shipment,  we  could  count  the 
value  of  the  gold  in  pounds  sterling  by  hun- 
dreds ;  in  a  few  weeks  it  rose  to  thousands  ; 
in  a  few  weeks  more  it  became  tens  of  thou- 
sands ;  and  we  are  fast  approaching  a  period 
when  each  ship  will  convey  hundreds  of 
thousands."  At  the  time  when  that  was 
Tvritten — on  December  sixth — in  the  very 
few  months  since  the  digging  was  commenced, 
there  had  been  shipped  from  Australia,  gold 
to  the  value  of  three  hundred  and  twenty-nine 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  ninety-seven 
pounds  ;  and  since  that  time  the  yield  of  gold 
has  been  increasing.  At  the  same  time, 
California  continues  unexhausted,  and  the 
field  of  gold  in  Russia  has  enlarged. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  there  is  just 
reason  for  anticipating  a  change  in  the  value 
of  gold,  which  will  begin  to  take  place  gra- 
dually at  no  distant  time.  The  annual  supply 
of  gold  promises  now  to  be  about  eight  times 
greater  than  it  was  at  the  commencement  of  the 
present  century.  The  value  of  silver,  with  refe- 
rence to  corn,  fell  two-thirds  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  as  that  of  gold  is  likely  to  fall  in  the 
nineteenth.  The  price  of  silver  fell  in  conse- 
quence of  the  increased  production  from  the 
great  mines  in  America.  A  piece  of  gold  is 
now  assumed  to  be  worth  fifteen  or  sixteen 
like  pieces  of  silver  ;  during  the  Middle  Ages 
it  was  worth  only  twelve  such  pieces.  In 
Europe,  under  Charlemagne,  ten  pieces  of 
silver  were  an  equivalent ;  and  at  one  period, 
in  Rome,  silver  was  but  nine  times  less 
precious  than  gold  :  relative  values,  therefore, 
have  varied,  and  they  will  vary  again.  Since 
they  were  last  fixed  by  law,  there  have  oc- 
curredno  causes  of  disturbance.  Now,  however, 
a  time  of  disturbance  is  again  at  hand. 

In  France  the  monetary  unit  is  a  franc,  and 
silver  is,  by  law,  the  standard  coinage  ;  but,  a 
supplementary  law  having  assigned  the  value 
of  twenty  silver  francs  to  pieces  of  gold  of  a 
fixed  weight,  our  neighbours  will  not  be 
exempted  from  our  difficulty,  and  the  French 
State,  like  the  English  State,  may  profit,  if  it 
please,  at  the  expense  of  public  creditors. 
Governments  have  only  to  do  nothing,  and  a 


large  part  of  their  debts  will  tumble  from 
them  ;  holders  of  Government  securities  have 
only  to  be  passive,  and  in  the  course  of  yeara 
their  incomes  will  diminish  sensibly.  Debtors 
will  hold  a  jubilee,  and  creditors  will  be  dis- 
mayed, if  gold  shall  be  allowed  to  fall  in  value, 
without  due  provision  being  made  to  avert,  as 
far  as  possible,  all  inconvenience  attending 
that  event. 

In  1848,  the  value  of  gold  had  been  for 
many  years  a  very  little  more  than  the 
amount  of  silver  allowed  by  law,  in  France, 
as  its  equivalent.  The  little  difference  was 
quite  enough  to  put  gold  out  of  circulation. 
Gold  was  more  precious  as  metal  than  as 
money ;  it  was,  therefore,  used  by  preference 
as  metal ;  when  wanted  as  coin,  it  was  only 
to  be  bought,  at  more  than  its  legal  current 
value,  of  the  money-changers.  There  is  a 
vast  quantity  of  gold  in  circulation  now,  but 
it  is  newly  coined. 

The  fall  in  the  value  of  gold  cannot  begin 
to  any  appreciable  extent,  until  the  utmost 
available  quantity  has  been  employed  upon 
the  monetary  system  of  the  world.  Coinage 
now  goes  on  rapidly.  A  huge  mass  of  sove- 
reigns has  lately  been  sent  from  England  to 
the  Australian  colonies.  When  the  deprecia- 
tion once  begins,  it  will  be  tolerably  rapid.  It 
is  not  absurd  to  calculate,  that  if  the  gold 
production  should  continue  at  its  present 
rate,  sovereigns  will  be  as  half-sovereigns  now 
are  in  value,  in  the  course  of  about  twenty 
years. 

At  the  same  time,  it  will  be  the  duty  of  all 
States  to  take  such  precautions  as  shall  make 
it  impossible  for  a  change  of  this  kind  to  in- 
troduce confusion  into  commerce,  or  to  change 
the  character  and  spirit  of  existing  contracts. 


THE  RIGHTS  OF  FRENCH  WOMEN. 


IT  is  very  absurd  and  very  provoking  ;  but 
there  certainly  is  something  so  peculiar  in  the 
style  and  manner  of  John  Bull,  that,  go 
where  he  will,  and  dress  as  he  may,  he  is  sure 
to  be  recognised  as  an  Englishman. 

"  Does  Monsieur  know  where  he  is  going 
to  1 "  asked  a  man  in  a  House,  as  I  entered 
one  of  the  French  frontier  towns.  His  polite- 
ness arose  from  the  hope  of  pocketing  (iu 
return  for  leading  me  to  the  place  I  might 
want  to  find)  a  few  of  those  ugly  and  miscel- 
laneous things  called  sous.  These,  however, 
it  is  rumoured,  are  soon  to  grow  beautifully 
less,  by  the  substitution  of  a  new  miniature 
coinage,  a  sort  of  doll's  money,  in  which  a 
tiny  pocket-piece  about  the  size  of  a  farthing, 
is  to  represent  the  value  of  a  stout,  over- 
grown brown  penny. 

"  Does  Monsieur  know  the  way  ? " 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  I  know  my  way.  But 
what  is  all  this  bustle  about  1 " 

"They  are  drawing  for  the  conscription, 
here,  to-day.  To-morrow  they  will  draw  at 
the  place  you  come  from.  The  driver  hopes 
you  will  return  in  his  voiture :"  there  being 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  EIGHTS  OF  FEENCH  WOMEN, 


219 


a  strong  opposition,  or  concurrence  on  the 
road. 

Now,  among  the  most  cherished  birthrights 
of  a  Frenchman,  are,  the  Eight  to  wear  a 
beard  of  any  size  and  shape,  from  a  house- 
maid's blacking-brush  to  a  full-grown  porcu- 
pine ;  and  the  Eight  to  be  drawn  for  a  soldier, 
and  to  serve  in  the  army  seven  glorious  years, 
or  thereabouts. 

The  "  thereabouts  "  arises  from  the  circum- 
stance that  the  term  is  reckoned  from  the 
first  of  January  of  the  year  in  which  the 
drawing  takes  place  ;  and  many  things  may 
happen  to  hasten  the  conge  or  discharge. 
Otherwise,  the  service  claims  its  due  with 
little  respect  to  persons.  Every  male  (subject 
or  citizen  ?)  born  in  France,  or  of  French 
parents  in  a  foreign  territory,  is  liable  to  be 
drawn.  Among  the  exemptions,  are — the 
eldest  of  an  orphan  family  ;  the  only  son,  or, 
if  no  son,  the  only  grandson  or  great  grand- 
son, of  a  widow,  or  of  one  seventy  years  of 
age.  Substitutes  are  sometimes  provided  by 
a  sort  of  Conscription  Assurance,  on  the  pay- 
ment before  the  drawing  of  a  thousand  francs  ; 
if  the  man-market  is  full,  eight  hundred  may 
insure  the  individual,  in  case  he  happens  to 
be  drawn.  After  the  conscription  has  marked 
its  men,  a  substitute  is  much  more  costly. 

The  market-place  was  now  full  of  these 
lads  ;  for  it  is  only  in  their  one-and-twentieth 
year  that  they  are  open  to  the  honours  of  the 
conscription.  Many  of  them,  by  their  look, 
woxild  have  been  taken  for  mere  boys  of  six- 
teen or  seventeen.  I  moved  among  the 
groups  unmolested  and  unnoticed,  though  I 
felt  very  much  out  of  place  there. 

As  fast  as  each  numero  or  number  was 
drawn,  and  the  name  to  which  it  fell  ascer- 
tained, the  person  to  whom  it  belonged  stuck 
in  front  of  his  cap  a  white  paper,  with  the 
figures  written  in  ink  in  large  characters. 
The  exact  number  is  a  matter  of  some  interest. 
For  suppose  that  from  a  certain  district  it  is 
calculated  that  fifty  serviceable  men  are  re- 
quired, numbers  will  be  inscribed  and  drawn 
up  to  perhaps  eighty.  If  all  the  first  fifty, 
on  medical  inspection,  turn  out  as  it  should 
be,  the  remaining  thirty  escape ;  but  if 
number  one  is  blind  or  lame,  then  number 
fifty- one  comes  into  play.  So  that  the  early 
numbers  are  sure  to  serve,  the  last  numbers 
almost  sure  to  come  off  scot-free,  while  the 
intennediate  gentlemen  are  in  quite  a  pre- 
carious state,  till  the  revision  is  over.  In 
some  municipalities  a  trifling  honorarium — a 
five-franc  piece,  or  so — is  given  to  the  drawer 
of  number  one  ;  but  that  is  soon  melted  away. 

The  poor  lad,  as  soon  as  he  was  ticketed, 
was  seized  by  two  or  more  companions,  and 
led  oft'  pinioned  arm  in  arm  to  the  nearest 
liquor-shop,  and  kept  there  until  his  senses 
were  stunned. 

"  La,  la,  la  !— la,  la,  la  !— la,  la,  la  !  " 

"Ah!  poor  boys,  they  sing,"  said  a  female 
acquaintance  who  recognised  me.  "  They  sing, 
and  the  mothers  cry.  My  poor  son,  "whom 


you  know,  had  to  set  out  for  Algiers  directly 
after  his  drawing.  There  he  was,  two  years, 
till  he  caught  the  African  fever,  and  was  sent 
home  for  us  to  nurse.  He  soon  was  really 
convalescent,  but  we  made  the  worst  of  it. 
He  went  to  the  military  hospital,  and  you 
know,  sir,  in  this  neighbourhood  I  have  a 
good  deal  of  influence,  and  a  good  deal  of 
protection.  So  they  clapped  a  large  blister 
over  his  chest,  and  inspected  him  by  twilight, 
and  discharged  him  as  incapable.  My 
husband  and  I  were  glad  to  have  our  only- 
child  back  again.  He  did  not  like  the  blister 
— such  a  large  one — but  that  was  better  than 
five  more  years  in  Algeria. 

"  La,  la,  la  !— la,  la,  la  !— la,  la,  la  !  " 

More  intoxicators,  and  more  intoxicated, 
arm  in  arm,  in  strings  of  half-a-score.  As 
heathen  priests  deaden  the  senses  of  a  doomed, 
victim,  so  those  who  are  not  drawn  make  it 
a  duty  to  inebriate  those  who  are.  Soon  it 
works :  quarrels,  abuse,  foolish  fraternisa- 
tions, fighting,  face-slapping,  falls  in  the  dust, 
the  interferences  of  excited  women,  and  a. 
great  deal  that  is  sad.  At  last  they  are 
dragged  home  somehow,  and  all  is  quiet. 

But  it  is  just  to  record  also  that  not  a  few- 
conscripts,  on  receiving  their  numero,  wore  it 
like  men,  carrying  themselves  as  if  they  knew 
they  had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  walked  horns 
in  honourable  guise,  neither  exhibiting  fear, 
nor  the  temporary  bravery  of  stimulants. 

Next  day,  the  same  scene  at  the  place  indi- 
cated. Once  was  enough  to  have  witnessed 
the  playing  of  this  game,  and  I  thought  I 
could  better  occupy  myself  in  solving  the 
question  whether  Frenchmen  do,  or  do  not, 
eat  frogs ;  and  if  so,  of  what  particular 
species.  I  therefore  turned  my  back,  and 
marched  towards  the  country.  At  the' 
corner  of  the  street  leading  out  of  the  market- 
place stood  a  well-dressed  good-looking- 
bourgeoise  about  forty  years  of  age.  She  had 
no  intention  of  approaching  nearer  to  the 
crowd,  but  as  I  passed  her,  she  asked  me 
whether  the  drawing  had  begun.  Had  I 
been  a  Frenchman,  I  do  not  think  she  would 
have  spoken. 

'•'  Not  yet,  Madame,"  I  replied,  "  but  they 
are  going  to  commence  immediately." 

She  gave  me  a  bow,  by  way  of  thanks,  and 
I  proceeded  on  my  road. 

The  Eights  of  Frenchwomen  may  be  pretty 
well  comprised  in  the  privilege  of  doing 
whatever  in  other  countries  is  done  by  men, 
except  going  to  the  field  of  battle  ;  nor  am  I 
quite  sure  that  I  have  ever  seen  a  French- 
woman at  plough.  AVe  all  know  that  at  Paris 
the  inns  are  stocked  with  female  waiters^ 
female  porters,  and  female  Bootses,  and  that 
women  conduct  all  sorts  of  shops,  while  their 
husbands  lounge  about  with  their  hands  int 
their  pockets.  Moreover,  in  agricultural  dis- 
tricts, it  certainly  does  look  odd,  on  a  warm 
spring  forenoon,  to  see  a  stout,  good-looking- 
girl,  twenty  or  more  years  of  age,  pull  off  her 
jacket  (camisole)  to  go  to  work  in  her  shirt  (?) 


220 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


sleeves,  and  dig  away,  and  spread  manure, 
and  plant  cabbages  and  potatoes.  But  what 
•would  half-a-dozen  of  the  fair  sex,  thus  em- 
ployed, say  to  men  who  should  attempt  to 
interfere,  more  than  by  giving  them  an 
occasional  hand's-turn  1  They  would  turn 
them  out  of  the  garden  as  degenerate  citizens, 
and  tell  them  to  go  and  sinoke  their  pipes 
like  men. 

Digging  is  only  light  work.  What  are 
those  women  doing  yonder  by  the  side  of  the 
canal  ?  They  are  taking  the  place  of  Darwin's 
"  unconquered  steam,"  and  dragging  afar  "  the 
slow  barge,"  if  not  "  the  rapid  car,"  as  fast  as 
they  can.  With  a  hempen  strap  across  their 
chest,  and  a  rope  at  their  backs,  they  are 
tugging  and  towing  like  yoked  buffaloes — and 
no  doubt  their  pull  is  nearly  as  effectual  as 
that  of  the  men  behind  them  ;  but  they  do 
not  look  conscious  of  doing  anything  extra- 
ordinary or  impi'oper.  They  would  refuse  to 
be  released  from  the  laborious  partnership, 
and  sit  on  deck  in  idleness.  Any  such  pro- 
posal would  be  thus  reoeived  :  "  We  are  much 
obliged  to  you,  but  please  mind  your  own 
business.  What  do  you  mean  by  separating 
men  and  women  1  We  eat,  drink,  laugh, 
travel,  and  sleep  with  our  husbands ;  and 
shall  we  not  work  with  them  1  Take  your- 
self off  for  a  foolish  busy-body."  Further 
south,  female  energies  are  even  more  strenu- 
ously exerted. 

I  must  think  that  those  who  say  that  all 
this  is  merely  the  result  of  the  men  having 
been  drawn  off  by  continual  warfare,  are  very 
superficial  observers.  It  is  not  so.  French 
women  have  achieved  for  themselves  a 
standing,  an  independent  position,  which  is 
unequalled  among  civilised  nations.  They 
have  caused  themselves  to  be  made  the  com- 
panions and  the  friends  of  the  men,  as  well  as 
their  sweethearts  and  wives  ;  they  are  not  to 
be  put  down,  or  kept  in  the  back-ground. 
The  Dames  de  la  Halle  are  a  Power ;  and 
Louis  Napoleon  was  wise  to  acknowledge 
them  as  such.  What  is  the  most  endearing 
term  by  which  a  Frenchman  addresses  his 
wife  1  Ma  bonne  amie !  "  My  good  female 
friend  !"  In  return — Mon  ami  !  "  My  friend !" 
is  the  title  by  which  the  lady  expresses  her 
affection,  and  her  alrnost-equality.  She  will 
love,  and  she  will  cherish ;  but  it  is  ques- 
tionable how  far  she  will  obey.  She  \vill 
take  her  share,  and  do  her  part  in  every- 
thing,— and  there  is  an  end  of  it. 

On  a  bright  sunshiny  morning  I  took  my 
place  in  one  of  those  unpretending  but  com- 
fortable one-horse  vehicles  which  ply  between 
the  small  French  towns.  Covered  carts  we 
should  call  them  in  England.  I  settled  my- 
self in  the  back  part — le  fond — a  nice  snug 
corner,  the  wind  being  north-east,  and  behind 
us. 

"  Egh  ! — Ugh  ! — Arrrrh  !  "  said  the  driver. 
The  sober  grey  knew  what  was  meant,  and 
started  off  at  a  cow's  trot  of,  perhaps,  three 
and  a  half  miles  an  hour. 


Before  we  quite  got  clear  of  the  streets,  a 
shop-door  flew  open,  and  a  stout,  strong  man 
hailed  us,  with  "  Have  you  room  for  an 
infant !  "  Plenty,  of  course,  even  had  there 
been  none.  The  shop  was  a  grocer's  :  the 
name  I  forget,  but  it  was  somebody's,  Mar- 
chand  Epicier.  I  should  rather  say  nobody's, 
according  to  his  own  description.  For  he 
soon  returned  in  a  smartly  braided  cloak 
backed  by  a  hood  like  an  extinguisher,  and 
with  a  fat,  rosy-cheeked  child  in  his  arms. 


His    wife   dismissed    him 
returned  into  the  spicery. 


with   a  nod,   and 
He  mounted,  and 


took  his  seat  by  my  side.  The  room  inquired 
after  was  for  baby  and  self. 

The  child  looked  to  be  one  of  those  de- 
sirable infants  that  never  can  cry,  unless 
soundly  whipped.  Its  cheeks  were  like  a  ripe 
Orleans  plum,  full  of  juice,  which  the  slightest 
pinching  of  the  skin  would  cause  to  squirt 
out.  Instead  of  a  doll,  it  held  in  its  hands  a 
two-sous  roll  of  light  bread,  which  it  hardly 
knew  how  to  manage  to  dandle. 

"  That  child  will  be  starved  one  of  these 
days,"  said  I. 

"  Not  yet,  Monsieur,"  answered  the  Mer- 
chant Spicer.  "  Plenty  of  bread  is  good  for 
the  health." 

"  And  how  long  has  she  worn  ear-rings  1 " 
I  asked,  taking  the  liberty  at  the  same  time 
to  handle  the  copper-coloured  pendants. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  :  a  long  time.     She  is 


nearly  two  years  old,  and  her  ears  were 
pierced  before  her  third  month.  To  pierce 
them  early  is  good  for  the  health."  I  could 
not  reply  that  it  had  been  unhealthy  in  this 
instance. 

Here  the  cow's-trot  suddenly  flagged  ;  and 
weathering  the  butt-end  of  a  cottage,  we  per- 
ceived, by  a  black  profile  portrait  of  a  can  of 
beer  and  a  tumbler,  which  ornamented  the 
upper  part  of  the  door-way,  that  "  Here  one 
sells  to  eat  and  to  drink."  A  smiling  dame 
appeared,  talked  unintelligible  tutoier-ing  non- 
sense to  the  be-jewelled  infant,  and  took  papa's 
order  for  a  glass  of  gin. 

"Not  good  for  the  health,"  said  I,  as  he 
took  the  bright  thimble-full  in  hand.  "  Not 
good  for  the  health,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
forenoon,"  shaking  my  head,  referring  to  my 
watch,  and  putting  as  much  gravity  into  my 
looks  as  if  I  had  never  tasted  anything 
stronger  than  milk-and-water  all  the  days 
of  my  life. 

"  But  yes,  Monsieur  !  but  yes,  yes,  yes  !  It 
is  very,  very,  -very  good  for  the  health." 

"  Egh  !  ugh  !  arrrrh  !  "  again. 

The  whip  made  a  score  of  flashes  and  cracks 
in  mid-air,  as  if  waging  war  with  an  invisible 
swarm  of  horse-flies,  but  never  once  touched 
our  rapid  grey.  We  say  the  French  know 
nothing  about  horses  ;  they  certainly  know 
very  little  about  treating  them  cruelly.  Off 
we  dashed  with  an  increased  velocity,  of  not 
less  than  three  miles  and  three  quarters  per 
hour.  The  country  was  pretty  ;  and,  though 
in  the  fond,  there  was  a  small  square  bit  of 


Charles  Dickens  ] 


A  DISH  OF  VEGETABLES. 


glass  close  by  rue,  which  they  called  a  croisee, 
thus  enabling  me  to  contemplate  the  land- 
scape. Soon  I  perceived  a  pleasant  group  of 
cottages,  and  a  farm.  There  we  halted  again. 
The  infant,  and  what  belonged  to  her,  vacated 
the  place  and  got  out. 

"  You  return  by  me  to-morrow  1  "  asked 


the  driver. 

"  Or  the  day  after. 


I  shall  make  a  pro- 


menade ;  my  infant  also.  I  shall  dine,  I  shall 
sup,  and  then  we  shall  sleep  like  two  wooden 
shoes.  My  wife  sends  me  here,  because 
she  says  the  air  of  the  country  is  good  for  the 
health.  Good  day,  Messieurs  ; — to  see  you 
again  !  " 

I  lifted  my  hat  to  the  mademoiselle  with 
the  ear-rings,  and  the  covered  cart  once  more 
trundled  on. 

"  How  very  ridiculous  !  "  said  I  to  myself; 
for  the  gravity  and  matter-of-course  air  of  the 
grocer  was  a  significant  point.  "  How  many 
Englishwomen  would  thus  send  their  husbands 
out  to  grass,  themselves  stopping  at  home  to 
fag  at  the  shop  and  the  warehouse  1  How, 
many  Englishmen,  out  for  two  or  three  days' 
'  air  of  the  country,'  would  be  bothered  with 
a  two-year-old  bantling,  male  or  female,  ear- 
ringed,  or  un-ear-ringed  1  " 

Another  little  incident  will  illustrate  the 
Eights  of  French  Women. 

Whilst  taking  a  stroll  through  the  forest  of 
Guines,  I  observed  several  piles  of  faggot- 
wood  of  a  peculiar  construction.  Each  faggot 
was  about  seven  feet  long,  and  of  a  conical 
shape  like  an  enormous  extinguisher,  the 
point  being  formed  by  a  tolerably  stout  stake. 
It  will  be  seen  that  these,  laid  neck  and  heels 


ladies'  legs  were  posted  in  such  a  position,  that 
with  the  toe  of  the  peg-top  they  formed 
perfect  tripods.  It  was  not  exactly  the  atti- 
tude which  Madame  Miclmux,  that  accom- 
plished mistress  of  deportment,  would  have 
recommended  to  her  advanced  pupils,  as  a 
drawing-room  position.  None  of  Sir  Thomas 
Lawrence's  beauties  would  have  consented  to 
"  sit "  thus.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a  posture 
of  repose.  Good-humour  shone  from  every 
face,  gabble  flowed  from  every  tongue.  As 
I  passed,  I  had  a  "  Bonjour,  Monsieur ; " 
but  all  the  rest  of  the  conversation  was 
as  if  every  one  of  them  was  trying  which 
could  repeat  fastest  the  celebrated  Christmas 
forfeit, 

"  Three  blue  beads  in  a  blue  bladder, 
Rattle  beads,  rattle  bladder." 

Soon,  with  a  hitch,  the  tripods  were  broken 
up,  and  I  beheld  six  animated  faggots  wending 
their  way  to  Guines,  perhaps  to  cook  my  very 
own  dinner. 

"  Now,"  thinks  I,  '  if  I  could  have  conjured 
out  of  the  earth  half-a-dozen  donkeys,  while 
those  females  were  practising  their  '  blue 
beads,'  and  have  put  the  faggots  upon  them, 
leaving  the  human  carriers  unencumbered  by 
a  knapsack  of  brushwood,  what  would  have 
been  the  consequence  1  Instead  of  getting  a 
'  Bonjour,  Monsieur J  I  should  have  been  torn 
to  pieces  as  an  unprincipled  reformer,  med- 
dling with  the  Eights  of  Women.  What 
business  had  I  to  take  the  bread  out  of  their 
mouths,  by  calling  unnecessary  donkeys  into 
existence  ?  How  were  the  ladies  to  pass 
their  time,  if  there  were  no  Avood  to  carry, 


together,  pack  as  closely  as  our  own  cylindrical   and    they  were    not   to   carry   it  ?      It   was 

So   I  thought   their  pleasure  so  to  work ;   and  work  they 
But  we  often  would,   even   if   they  had    to  massacre    all 
the    donkeys    in  the  world,    and   eat  them 


ones 
that 


perhaps  more  closely, 
was   the   ':  wherefore." 


fancy  too  hastily  that  we  have  fathomed  the 
reason  of  all  which  we  see. 

Out  of  the  forest,  I  was  returning  home- 
wards ;  and,  looking  across  country,  a  feeling 
came  over  me  as  if  1  were  about  to  have  a  fit, 
or  be  subject  to  hallucinations.  For  there, 
down  below,  were  half-a-dozen  of  these  very 
faggots  walking  along,  upright  on  end,  with 
the  big  part  of  the  extinguisher  raised  in  the 
air.  Imagine  six  gigantic  peg-tops  steadily 
proceeding  to  the  nearest  town.  I  could  not 
see  much  of  their  small  end,  because  they 


afterwards." 

Whenever  a  Madame  Thomas  Paine  advo- 
cates the  Eights  of  Woman  in  France,  her  first 
position  will  be  that  their  special  right  is  TO 
WORK  ;  and  woe  be  to  the  man  who  tries  to 
prevent  it ! 


A  DISH  OF  VEGETABLES. 


FROM    the    moss    to    the    palm-tree,    the 
number  of  contributions  made  by  the  vege- 


were  travelling  along  a  roadway,  which  would  table  world  towards  the  sustenance  of  man, 
be  called  a  lane  at  home,  but  which  had  no  j  would  make  a  bulky  list  of  benefactors.  We 
hedge  or  boundary,  other  than  its  depression  have  not  room  to  advertise  them  all,  still 
in  the  earth,  and  was,  in  fact,  only  an  exagge-  less  to  talk  about  them  all.  It  may  be 


rated  wheel-rut. 

Soon  they  stopped,  all  still  upright.  My 
eyes  had  not  deceived  me,  and  I  took  courage. 
I  approached ;  again  they  moved  forward. 
Again  they  halted,  and  I  overtook  them.  It 
was  the  height  of  absurdity  :  each  large  heavy 
faggot  screened  its  bearer — a  woman.  All 
were  now  standing  at  ease.  The  faggot  was 
slung  to  the  shoulders  in  such  a  way,  that 
when  the  bearer-ess  stood  upright,  the  peak 
of  the  extinguisher  touched  the  ground.  The 


well,  however,  and  only  grateful  in  us  as 
human  beings  and  recipients  of  vegetable 
bounty,  to  do  a  little  trumpeting  in  honour 
of  the  great  families  of  plants,  which  have 
contributed  with  more  especial  liberality 
towards  the  colonisation  of  the  world  by 
man. 

For  example,  there  is,  in  the  first  place,  the 
POTATO  family,  famous  for  its  liberal  principles, 
and  the  wide  sphere  over  which  its  influence 
is  spread.  The  members  of  this  family,  with 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


equal  generosity,  are  prompt  to  place  a  luxury 
tipon  the  rich  man's  gravy,  or  a  heap  of  food 
beside  the  poor  man's  salt.  The  Potato  family 
lias  been  for  many  years  one  of  the  n 
benefactors  to  the  human  colony,  and  when,  it 
was  prevented  lately  by  ill-health  from  the 
fulfilment  of  its  good  intentions,  great  was  i  1  it- 
anxiety  of  men,  and  many  were  the  bulletins 
of  health  sought  for  and  issued.  Its  constitu- 
tion still  appears  to  be  a  little  shaken,  and  we 
all  still  hope  for  the  complete  recovery  of  so 
sincere  and  influential  a  friend. 

The  family  seat  of  the  Potatoes  is  well 
known  to  be  in  America.  They  are  a  com- 
paratively new  race  in  our  own  country,  since 
they  did  not  come  over  until  some  time  after 
the  Conqueror.  The  genealogists  have  nearly 
settled,  after  much  discussion,  that  all  mem- 
bers of  this  family  spread  over  the  world,  are 
descended  from  the  Potatoes  of  Chili.  Their 
town  seat  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Val- 
paraiso, upon  hills  facing  the  sea.  The 
Potatoes  were  early  spread  over  many 
portions  of  America,  on  missions  for  the 
benefit  of  man,  who  had  not  been  long  in  dis- 
covering that  they  were  friends  worth  cultiva- 
ting properly.  It  is  said,  that  the  first  Potato 
who  visited  Europe,  came  over  with  Sir 
Francis  Drake,  in  1573  ;  it  is  said,  also,  that 
some  of  the  family  had  accompanied  Sir  John 
Hawkins,  in  1563  ;  it  is  certain  that  a  body 
of  Potatoes  quitted  Virginia,  in  1586,  and 
came  to  England  with  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 
M.  Dunal,  who  has  written  an  elaborate 
•history  of  the  Potato  family,  shows  it  to  be 
extremely  probable  that,  before  the  time  of 
Raleigh,  a  settlement  of  Potatoes  had  been 
formed  in  Spain.  Reaching  England  in  1586, 
the  benevolent  Potato  family  was  welcomed 
into  Belgium  in  1590.  In  1610,  the  first 
Potatoes  went  to  Ireland,  where  they  even- 
tually multiplied  and  grew,  to  form  one  of  the 
most  important  branches  of  this  worthy  race. 
The  Scotch  Potatoes  date  their  origin  as  a 
distinct  branch,  from  1728.  It  was  at  dates 
not  very  different  from  this,  that  other 
branches  of  the  family  settled  in  Germany. 
The  Potatoes  of  Switzerland  first  settled  in 
1730,  in  the  Canton  Berne.  In  1738,  the 
thriving  family  extended  its  benevolent 
assistance  to  the  Prussians  ;  but  it  was  not 
until  1767  that  its  aid  was  solicited  in 
Tuscany.  In  France,  the  kindly  efforts  of  this 
family  were  not  appreciated,  until,  in  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  there  arose  a  man, 
Parmentier,  who  backed  the  introduction  of 
Potatoes  into  France  with  recommendations 
.so  emphatic,  that  it  was  designed  to  impute 
to  him  the  interest  of  near  relationship,  not 
Indeed  by  calling  him  Potato,  but  by  calling 
Potatoes  by  his  name,  Parmentiers.  The 
benevolent  exertions  made  by  the  Potato 
family  on  behalf  of  France,  during  the  famine 
of  1793,  completely  established  it  in  favour 
with  the  grateful  people. 

Potatoes,  though  so  widely  spread,  are 
unable  to  maintain  their  health  under  too 


warm  a  climate.  On  the  Andes,  they  fix 
their  abode  at  a  height  of  ten  or  thirteen 
thousand  feet  ;  in  the  Swiss  Alps,  they  are 
comfortable  on  tl:c  ir!<nii>t;nn  sides,  and  spread 
in  Berne  to  a  height  of  five  thousand  feet,  or 
not  very  much  less.  Over  the  north  of 
Europe,  the  Potato  family  extends  its  labours 
farther  on  into  the  cold  than  even  barley, 
which  is  famous  as  the  hardiest  of  grain. 
There  are  Potatoes  settled  in  Iceland,  though 
that  is  a  place  in  which  barley  declines  to  live. 
The  Potato  is  so  nutritious,  and  can  be  cul- 
tivated with  so  little  skill  and  labour,  that 
it  tempts  some  nations  to  depend  solely  on 
it  for  sustenance.  The  recent  blight,  especially 
ill  Ireland,  consequently  occasioned  the  most 
disastrous  effects. 

The  BARLEY  branch  of  the  Grass  family 
has,  however,  a  large  establishment  in  Scot- 
land, even  to  the  extreme  north,  in  the 
Orkneys,  Shetland,  and,  in  fact,  even  in  the 
Faroe  Islands.  They  who  are  in  the  secrets 
of  the  Barleys,  hint  that  they  would  be  very 
glad  to  settle  in  the  southern  districts  of 
Iceland — say  about  Reikiavik — if  it  were  not 
for  the  annoyance  of  unseasonable  rains.  In 
Western  Lapland,  there  may  be  found  heads 
of  the  house  of  Barley  as  far  north  as  Cape 
North,  which  is  the  most  northern  point  of 
the  continent  of  Europe.  It  has  a  settlement 
in  Russia  011  the  shores  of  the  White  Sea, 
beyond  Archangel.  Over  a  great  mass  of 
northern  Siberia,  no  Barley  will  undertake  to 
live,  and  as  the  Potatoes  have  found  their 
way  into  such  barren  districts  only  here  and 
there,  the  country  that  is  too  far  north  for 
Barley,  is  too  far  north  for  agriculture.  There 
the  people  live  a  nomad  life,  and  owe  obliga- 
tion in  the  world  of  plants  to  lichens  for  their 
food,  or  to  such  families  as  offer  them  the 
contribution  of  roots,  bark,  or  a  few  scraps 
of  fruit. 

It  is  not  much  that  Barley  asks  as  a  con- 
dition of  its  gifts  to  any  member  of  the 
human  colony.  It  wants  a  summer  heat, 
averaging  about  forty-six  degrees,  and  it  does 
not  want  to  be  perpetually  moistened.  If  it 
is  to  do  anything  at  all  in  moist  places,  like 
islands,  it  must  have  three  degrees  added  to 
the  average  allowance  of  summer  heat,  with 
which  it  would  in  other  places  be  content. 
As  for  your  broiling  hot  weather,  no  Barley 
will  stand  it.  Other  grasses  may  tolerate  the 
Tropics  if  they  please  ;  Barley  refuses  to  be 
baked  while  it  is  growing.  The  Barleys  are 
known  to  be  settled  as  an  old  native  family  in 
Tartary  and  Sicily,  two  places  very  far  apart. 
Their  pedigree,  however,  and  indeed  the  pedi- 
grees of  all  the  branches  of  the  great  Grass 
family,  must  remain  a  subject  wrapt  in  uncer- 
tainty, buried  in  darkness,  and  lost  in  a  great 
fog  of  conjecture. 

We  find  Oats  spread  over  Scotland  to  the 
extreme  north  point,  and  settled  in  Norway 
and  Sweden  to  the  latitudes  sixty-five  .and 
sixty-three.  Both  Oats  and  Rye  extend,  in 
Russia,  to  about  the  same  latitude  of  sixty- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  DISH  OF  VEGETABLES. 


223 


three  degrees.  The  benevolent  exertion  of 
Oats  is  put  forth  on  behalf  not  'only  of  men, 
but  also  of  their  horses.  In  Scotland  and 
Lancashire,  in  some  countries  of  Germany, 
especially  south  of  Westphalia,  the  people 
look  to  Oats  for  sustenance.  Scotch  bone  and 
muscle  are  chiefly  indebted  to  oatmeal ;  for 
porridge  (which  consists  of  oatmeal  and  water, 
and  is  eaten  with  milk)  is  the  staple — almost 
the  only — food  of  the  sturdy  Scottish  pea- 
santry. Oatcake,  a  kind  of  mash,  such  as 
horses  are  fed  on  occasionally  in  this  country, 
made  into  a  thin  cake  and  baked,  is  also  much 
relished  north  of  the  Tweed.  South  of  the 
parallel  of  Paris,  however,  the  friendship  of 
Oats  is  little  cultivated.  In  Spain  and  Por- 
tugal nobody  knows  anything  about  Oats, 
except  as  a  point  of  curiosity. 

The  RYE  branch  of  the  Grass  family  travels 
more  to  the  north  than  Oats  in  Scandinavia. 
In  our  own  country  we  decline  to  receive  gifts 
from  Rye  :  we  succeed  so  well  in  the  cultiva- 
tion of  more  wealthy  benefactors,  that  we 
consider  the  Eyes  poor  friends  ;  and,  like  good 
Britons,  hold  them  at  arm's  length  accordingly. 
In  countries  where  the  land  is  poor,  poor  Eye 
is  welcome  to  a  settlement  upon  it.  Eye 
is  in  great  request  in  Eussia,  Germany,  and 
parts  of  France,  and  one-third  of  the  po- 
pulation of  Europe  looks  to  its  help  for  daily 
bread. 

The  most  numerous  and  respectable  mem- 
bers of  the  great  Grass  family,  are  those 
which  bear  the  name  of  WHEAT.  There  are 
an  immense  number  of  different  Wheats  ;  as 
many  Wheats  among  the  grasses  as  there  are 
in  this  country  Smiths  among  the  men.  We 
know  them  best  as  summer  and  winter  Wheats. 
The  family  seat  of  the  Wheats,  most  probably, 
will  never  be  discovered.  There  is  reason  to 
believe  that  Tai-tary  and  Persia  are  the  native 
countries  of  Wheat,  Oats,  and  Eye.  Strabo 
says  that  Wheat  is  native  on  the  banks  of  the 
Indus.  Probably,  wherever  the  old  seats  may 
be,  all  trace  of  them  was  destroyed  in  very 
ancient  times,  when  even  a  thousand  years 
ago  and  more,  the  plough  passed  over  them. 
The  settlements  of  Wheat  in  Scotland  extend 
to  the  north  of  Inverness ;  in  Norway,  to 
Drontheim  ;  in  Eussia,  to  St.  Petersburgh. 
How  far  north  the  Wheats  would  consent  to 
extend  the  sphere  of  their  influence  in 
America,  it  is  not  possible  to  tell,  because 
enough  attempt  at  cultivation  has  not  yet  been 
made  there  in  the  northern  regions.  Winter 
cold  does  not  concern  the  Wheats.  The  spring- 
sown  Wheat  escapes  it,  and  that  sown  in 
autumn  is  protected  by  a  covering  of  snow. 
Wheat  keeps  a  respectful  distance  of  twenty 
degrees  from  the  Equator.  Indeed,  in  the 
•warm  latitudes,  new  combinations  of  heat  and 
moisture,  grateful  to  new  and  very  beautiful 
members  of  the  vegetable  world,  who  suit 
their  gifts  more  accurately  to  wishes  of  the 
people  whom  they  feed,  would  cause  the  kind 
offices' of  Wheat  to  be  rejected,  even  if  they 
Could  be  offered  there.  On  mountains  in 


wanu  climates,  settlements  of  Wheat  of  course 
exist.     On  the  north  side  of  the  Hirna':. 
mountains  Wheat  and   Barley  flourish  at  a 
height  of  thirteen  thousand  feet. 

The  well-known  name  of  RICE  carries  our 
thoughts  to  Asia.  The  family  seat  is  some- 
where in  Asia,  doubtless;  but  all  trace  of  it 
is  lost.  The  family  has  always  lived  in 
Southern  Asia,  where  it  supplies  food,  pro- 
bably, to  more  men  than  any  other  race  of 
plants  has  ever  had  occasion  to  support.  No 
Rice  can  enjoy  good  health  without  much 
heat  and  much  moisture.  If  these  could  be 
found  everywhere,  everybody  would  cultivate 
a  valuable  friend,  that  is  supposed  to  scatter 
over  a  given  surface  of  ground  more  than  a 
common  share  of  nourishment. 

Most  liberal  of  all  vegetables,  however,  in 
this  respect,  are  the  BANANAS.  Humboldt 
tells  us,  that  they  spread  over  the  said  given 
extent  of  ground,  forty-four  times  more  nu- 
tritive matter  than  the  Potatoes,  and  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty-three  times  more  than  any 
Wheat. 

Where  the  benevolent  among  our  Grasses 
cease  to  grow,  because  it  is  too  far  south, 
there  it  is  just  far  enough  north  for  the 
COCOA-NUTS,  who,  within  their  limited  sphere, 
supply  a  vast  contribution  towards  the  main- 
tenance of  man,  that  very  wise  and  very 
independent  creature.  Very  nearly  three 
million  of  Cocoa-Nuts  have  been  exported 
in  one  year  from  the  Island  of  Ceylon. 

Then  there  is  in  Brazil  that  excellent 
vegetable  friend  MANIOC,  a  shrub,  whose 
roots  yield  almost  the  only  kind  of  meal 
there  used.  An  acre  of  Manioc  is  said  to 
yield  as  much  food  as  six  acres  of  wheat. 

And  to  come  nearer  home,  there  is  a  large- 
hearted  plant,  bearing  the  name  of  MAIZE, 
and  the  nickname  of  Turkish  Wheat.  Its 
native  seat  has  not  been  fixed  yet  by  the 
genealogist.  It  grows  at  a  good  height  above 
the  sea  in  tropical  America,  and  it  occurs  in. 
Eastern  Europe  on  the  banks  of  the  Dniester, 
in  latitude  forty- nine.  Maize  does  not  care 
about  the  winter ;  it  wtints  nothing  but  sum- 
mer-heat, in  a  country  which  it  is  to  choose 
as  a  congenial  habitation.  It  will  do,  also, 
with  less  heat  than  the  vine,  for  it  has  been 
grown  in  the  Lower  Pyrenees,  at  three  thousand 
two  hundred  and  eighty  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  sea,  the  vine  stopping  at  two  thousand 
six  hundred  and  twenty. 

We  have  here  spoken  only  of  a  few  of  the 
great  liberal  families  belonging  to  the  world 
of  plants  ;  families,  to  which  the  human  colony 
looks  for  support ;  upon  whose  aid  we,  in  fact, 
depend  for  our  existence.  The  whole  list  of 
our  vegetable  patrons  would  be  very  long. 
Respectable  names  must  crowd  down  upon 
every  memory,  and  take  us  off  to 
"  Citron  groves  ; 

To  where  the  lemon  and  the  piercing  lime, 

With  the  deep  orange,  glowing  through  the  green, 

Their  lighter  glories  blend.     Lay  us  reclined 

Beneath  the  spreading  tamarind" — 


224 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


in  fact,  take  us  a  long  dance  among  roots,  and 
fruits,  and  vegetables.  It  must  be  enough, 
therefore,  that  we  have  here  briefly  expressed 
a  general  sense  of  obligation  to  our  vegetable 
friends,  and  hinted  at  a  fact  which,  in  our 
high  philosophy,  we  now  and  then  forget,  that 
the  outer  world  may  be  a  shadow,  or  a  reflex 
of  our  own  minds,  or  anything  you  please  to 
call  it ;  but  that  we,  poor  fellows,  should  be 
rather  at  a  loss  for  dinner,  if  the  earth  did 
not  send  up  for  us,  out  of  a  kitchen  that 
we  did  not  build,  our  corn,  and  wine  and 
oil. 


ANGEL  EYES. 

THE  cold  night-wind  blew  bitterly; 

The  rain  fell  thick  and  fast; 
The  withered  trees  sighed  mournfully, 

As  a  Woman  hurried  past. 
What  does  she  here,  on  a  night  so  drear, 

Alone  amid  the  blast ! 

Her  face,  though  fair  and  youthful, 

Is  worn  with  want  and  pain ; 
And  her  hair,  that  was  once  a  mother's  care, 

Is  tangled  with  wind  and  rain  ; 
And  nights  of  sin  and  days  of  woe 

Have  wrought  their  work  on  her  brain. 

There  is  no  tear  upon  her  cheek  ; 

But  a  wild  light  in  her  eye, 
As  she  turns  her  sin-seared  countenance 

Up  to  the  frowning  sky, 
And  prays  the  quivering  lightning  flash 

To  strike — that  she  may  die  ! 

The  wild  sky  gazed  unpitying 

On  the  wilder  face  below  ; 
The  lightning  mocked  her  desperate  prayer 

As  it  darted  to  and  fro  ; 
And  the  rain  ceased  and  the  stars  came  forth, 

And  the  wind  was  hushed  and  low. 

"Oh,  stars  !  have  ye  come  forth  to  gaze 

Upon  me  in  my  shame  ! 
I  left  the  city's  wicksd  streets, 

For  I  could  not  bear  the  blame 
That  was  heaped  upon  me  as  I  went, 

And  that  cruel,  cruel  name  ! 

"  I  passed  the  house  of  the  false,  false  one, 

Who  tempted  me  to  sin  ; 
I  stopped  and  gazed  through  the  window-pane, 

And  saw  the  bright  fire  within  ; 
And  he  sat  there  with  wine  and  cheer, 

While  I  stood  wet  to  the  skii). 

"Behind  me,  on  the  wintry  sky, 

There  gleams  the  city's  light ; 
Before  me,  shine  the  clear  cold  stars, 

Like  the  eyes  of  angels  bright ; 
I  cannot  hide  from  men's  eyes  by  day, 

Nor  from  angels'  eyes  by  night. 

"  I  know  a  pool  that's  still  and  deep, 
Where,  'iieath  the  willow's  shade, 

When  a  happy  child,  the  water-weeds 
And  rushes  I  would  braid ; 

But  I  little  thought  within  that  pool 
My  grave  would  e'er  be  made." 


She  sought  the  place  with -hasty  steps, 

And  a  wild  and  rigid  stare  ; 
But  she  saw  the  mild,  bright  eyes  of  the  stars 

Had  got  before  her  there; 
And  to  Him  who  sent  them  to  soften  her  heart, 

She  fell  on  her  knees  in  prayer. 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 

IN    THREE   CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER   THE   FIRST. 

WHEN  the  race  of  this  huge  London  World- 
City  shall  be  run — when  the  millstone  shall 
have  been  cast  into  its  waters,  and  the  word 
has  gone  forth  that  another  Babylon  has 
fallen — when  the  spider  shall  weave  his  web 
amidst  the  broken  columns  of  the  Bank  ; 
the  owl  shriek  through  the  deserted  arcades 
of  the  Exchange,  and  the  jackal  prowl  through 
labyrinths  of  ruins  and  rubbish,  decayed 
oyster-shells  and  bleached  skeletons  of  the 
dogs  of  other  days,  where  once  was  Regent 
Street — I  should  very  much  like  to  know 
what  the  "  Central  Australian  Society  for  the 
Advancement  of  Science,"  or  the  "  Polynesian 
Archaeological  Association,"  or  the  "  Imperial 
New  Zealand  Society  of  Antiquaries,"  would  be 
likely  to  make  of  a  great  oblong  board  which 
glares  at  me  through  the  window  at  which  I  am 
writing  this  present  paper — a  board  some  five- 
and-twenty  feet  in  length  perchance,  painted 
a  bright  resplendent  blue,  and  on  which  are 
emblazoned  in  glittering  gold  the  magic  words, 
"  Barclay,  Perkins,  and  Co.'s  Entire." 

One  of  these  boards  will,  perchance,  be 
disinterred  by  some  persevering  savant  from 
a  heap  of  the  disjecta  membra  of  old  London 
antiquities;  wheel -less,  shaft -less,  rotting 
Hansom's  Cabs,  rusted  chimney-cowls,  turn- 
pike-gates of  ancient  fashion  and  design, 
gone-by  gas-lamps  and  street-posts.  And  the 
savant  will  doubtless  wonder  he  will  find  in. 
the  mysterious  board — the  once  glittering 
characters — some  sign,  some  key,  to  the  secret 
free-masonry,  some  shibboleth  of  the  old 
London  world.  Learned  pamphlets  will  be 
written,  doubtless,  to  prove  a  connection 
between  Barclay  and  Perkins  and  Captain 
Barclay  the  pedestrian,  and  Perkins's  steam- 
gun,  who  and  which,  joined  together  by  some 
Siamese  bond  of  union,  became  thenceforth 
and  for  ever  one  entire  "  Co."  Other  sages, 
haply,  will  have  glimmering  notions  that 
Barclay  and  Perkins  have  something  to  do 
with  a  certain  X.X.X.  ;  others  stoutly  main- 
tain that  the  words  formed  but  Christian  and 
surnames,  common  among  the  inhabitants  of 
old  London,  even  as  were  the  well-known 
"  Smiths,"  and  the  established  "  Jones."  "  We 
know,"  they  will  say,  "  that  the  great  archi- 
tect of  the  most  famous  buildings  in  old 
London  was  called  '  Voluntary  Contributions ; ' 
we  know  that  a  majority  of  the  citizens  of 
that  bygone  city  were  addicted  to  the  creed  of 
Zoroaster,  or  sun-worship  ;  for  we  find  on  the 
ruins  of  their  houses  votive  plates  of  brass,  of 
circular  form,  bearing  an  effigy  of  the  sun, 
with  a  reference  to  fire  insurance — these 


Charles  Dlckeuf.J 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 


225 


things  have  been  demonstrated  by  learned 
doctors  and  professors  of  ability  ;  why  may 
we  not,  then,  assume  that  Barclay  and  Perkins 
were  names  possessed  in  an  astonishingly 
prolific  degree  by  London  citizens,  who,  proud 
of  belonging  to  so  respectable  a  family,  were 
in  the  habit  of  blazoning  the  declaration  of 
their  lineage  in  blue  and  gold  on  an  oblong 
board,  and  affixing  the  same  on  the  front  of 
their  houses  1 "  The  Emperor  of  China  has 
upwards  of  five  thousand  cousins,  who  are 
distinguished  from  the  tag-rag  and  bobtail  of 
the  Celestial  Empire  by  wearing  yellow  girdles. 
"  Why,"  these  sages  will  ask,  "  may  not  the 
parent  Barclay  Perkins  have  been  a  giant, 
blessed  with  hundreds  of  arrows  in  his  quiver, 
whose  thousand  descendants  were  proud  to 
be  clad  like  him  in  a  livery  of  blue  and  gold  ? " 

Then  the  sages  will  squabble,  and  wrangle, 
and  call  each  other  bad  names,  and  write 
abusive  diatribes  against  each  other  by  mag- 
netic telegraph  ;  just  as  other  sages  were 
wont  to  squabble  and  wrangle  about  the 
Eosetta  Stone,  the  Source  of  the  Niger,  and 
Salt's  discoveries  in  Abyssinia ;  or,  as  they 
do  now,  about  the  North-West  Passage,  the 
causes  of  the  cholera,  and  the  possibility  of 
aerial  locomotion.  As  it  has  been,  so  it  is, 
and  will  be,  I  presume  ;  and  if  we  can't  agree 
now-a-days,  so  shall  we,  or  rather  our  de- 
scendants, disagree  in  times  to  come,  and  con- 
cerning matters  far  less  recondite  or  abstruse 
than  Barclay  Perkins. 

1  know  what  Barclay  and  Perkins  mean,  I 
hope  ; — what  Combe  and  Delafield — what 
Truman,  Hanbury,and  Buxton — whatCalvert 
and  Co. — what  Keid  and  Co. — what  Broad- 
wood,  Mundell  and  Huggins.  You  know  too, 
gentle,  moderate,  and  bibulous  reader.  They 
all  mean  BEER.  Beer,  the  brown,  the  foam- 
ing, the  wholesome,  and  refreshing,  when 
taken  in  moderation  ;  the  stupefying,  and  to- 
Btation-house-leadiug,  when  imbibed  to  excess. 
That  oblong  board,  all  blue  and  gold,  I  have 
spoken  of  as  visible  from  my  parlour  window, 
lias  no  mystery  for  me.  Plainly,  unmistake- 
ably,  it  says  Beer  ;  a  good  tap  ;  fourpence  a 
pot  in  the  pewter ;  threepence  per  ditto  if 
sent  for  in  your  own  jug. 

And  if  you  admit  (and  you  will  admit, 
or  you  are  no  true  Englishman)  that  beer  be 
good — and,  being  good,  that  we  should  be 
thankful  for  it — can  you  tell  me  any  valid 
reason  why  I  should  not  write  on  the  subject 
of  Beer  ?  Seeing  how  many  thousands  of 
reputable  persons  there  are  throughout  the 
country  who  live  by  the  sale  of  beer,  and  how 
many  millions  drink  it, — seeing  that  beer  is 
literally  in  everybody's  mouth,  it  strikes  me 
that  we  should  not  ignore  beer  taken  in  its 
relation  towards  the  belles  lettres.  Tarry  with 
me,  then,  while  I  discourse  on  Beer — on  the 
sellers  and  the  buyers  thereof — and  of  their 
habitations.  I  will  essay  to  navigate  my  little 
bark  down  a  river  of  beer,  touching,  perchance, 
at  some  little  spirit- creek,  or  gently  meandering 
through  the  "  back-waters  "  of  neat  wines. 


When  the  Spanish  student — immortalised 
by  Le  Sage — was  inducted  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  private  life  of  Madrid,  he  availed 
himself  of  a  temporary  aerial  machine,  in 
a  person  of  diabolical  extraction,  called 
Asmodeus — who  further  assisted  him  in  his 
bird's-eye  inspection,  by  taking  the  roofs  off 
the  houses.  When  the  nobility  and  gentry 
frequenting  the  fashionable  circles  of  the 
Arabian  lights,  were  desirous  of  travelling 
with  extraordinary  rapidity,  they  were  sure 
to  be  accommodated  with  magical  carpets,  or 
swift-flying  eagles,  or  winged  horses.  Then 
they  could  be  rendered  invisible,  or  provided 
with  telescopes,  enabling  them  to  see  through 
every  obstacle,  from  stone  walls  to  steel 
castles  ;  but  things  are  changed,  and  times 
are  altered  now.  One  can't  go  from  London 
to  Liverpool  without  buying  a  railway-ticket, 
and  being  importuned  to  show  it  half-a-dozen 
times  in  the  course  of  the  journey.  If  you 
want  to  study  character  in  the  Stock  Exchange, 
you  can  get  no  more  invisible  suit  to  do  it  in 
than  a  suit  of  invisible  green,  and  run,  more- 
over, the  risk  of  hearing  a  howl  of  "  201  !  " 
and  feeling  two  hundred  pair  of  hands,  and 
two  hundred  pair  of  feet  to  match,  bonnetting, 
buffetting,  hustling,  and  kicking  you  from  the 
high  place  of  Mammon. 

So,  then,  in  the  study  of  Beer  and  Beerhouses, 
I  have  had  no  adventitious  aid  from  accommo- 
dating demons,  obliging  genii,  invisible  caps, 
carpets,  or  cloaks.  "  Experientia  " — you  know 
the  rest.  I  have  graduated  in  Beer;  I  have 
mastered  its  mysteries ;  and  I  will  now  assume, 
for  your  benefit,  a  magic  power,  which  I  de- ' 
voutly  wish  I  had  possessed  during  my  Beery 
researches.  Come  with  me,  then,  in  the  spirit, 
to  Bankside  ;  and,  after  a  cursory  stroll  round 
the  fountain-head  of  beer,  let  us  seat  ourselves 
(still  in  the  spirit)  at  the  tail  of  one  of  these 
big  drays,  drawn  by  big  horses,  and,  fearing 
no  cries  of  "whip  behind  !"  from  jealous  boys 
(for,  being  spiritual,  we  are,  of  course,  invi- 
sible), perambulate  the  metropolis,  rapt  in 
the  contemplation  of  Beer.  Surrounded  with 
Barclay  and  Perkins's  beer-barrels,  our  steeds 
conducted  by  Barclay  and  Perkins's  red- 
night-capped  draymen,  we  will  go  in  this,  our 
magic  chariot,  from  public-house  to  public1-, 
house  :  "  The  latent  tracks,  the  giddy  heights 
explore  ; "  "  shoot  folly  as  it  flies,  and  catch 
the  manners  living  as  they  rise ; "  attempt 
a  mild  classification  of  the  peculiar  social 
characteristics  of  the  different  metropolitan 
"publics;"  give,  in  short,  a  view  and  a 
description,  however  lame  and  incomplete  it 
may  be,  of  "  London  on  Tap." 

I  do  not  purpose,  in  this  present  paper,  at 
least,  to  enter  minutely  into  the  consideration 
of  the  aspect  of  a  London  Brewery,  or  of  the 
manufacture  of  the  great  English  beverage  ; 
so,  then,  our  stay  will  be  but  short  in  this 
huge  brick  beer  emporium.  I  make  remark, 
en  passant,  that  an  odour  prevails  in  and 
about  the  establishment,  resembling  an  amal- 
gamation of  several  washing-days,  a  few 


226 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


cookshops,  and  a  stable  or  two.  To  cur- 
sory spectators,  such  as  you  and  I  arc,  the 
brewery  will  offer  VLTV  liUlc  besides  this,  and 
a  general  impression  of  "  bigness,"  length, 
height,  breadth,  rotundity.  The  premises  are 
large,  the  vats  are  large;  the  stables,  the 
strong,  stalwart  horses,  the  provisions  of  hay 
and  straw,  of  malt  and  hops,  of  smoke  and 
steam,  are  all  large.  Large,  also,  to  almost 
Titanic  extensiveness,  are  the  draymen — gla- 
diators of  the  Beery  arena,  with  Phrygian 
caps  of  scarlet  hue,  and  wide-spread  leathern 
aprons.  Large  are  their  labours  ;  larger  still, 
their  appetites  ;  largest  and  mightiest  of  all, 
their  thirst  of  beer.  Grocers  and  pastry- 
cooks, they  say,  give  their  apprentices  and 
shopmen  the  run  of  all  the  delicacies  they 
deal  in,  for  the  first  month  of  their  service — 
carte  blanche  to  the  plums,  and  figs,  and  tarts, 
of  which — to  the  ultimate  benefit  of  the 
tradesman — they  speedily  get  very  sick  and 
tired  ;  but  with  the  drayman-neophyte  it  seems 
quite  different :  for  I  never  heard — nor,  did  I 
hear,  should  I  credit  the  assertion — that  any  of 
Barclay  and  Perkins's  men  ever  got  tired  of 
Barclay  and  Perkins's  tap.  Largely  impressed, 
therefore,  with  their  pervading  largeness,  we 
will  leave  the  brewhouse  for  the  present. 

Privately,  we  may  be  allowed,  and  confi- 
dentially, to  surmise,  that  the  profits  of  the 
proprietors  are  also  lai-ge — very  large,  indeed ; 
but  goodness  forbid  that  we  should  venture 
to  hint  (aloud,  at  least)  that  the  prices  they 
demand  and  obtain  for  beer  are  large,  and — 
considering  malt,  and  hops,  and  grain,  and 
Free  Trade,  and  that  sort  of  thing — a  great 
deal  too  large,  and  not  quite  just. 

The  heavy  wheels  of  our  chariot  have  been 
rumbling,  while  I  spoke,  through  the  great 
thoroughfare  which  commences  at  Charing 
Cross,  and  ends  at  Mile  End — somewhere 
aboxit  where  there  was,  once  on  a  time,  a 
Maypole.  It  diverges,  going  westward  ;  and 
we  are  in  a  trice  in  a  street,  in  which  /  never 
was  in  a  vehicle  in  my  life  without  being 
blocked  up,  and  in  which,  in  the  present 
instance,  we  are  comfortably  wedged  with  a 
timber-laden  waggon,  a  hearse,  and  an  adver- 
tising-van in  front,  and  a  Hansom  cab  or 
two,  a  mail-phaeton,  and  Mr.  Ex-Sheriff 
Pickles's  elegant  chariot  behind.  Leaving 
the  respective  drivers  to  exchange  com- 
pliments, couched  in  language  more  or  less 
parliamentary,  we  will  descend  fora  moment — 
for  the  neighbourhood  is  thickly  studded  with 
public-houses — and  we  shall  have  time,  ere 
our  chariot  be  extricated,  to  investigate 
numerous  varieties  of  "  London  on  Tap." 

Here,  first — blatant,  gay  and  gaudy — is  a 
Gix  PALACK — a  "ginnery,"  in  full  swing. 

The  Palladio  or  the  Vitruvius  who  built 
this  palace,  has  curiously  diversified  the  orders 
of  architecture  in  its  construction.  We  have 
Doric  shafts  with  Corinthian  capitols — an 
Ionic  frieze — Renaissance  panels — a  Gothic 
screen  to  the  bar-parlour.  But  French  polish 
and  gilding  cover  a  multitude  of  (architectural) 


sins  ;  and  there  is  certainly  no  lack  of  either 
the  one  or  the  other  here.  Tier  above  tier 
surround  the  walls,  supporting  gigantic  casks, 
bearing  legends  of  a  fabulous  number  of  gallons 
'•i  n i  ( ained  within.  Yet  are  they  not  dummies ; 
for  we  may  observe  spiral  brass  pipes,  wrig- 
gling and  twisting  in  snake-like  contortions 
till  they  reach  the  bar,  and  so  to  the  spirit- 
taps,  where  they  bring  the  costly  hogshead  of 
the  distiller  home  to  the  lips  of  the  humblest 
costermonger,  for  a  penny  a  glass.  Beer  is 
sold,  and  in  considerable  quantities — a  half- 
penny a  pint  cheaper,  too,  than  at  other 
SEiostelries ;  but  it  is  curious  beer — beer  of  a 
half-sweet,  half-acrid  taste,  black  to  the  sight, 
unpleasant  to  the  taste,  brown  in  the  froth, 
muddy  in  consistence.  Has  it  been  indelicate 
health,  and  can  that  shabby  old  man,  in  close 
confab  with  the  landlord  at  the  door,  at  the 
steps  of  the  cellar,  be  the  "  Doctor  ? "  Or 
has  it  been  adulterated,  "  fined,"  doctored, 
patched,  and  cobbled  tip,  for  the  amusement 
and  instruction  of  amateurs  in  beer — like 
steam-frigates,  for  instance,  or  Acts  of  Par- 
liament ? 

The  area  before  the  bar,  you  will  observe, 
is  very  spacious.  At  this  present  second 
hour  of  the  afternoon,  there  are,  perhaps,  fifty 
people  in  it ;  and  it  would  hold,  I  dare  say, 
full  twenty  more,  and  allow  space,  into  the 
bargain,  for  a  neat  stand-up  fight.  One  seems 
very  likely  to  take  place  now  between  the 
costermonger,  who  has  brought  rather  an 
i  venient  number  of  "  kea-rots  "  and 
"  tumnits "  into  the  bar  with  him,  and  a 
peripatetic  vendor  of  fish — the  quality  of 
whose  wares  he  has  (with  some  show  of 
justice,  perhaps)  impugned.  So  imminent 
does  the  danger  appear,  that  the  blind  match- 
seller — who  was  anon  importuning  the  belli- 
gerents— hastily  scuttles  off;  and  an  imp 
of  a  boy,  in  a  man's  fustian  jacket,  and  with 
a  dirty  red  silk  'kerchief  twisted  round  his 
bull  neck,  has  mounted  the  big  tub,  on  which 
he  sits  astride,  pipe  in  hand — a  very  St. 
Giles's  Bacchus — declaring  that  he  will  see 
"  fair  play."  Let  us  edge  away  a  little  towards 
the  bar — for  the  crowd  towards  the  door  is 
somewhat  too  promiscuous  to  be  agreeable  ; 
and  it  is  not  improbable  that  in  the  melee, 
some  red-'kerchiefed  citizen,  of  larger  growth, 
whose  extensor  and  flexor  muscles  are  some- 
what more  powerfully  developed,  may  make 
a  savage  assault  on  you,  for  his  own  private 
gratification,  and  the  mere  pleasure  of  hitting 
somebody. 

This  ginnery  has  not  only  a  bar  public,  but 
divers  minor  cabinets,  bibulous  loose  boxes, 
which  are  partitioned  off  from  the  general 
area ;  and  the  entrances  to  which  are  de- 
scribed in  flowery,  but  somewhat  ambiguous, 
language.  There  is  the  "Jug  and  Bottle 
Entrance,"  and  the  entrance  "For  Bottles 
only."  There  is  the  "Wholesale  Bar,"  and 
the  "  Retail  Bar  ; "  but,  wholesale  or  retail, 
jug  or  bottle,  the  different  bars  all  mean  Gin  ! 
The  long  pewter  counter  is  common  to  alL 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 


227 


A  counter  perforated  in  elaborately  pricked 
patterns,  like  a  convivial  shroud,  apparently 
for  ornament,  but  really  for  the  purpose  of 
allowing  the  drain  ings,  overflowings,  and  out- 
spillings  of  the  gilt-glasses  to  drop  through, 
which,  bvhig  collected  with  sundry  washings, 
and  a  dash,  perhaps,  of  fresh  material,  is,  by 
the  thrifty  landlord,  dispersed,  to  his  cus- 
tomers under  the  title  ot  "all  sorts."  Your 
dram-drinker,  look  you,  is  not  unfrequently 
paralytic,  wofnlly  shaky  in  the  hand  ;  and 
the  liquor  lie  wastes,  combined  with  that 
accidentally  spilt,  tells  up  wonderfully  at 
the  close  of  the  year.  There  are  cake 
baskets  on  the  counter,  patronised  mostly  by 
the  lady  votaries  of  the  rosy  (or  livid  ?)  god  ; 
but  their  tops  are  hermetically  sealed,  and 
their  dulcet  contents  protected  by  a  wire 
dome,  or  cupola,  of  convex  form.  Besides 
what  I  have  described,  if  you  will  add  some 
of  my  old  friends  the  gold-blazoned  boards, 
bearing  the  eulogies  of  various  brewers, 
together  with  sundry  little  placards,  framed 
and  glazed,  and  printed  in  colours,  telling  in 
seductive  language,  of  "Choice  Compounds," 
"Old  Tom,"  "Cream  of  the  Valley,"  "Superior 
Cream  Gin,"  "  The  Bight  Sort,"  "  Kinahan's 
L.  L.,"  "  The  Dew  off  Ben  Nevis,"  the  "  Cele- 
brated Balmoral  Mixture,  patronised  by  his 
Eoyal  Highness  Prince  Albert "  (the  illus- 
trious personage,  clad  in  full  Highland 
costume,  with  an  extensive  herd  of  red  deer 
in  the  distance,  is  represented  taking  a  glass 
of  the  "Mixture  "  with  great  apparent  gusto)  ; 
besides  these,  I  repeat,  you  will  need  nothing 
to  "  complete  the  costume,"  as  the  romancers 
have  it,  of  a  Gin  Palace. 

Except  the  landlord,  perhaps,  who  is  bald 
and  corpulent,  who  has  a  massive  watch- 
chain,  and  a  multiplicity  of  keys,  and  whose 
hands  seem  to  leave  the  pockets  of  his  trousers 
as  seldom  as  his  keen  eye  does  the  gin-draw- 
ing gymnastics  of  his  barmen.  Gymnastics 
they  are,  tours  de  force,  feats  of  calisthenics 
as  agile  as  any  performed  by  the  agile  pro- 
fessor whom  I  have  just  seen  pass,  all  dirt, 
flesh-coloured  drawers,  and  spangles.  A  quick, 
sharp,  jerking  twist  for  the  spirit  tap,  allowing 
to  ruu  till  the  liquor  is  within  a  hair's  breadth 
of  the  top  of  the  measure,  and  no  longer  ;  a 
dexterous  tilt  of  the  "  two,"  or  "  three  out  " 
glasses  required  ;  an  agile  shoving  forwara 
of  the  pewter  noggin  with  one  hand,  while 
the  other  inevitable  palm  is  presented  for  the 
requisite  halfpence  ;  and  oh  !  such  a  studious 
carefulness  that  one  hand  is  not  emptied 
before  the  other  is  filled.  It  is  not  every- 
body can  serve  in  the  bar  of  a  Gin  Palace. 
The  barman  wears  a  fur  cap — generally — 
— sometimes  a  wide-awake.  He  is  addicted 
to  carrying  a  piece  of  straw,  a  pipe-light, 
or  the  stalk  of  a  flower  in.  his  mouth,  diver- 
sifying it  occasionally  by  biting  half-crowns 
viciously.  When  he  gives  you  change,  he 
slaps  it  down  on  the  counter  in  a  provoca- 
tory  manner  ;  his  face  is  flushed  ;  his  manner, 
short,  concise,  sententious.  His  vocabulary  is 


(limited;  a  short  "Now  then,"  and  a  brief 
"  Here  you  are,"  forming  the  staple  phrases 
thereof.  I  wonder  what  his  views  of  human 
nature — of  the  world,  its  manners,  habits,  and 
customs — can  be  like.  Or  what  does  the  bar- 
maid think  of  it  1  I  should  like  to  know  :  the 
young  lady  in  the  coal-black  ringlets  (like  mag- 
nified leeches),  the  very  brilliant  complexion, 
and  the  coral  necklace.  Mercy  on  us !  what  can 
she,  a  girl  of  eighteen,  think  of  the  faces,  the 
dress,  the  language  of  the  miserable  creatures 
among  whom  she  spends  sixteen  hours  of 
her  life  every  day — every  mortal  day  through- 
out the  year — once  in  every  three  weeks  (her 
"  day  out ")  excepted. 

One  word  about  the  customers,  and  we 
will  rejoin  our  chariot,  which  must  surely 
be  extricated  by  this  time.  Thieves, 
beggars,  costermongers,  hoary-headed  old 
men,  stunted,  ragged,  shock-haired  children, 
blowzy,  slatternly  women,  hulking  brick- 
layers, gaunt,  sickly  hobbededoys,  with  long 
greasy  hair.  A  thrice-told  tale.  Is  it  not 
the  same  everywhere  !  The  same  pipes,  dirt 
howling,  maundering,  fighting,  staggering- 
gin  fever.  Like  plates  multiplied  by  the 
electro-process — like  the  printer's  "  stereo  " — 
like  the  reporter's  "  manifold  " — you  will  find 
duplicates,  triplicates  of  these  forlorn  beings 
everywhere.  The  same  woman  giving  her 
baby  gin ;  the  same  haggard,  dishevelled 
woman,  trying  to  coax  her  drunken  husband 
home  ;  the  same  mild  girl,  too  timid  even  to 
importune  her  ruffian  partner  to  leave  off 
drinking  the  week's  earnings,  who  sits  meekly 
in  a  corner,  with  two  discoloured  eyes,  one 
freshly  blacked — one  of  a  week's  standing. 
The  same  weary  little  man,  who  comes  in 
early,  crouches  in  a  corner,  and  takes  standing 
naps  during  the  day,  waking  up  periodically 
for  "fresh  drops."  The  same  red-nosed,  ragged 
object  who  disgusts  you  at  one  moment  by  the 
force  and  fluency  of  his  Billingsgate,  and  sur- 
prises you  the  next  by  bursting  out  in  Greek 
and  Latin  quotations.  The  same  thin,  spectral 
man  who  has  no  money,  and,  with  his  hands 
piteously  laid  one  over  the  other,  stands  for 
hours  gazing  with  fishy  eyes  at  the  beloved 
liquor — smelling,  thinking  of,  hopelessly  de- 
siring it.  And,  lastly,  the  same  miserable  girl, 
sixteen  in  years,  and  a  hundred  in  misery ;  with 
foul,  matted  hair,  and  death  in  her  face  ;  with 
a  tattered  plaid  shawl,  and  ragged  boots,  a 
gin-and-fog  voice,  and  a  hopeless  eye. 

Mr.  Ex-Sheriff  Pickles's  carriage  no  longer 
stops  the  way,  and  the  big  draymen  have 
conducted  the  big  horses  and  the  big  dray  to 
its  destination.  Beer  has  to  be  delivered  at 
the  sign  of  the  "Green  Hog  Tavern ;"  whither, 
if  you  have  no  objection,  we  will  forthwith  hie. 

The  Green  Hog  is  in  a  tortuous,  but 
very  long  street, — a  weak-minded  street  in- 
deed, for  it  appears  unable  to  decide  whether 
to  go  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  straight  or 
zig-zag,  to  be  "broad  or  to  be  narrow.  The 
Green  Hog  participates  in  this  indecision 
of  character.  It  evidently  started  with  the 


228 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  bj 


intention  of  having  a  portico,  but,  stopping 
short,  conynomised  the  matter  by  oversha- 
dowing the  street  door  with  a  hideous  excre- 
scence between  a  verandah,  a  "  bulk,"  .and  a 
porch.  Contradictory,  also,  is  the  Green 
Hog ;  for  it  calls  itself,  over  the  door,  the 
Green  Hog  Tavern,  over  the  window,  a 
Wine  Vaults,  and  round  the  corner  (in  the 
Mews),  a  Spirit  Stores.  The  bar  is  shame- 
faced, having  run  away  to  the  end  of  a  long 
passage  ;  and  even  then,  when  you  do  get  to 
it,  is  more  like  a  bow-window  than  like  a 
bar,  and  more  like  a  butler's  pantry  than 
either.  Very  few  customers  do  you  see  stand- 
ing at  the  bar  of  the  Green  Hog ;  yet  does 
its  verdant  porcinity  considerable  business 
with  Barclay  Perkins. 

The  truth  is,  the  Green  Hog  is  one  of 
a  class  of  publics,  becoming  rapidly  extinct 
in  London.  It  is  a  tavern — one  of  the  old, 
orthodox,  top-booted,  sanded-floored  taverns. 
It  does  a  good  business,  not  by  casual  beer- 
drinkers,  but  in  "  lunch,  dinner,  and  supper 
beers."  A  better  business,  perhaps,  in  wines 
and  dinners  ;  for  to  the  Green  Hog  resort 
a  goodly  company  of  the  customers  of  the  "  old 
school," — men  who  yet  adhere  to  the  tradi- 
tional crown  bowl  of  punch,  and  the  historical 
"rump  and  dozen,"  who  take  their  bottle  of 
wine  after  dinner,  and  insist  upon  triangular 
spittoons.  They  are  behind  the  times,  per- 
haps, aud  the  Green  Hog  is  a  little  behind 
them  too.  The  Green  Hog  can't  make  out 
competition,  and  new  inventions,  and  fresh 
blood,  and  new  resources.  "  My  father  kept 
this  house  afore  me,"  says  the  Green  Hog, 
"  and  my  son  '11  keep  it  after  me."  So,  within 
his  orthodox  and  time-honoured  precincts,  a 
"go"  of  sherry  is  still  called  a  bottle  of  sherry — 
a  glass  of  brandy-and- water  is  charged  a  shilling. 
"  1  Jell's  Old  Weekly  Messenger"  is  taken  in  ; 
and  the  Green  Hog  goes  to  bed  at  midnight 
— winter  or  summer — week-day  or  Sabbath. 

The  parlour  (or  common  room)  of  the 
Green  Hog  is  a  sight.  The  ceiling  is  low 
and  bulging,  and  covered  with  a  quiet,  grey- 
patterned  paper.  There  is  a  sanded  floor,  a 
big  fireplace,  "  settles"  on  either  side  thereof, 
long  substantial  tables,  and  a  chair  on  a  dais 
nailed  against  the  wall.  No  newfangled  por- 
traits hang  on  the  walls,  of  race-horses, 
Eadical  Members,  of  performers  at  the  The- 
atres-Royal. There  is,  however,  Mr.  Charles 
Young,  in  mezzotint,  Konian  costume,  and 
toga.  There  is  the  best  of  monarchs  in  jack- 
boots and  a  pig-tail,  reviewing  two  hundred 
thousand  volunteers  in  Hyde  Park.  There 
is  the  next  best  of  monarchs  in  his  curliest 
wig,  smiling  affably  at  the  fur  collar  of  his 
surtout.  There  is  the  portrait  of  the  late 
landlord,  and  the  portrait  of  the  present  one. 
There  is,  finally.  Queen  Caroline,  looking 
deeply  injured  in  an  enormous  hat  and 
feathers,  and  an  aquatint  view  of  the  opening 
of  Blackfriars  Bridge. 

To  this  comfortable  and  old-fashioned  re- 
treat come  the  comfortable  and  old-fashioned 


customers,  who  "  use"  the  Green  Hog.  Hither 
conies  Mr.  Tuckard,  a  round  old  gentleman, 
supposed  to  be  employed  in  some  capacity  at  the 
Tower  of  London,  but  whether  as  a  warder,  an 
artillery-man,  or  a  gentleman  jailer — deponent 
sayeth  not.  He  appears  regularly  at  nine 
o'clock  every  morning,  eats  a  huge  meat-and- 
beer  breakfast,  orders  his  dinner,  re-appears 
at  six  o'clock  precisely,  eats  a  hearty  dinner, 
drinks  a  bottle  of  port,  and  smokes  nine  pipes 
of  tobacco,  washed  down  by  nine  tumblers  of 
gin-and-water.  He  invariably  finishes  his 
nine  tumblers  just  as  John  the  waiter  (of 
whom  no  man  ever  knew  the  surname,  or  saw 
the  bow  to  his  neck-tie)  brings  in  tumbler 
of  brandy-and-water,  number  four,  for  Mr. 
Scrayles,  the  eminent  corn-chandler  (reported 
to  be  worth  a  mint  of  money).  The  door 
being  opened,  Mr.  Tuckard  rises,  looks  round, 
nods,  and  without  further  parley,  makes  a 
bolt  through  the  door,  and  disappears.  This, 
with  but  few  interruptions,  he  has  done  daily 
and  nightly  for  five-and-thirty  years.  He 
rarely  speaks  but  to  intimate  friends  (with 
whom  he  has  had  a  nodding  acquaintance  for 
twenty  years,  perhaps).  He  occasionally  con- 
descends to  impart,  in  a  fat  whisper,  his  opi- 
nions about  the  funds  and  the  weather.  It  is 
reported  that  he  cannot  read,  for  he  never  was 
known  to  take  up  a  newspaper — that  he  can- 
not write  —  that  he  never  sleeps.  No  one 
knows  where  he  lives.  He  is  Tuckard,  em- 
ployed in  the  Tower  of  London ;  that  is  all. 
Sometimes,  on  high  clays  and  holidays,  he 
hands  round  a  portentous  golden  snuff-box, 
purporting,  from  the  engraving  on  its  lid,  to 
have  been  presented  to  Thomas  Tuckard, 
Esquire,  by  his  friends  and  admirers,  members 
of  the  "  Cobb  Club."  Who  was  Cobb  ?  and 
what  manner  of  Club  was  his  1 

Besides  the  mysterious  possessor  of  the 
snuff-box,  and  the  wealthy  corn-chandler, 
there  are  some  score  more  grave  and  sedate 
frequenters  of  the  parlour,  all  "  warm"  men, 
financially  speaking,  all  quietly  eloquent  as  to 
the  funds  and  the  weather,  and  all  fond  of 
their  bottle  of  wine,  and  their  tumbler  of 
grog.  Time  and  weather,  changes  of  ministry, 
births,  deaths,  and  marriage  seem  to  have  but 
little  effect  on  them,  nor  to  ruffle,  in  any 
sensible  degree,  the  even  tenour  of  their  lives. 
They  will  continue,  I  have  no  doubt,  to  "  use" 
the  Green  Hog  as  long  as  they  are  able  to 
use  anything  ;  and  when  the  grog  of  life  is 
drained,  and  the  pipe  of  existence  is  extin- 
guished, they  will  quietly  give  place  to  other 
old  codgers,  who  will  do,  doubtless,  as  they 
did  before  them. 

Don't  suppose  that  Barclay  and  Perkins's 
dray,  or  Barclay  and  Perkins's  men  have  been 
idle  or  unprofitably  employed  while  I  have  been 
poking  about  the  parlour  of  the  Green  Hog. 
No :  theirs  has  been  the  task  to  raise  the  cellar- 
flap  on  the  pavement,  and  to  lower,  by  means 
of  sundry  chains  and  ropes,  the  mighty  butts 
of  beer  required  for  the  lunches,  dinners, 
and  suppers  of  the  Green  Hog's  customers. 


Charles  Dickens.! 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 


229 


Curious  evolutions,  both  human  and  eques- 
trian, were  performed  during  the  operation. 
Small  boys  took  flying  leaps  over  the  prostrate 
barrels  ;  the  stalwart  steeds  cut  figures  of 
eight  in  the  narrow  thoroughfare,  occasionally 
backing  into  the  chandler's  shop  opposite,  to 
the  imminent  peril  of  the  Dutch  cheeses,  balls 
of  twine,  screws  of  tobacco,  and  penny  canes 
there  exposed  to  view,  and  the  loudly  ex- 
pressed consternation  of  the  proprietrix  ;  the 
pavement  on  one  side  was  rendered  tem- 
porarily impassable  by  a  barricade  of  tightly 
strained  cordage,  and  the  otherwise  equable 
temper  of  the  servant-maid  from  number  four, 
seriously  ruffled,  as,  emerging  from  the  door 
with  a  foaming  jug  of  half-and-half,  a  dirty 
rope  came  right  across  her  clean  white  stock- 
ing. Then,  after  all  this,  have  the  gigantic 
draymen  rested  and  refreshed  themselves. 
A  temporary  game  of  hide-and-seek  has 
taken  place — each  red- capped  butt-twister 
wandering  alaout  anxiously  inquiring  for  his 
tl  mate  ;"  but  the  lost  have  been  found  ;  and, 
when  from  the  dark  and  poky  parlour  we 
re-enter  the  bow-windowed  bar  (where  the 
sweet-smelling  thicket  of  lemons,  and  the 
punch-bowls,  the  punch-ladles,  with  William 
and  Mary  guineas  soldered  in  them,  and  the 
bright-eyed  landlord's  daughter  are) — we  find 
the  mighty  yeomen  discussing  huge  dishes  of 
beefsteaks  and  onions,  and  swallowing  deep 
draughts  from  the  Pierian  spring  of  Barclay's 
best. 

Take  with  me,  I  entreat,  a  glass  of  Dutch 
bitters  from  that  pot-bellied,  quaint-shaped 
bottle  with  the  City  shield  and  dagger  on  it, 
for  all  the  world  like  one  of  the  flasks  in 
Hogarth's  Modern  Midnight  Conversation. 
Then  as  the  draymen  have  finished  their  repast, 
and  our  chariot  awaits  us,  let  us  sally  forth 
into  London  again,  and  seek  a  fresh  tap. 

What  have  we  here  1  A  pictorial  "public." 
Lithographic  prints,  wood  engravings  in  the 
windows  ;  Highland  gentlemen,  asseverating, 
in  every  variety  of  attitude,  that  their  names 
are  Norval — that  their  pedigrees  are  pastoral, 
and  that  their  last  past  places  of  residence 
were  the  Grampian  Hills  ;  Hamlet  declaring 
his  capacity  to  tell  a  hawk  from  a  handsaw  ; 
Job  Thornbury  vindicating  the  rights  of  the 
Englishman's  fireside  ;  Lady  Macbeth  lament- 
ing the  inutility  of  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
to  sweeten  "  this  little  hand  " — which  looks 
large  ;  clowns  bewailing  the  loss  of  a  "  farden," 

frinning  hideously  meanwhile — all  as  per- 
jrmed  by  Messieurs  and  Mesdames  So-and- 
so,  at  the  Theatres  Eoyal.  The  little  glazed 
placards  in  the  window,  telling  of  chops, 
steaks,  and  Schweppe's  soda-water,  are 
elbowed,  pushed  from  their  stools,  by  car- 
toons of  the  "  Bounding  Brothers  of  the 
Himalaya  Mountains ;"  Signer  Scapino  and  his 
celebrated  dog  Jowler ;  Herr  Diavolo  Buffo, 
the  famous  corkscrew  equilibrist  (from  the 
Danube),  and  tight-rope  dancer  ;  or  Made- 
moiselle Smicherini  the  dancer,  with  unde- 
niable silk  fleshings,  and  very  little  else. 


Lower  down,  bills  of  theatrical  benefits 
tournaments  at  tea-gardens,  "  readings"  from 
Shakspeare,  and  harmonic  meetings  dispute 
the  pavement  with  the  legitimate  possessors 
of  the  soil — the  brewers  and  distillers.  Within 
is  a  grove — a  forest  rather,  of  play -bills,  waving 
their  red  and  black  leaves  in  Valombrosan 
density.  Patent  theatres,  minor  theatres, 
country  theatres — even  Transatlantic  temples 
of  the  drama.  This  is  a  theatrical  "  public" — 
a  house  of  call  for  Thespians.  Over  the  way 
is  the  Theatre  Eoyal,  Barbican  ;  round  the 
corner,  up  the  court  and  two  pair  of  stairs, 
Mr.  Wilfred  Grindoff  Belville,  has  his  thea- 
trical agency  office  ;  here  meet  the  Sock  and 
Buskin  Club  ;  and  here,  in  days  gone  by,  the 
great  Konks,  the  tragedian,  was  wont  to 
imbibe  that  bottle  and  a  half  of  gin,  without 
the  aid  of  which  he  disdained  to  perform  Ids 
famous  character  of  "  The  Robber  of  the 
Hills." 

To  the  theatrical  public  come  the  actors  of 
the  Theatre  Eoyal,  Barbican,  their  friends 
and  acquaintances,  being  actors  at  other 
theatres,  and  that  anomalous  class  of  persons 
who  hunt  for  orders,  and  scrape  acquaintance 
with  theatrical  people,  of  which  and  of  whom 
they  afterwards  discourse  voluminously  in 
the  genteel  circles.  Hither,  also,  come  come- 
dians, dancers,  and  pautominiists  who  are  for 
the  time  out  of  engagements,  who  have  placed 
their  names  on  Mr.  W.  G.  Belville's  "  list," 
and  expect  situations  through  his  agency.  A 
weary-looking,  heart-sick  with  hope  deferred 
body  they  are.  There,  intently  studying  the 
bill  of  the  Bowie-knife  Theatre,  New  York,  is 
Mr.  Montmorency  de  Courcy  (ne  Snaggs)  in 
a  mulberry-coloured  body-  coat  and  gilt  basket 
buttons,  check  trousers,  and  a  white  hat. 
He  is  from  the  Northern  Circuit,  and  hopes, 
please  the  pigs  and  Mr.  Belville,  to  do  second 
low  comedy  in  London  yet,  though  he  lias 
been  a  long  time  "  out  of  collar."  At  the 
door,  you  have  Mr.  Snartell,  the  low  comedian 
from  Devonport,  and  Mr.  Eollocks,  the  heavy 
father  from  the  Bath  Circuit,  who  affects,  in 
private  life,  a  low-crowned  hat  with  a  pro- 
digious brim  (has  a  rich  though  somewhat 
husky  bass  voice),  and  calls  everybody  "  My 
son."  These,  with  many  more  dark-haired, 
close-shaven,  and  slightly  mouldily-habited 
inheritors  of  the  mantles  of  Kean,  Dowton,  or 
Blanchard,  wait  the  live-long  day  for  the  long- 
wished-for  engagements. 

Inside,  at  the  bar,  Signer  .Scapino,  in 
propriA  persona,  is  exercising  his  celebrated 
dog  Jowler  at  standing  on  the  hind  legs, 
placing  a  halfpenny  on  the  counter,  and 
receiving  a  biscuit  instead ;  two  or  three 
stage-carpenters  are  enjoying  themselves  over 
the  material  used  to  "  grease  the  traps,"  i.  e. 
half-a-crown's  worth  of  stimulants  placed  to 
their  credit  by  the  author  of  the  last  new 
piece  over  the  way  ;  while  the  author  himself, 
a  mysterious  individual  in  spectacles,  and 
clutching  an  umbrella,  eagerly  scrutinises 
the  pile  of  country  play-bills,  in  the  hope  of 


230 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


discovering  among  them  some  theatre  at  which 
one  of  his  pieces  has  lately  been  performed, 
and  on  which  he  can  be  "  down  "  for  halt'-a- 
crown  an  act  for  each  representation.  Then 
there  is  a  little  prematurely  aged  man,  Doctor 
Snafflus,  indeed,  as  he  is  called,  who  did  the 
"  old  man "  line  of  business,  but  who  does 
very  little  to  speak  of  now,  except  drink. 
Drink  has  been  his  bane  through  life  ;  has 
thrown  him  out  of  every  engagement  he  ever 
had,  has  muddled  his  brain,  rendered  his 
talent  a  shame  and  a  curse,  instead  of  a  credit 
and  a  blessing  to  him  :  made  him  the  ragged, 
decrepit,  palsied  beggar  man  you  see  him 
now.  He  asks  the  barmaid  piteously  for  a 
pinch  of  snuff,  which  she  never  refuses  him 
— and  returns'  him  in  addition,  sometimes 
(when  he  can  find  no  old  theatrical  friend  to 
treat  him)  half-a-pint  of  porter.  He  is  never 
seen  to  eat,  and  sleeps  nowhere  in  particular, 
and  has  not  washed  within  the  memory  of 
man. 

There's  a  little  snuggery  or  private  parlour 
behind  the  bar,  to  which  are  only  free  the 
actors  of  the  adjacent  theatre,  of  a  certain 
standing,  and  their  friends.  In  the  intervals 
of  rehearsals  before  and  after  the  performance 
this  little  snuggery  is  crammed.  The  heavy 
tragedian  makes  jokes  that  sets  the  table  in  a 
roar,  and  the  low  comedian  is  very  dismally 
and  speechlessly  drawing  lines  in  beer  with 
his  finger  on  the  Pembroke  table.  In  the 
chimney  corner  sits  Mr.  Berrymax,  a  white- 
haired  old  gentleman,  with  a  pleasant  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  who,  though  not  an 
actor,  enjoys  prodigious  consideration  in  the 
profession,  as  a  play-goer  of  astonishing  anti- 
quity, who  is  supposed  to  remember  Mrs. 
Bracegirdle,  Peg  Woffington — nay  Betterton, 
almost ;  whose  opinions  on  all  points  of 
reading,  business,  and  stage  traditions,  are 
looked  upon  as  oracles,  whose  decisions  are 
final,  and  whose  word  is  law. 

The  landlord  of  the  theatrical  public-house 
is,  very  probably,  a  retired  actor — a  prompter 
who  has  made  a  little  money — 01*,  sometimes, 
even  an  unsuccessful  manager.  His  daughter 
may  be  in  the  ballet  at  the  adjacent  theatre  ; 
or,  perhaps,  if  he  be  a  little  "  warm,"  she  may 
have  taken  lessons  from  Signor  Chiccarini, 
wear  a  black  velvet  dress,  carry  an  oblong 
morocco  music-case,  like  a  leathern  candle- 
box,  and  sing  at  the  Nobility's  Concerts,  and 
in  the  choruses  of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre. 
There  are  other  theatrical  publics,  varying 
however  in  few  particulars  from  the  one  into 
which  we  have  peeped.  There  is  the  "  public  " 
over  the  water,  whither  the  performers  at  the 
Eoyal  Alexandriua  Theatre  (formerly  the  old 
Homborg)  resort ;  where  Jobson,  the  original 
Vampire  of  Venice,  reigns  supreme,  and 
where  you  may  see  a  painted  announcement, 
that — "  Bottles  are  lent  for  the  Theatre," 
meaning  that  any  thirsty  denizen  of  the  New 
Cut,  who  may  choose  to  patronise,  on  a  given 
night,  the  Eoyal  Alexandrina  Theatre,  with 
his  wife,  family,  and  suite,  may  here  buy  beer, 


and  borrow  a  bottle  to  hold  it,  wherewith  to 
regale  himself  between  the  acts,  the  standing 
order  of  the  theatre  as  to  "No  bottles  allowed," 
notwithstanding.  Then  there  is  the  eques- 
trian theatrical  house,  also,  over  the  water, 
where  you  may  see  fiercely  moustachioed 
gentlemen,  who  clank  spurs,  and  flourish 
horsewhips,  after  the  manner  of  life-guards- 
men off  duty ;  who  swear  fearfully,  and 
whose  grammar  is  defective  ;  who  affect  a 
great  contempt  for  actors,  whom  they  term 
"  mummies,"  and  who  should  be  in  polite  par- 
lance denominated  "  equestrian  performers," 
but  are  generally,  by  a  discerning  but  some- 
what too  familiar  public,  known  as  "  horse- 
riders."  There  are,  of  course,  different  cliques 
and  coteries  holding  their  little  discussions, 
and  conserving  their  little  prejudices  and  anti- 
pathies, their  likings  and  dislikings,  in  the 
various  classes  of  theatrical  publics ;  but 
there  is  common  to  them  all  a  floating  popu- 
lation of  old  play-goers,  superannuated  pau- 
tomimists,  decayed  prompters,  actors  out  of 
engagement,  and  order-hunters  and  actor- 
haunters. 

Ramble  on  again,  wheels  of  Barclay's  dray ; 
clatter  ye  harness,  and  crack  ye  loud-sounding 
whips  ;  and  let  us  leave  the  world  theatrical 
for  the  world  pictorial.  Let  us  see  the  Arts 
on  tap  ! 


NOTES  FROM  NORWAY. 


THE   ROADS   IN   CHRISTIANIA. 

CHRISTIANIA-FJORD  is  pleasant  water.  It  is 
about  seventy  English  miles  in  length,  varying 
in  breadth,  but  becoming  narrower  as  one 
gets  near  the  head.  Its  shores  resemble  those 
of  the  Scotch  lochs,  bounded  by  hills  of  mode- 
rate elevation,  and  its  surface  is  beset  with 
islands.  Here  and  there  are  scattered  little 
towns,  churches,  and  windmills  ;  now  and 
then  a  sudden  turn  of  the  coast  shuts  them 
all  out  of  sight.  Christiania  itself  stands  on  an 
expanse  formed  by  a  southern  arm  of  the  Fjord; 
water  before  it,  and  behind  it  a  good  back- 
ground of  hills.  The  wonderful  clearness  of 
the  atmosphere  brings  out  the  gay  colours 
of  the  houses,  and  the  bright  hues  of  the 
hills  behind,  with  a  vividness  that  is  almost 
magical.  Every  little  detail,  too,  is  reflected. 
in  the  clear  blue  Fjord,  and  the  whole  seems 
more  like  a  gay  picture  or  a  child's  toy,  than 
a  real  work-a-day  town.  The  town,  how- 
ever, has  realities.  The  steamer  did  not  take 
us  quite  to  Christiania ;  boats  to  land  the 
passengers  came  up  in  numbers  ;  we,  of  couiv.-, 
took  one.  On  arriving  at  the  Custom  House 
quay,  something  was  asked  of  us  by  the  rough- 
looking  boatmen  ;  it  was  a  question  of  pay- 
ment, as  one  might  judge  from  the  out- 
stretched hand  ;  with  us  the  question  was, 
"  How  much  to  pay  ? "  None  of  us  under- 
stood a  word  of  Norsk,  nor  had  we  any 
Norsk  money  in  our  pockets.  Our  hesitation 
was  removed  by  a  mariner,  more  of  a  linguist 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NOTES  FBOM  NORWAY. 


231 


than  the  rest,  who  stepped  forward,  and 
said,  "  Von  an  sixpens." 

The  streets  of  Christiania  are  broad  and 
straight;  they  are  generally  built  at  right 
angles,  and,  moreover,  generally  possess  the 
great  advantage  to  a  stranger  of  bearing  their 
names  distinctly  inscribed  at  every  corner.  But 
oh,  the  pavement !  At  the  best,  it  is  a  rough- 
pitched  pavement  ;  frequently  this  is  de- 
stroyed ;  it  lies  neglected,  and  develops  pools 
filled  with  soft  mud,  into  whicli  carriages 
sink  with  a  jolt,  and  from  which  they  after- 
wards clear  themselves  with  another  jolt. 
The  foot-passenger  is  often  sorely  puzzled 
how  to  cross  the  street  with  a  dry  foot  and  an 
unsplashed  garment,  even  on  one  of  the  dry 
days  in  summer. 

On  the  day  after  our  arrival  we  accepted 
the  invitation  of  a  Norwegian  gentleman  to 
drink  tea  at  his  country-house,  about  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  the  town.  We  agreed 
to  meet  him  at  an  early  hour  in  the  afternoon, 
at  his  house  of  business,  where  he  promised 
that  his  carriage  should  be  waiting  to  drive 
us  along  a  new  road  then  being  formed  beside 
the  Fjord,  before  it  took  us  to  his  villa.  We 
accordingly,  at  the  appointed  time,  picked 
the  best  way  we  could  to  the  said  town- 
house.  We  found  it  after  passing  through  a 
narrow  gateway,  which  led  into  a  court  of  no 
great  size,  thickly  hung  with  tapestry  ;  in 
fact,  almost  plugged  up  with  linen  there 
exposed  to  dry.  Our  kind  host  and  his  little 
son  were  ready  for  us,  and  the  carriage  was 
in  waiting.  The  carriage  had  a  wonderfully 
tumble-down  appearance,  and  creaked  in  a 
boding  manner  as  we  took  our  places ;  my 
friend  and  myself  behind,  Herr  Jehu  and  his 
son  on  the  box.  With  the  most  consummate 
skill,  Herr  Jehu  drove  out  of  the  little  yard, 
dexterously  avoiding  a  sharp  corner,  guarded 
by  a  projecting  post.  We  turned  into  the 
street  in  grand  style,  rattling  over  the  stones 
with  vigour.  The  clatter  of  our  wheels  over- 
whelmed and  silenced  all  the  clatter  of  our 
tongues.  Before  we  had  driven  twenty  yards 
the  fore-wheels  went  down  into  some  depths, 
but  righted  ;  the  hind-wheels  following  into 
the  same  depths,  there  remained  buried.  Our 
host  turned  round  to  see  what  was  the  matter ; 
then  he  got  down  to  take  a  closer  view,  quietly 
observing,  "  I  think  something  must  be 
broken."  The  axle-pin  had  been  snapped  in 
two.  Herr  Jehu  begged  us  to  descend,  and 
sent  his  little  boy  to  find  a  smith. 

A  CHILD'S  FUNERAL  AT  DRAMMEN, 
While  detained  at  the  Hotel  de  Scandinavie, 
I  was  much  interested  in  watching  the  cere- 
monies attendant  on  the  funeral  of  a  child  at 
a  house  nearly  opposite.  My  attention  was 
first  attracted  to  a  couple  of  men  who  were 
planting  two  young  fir-trees  firmly  in  the 
ground  on  each  side  of  the  door.  They  then 
proceeded  to  strew  the  road  before  the  house 
thickly  with  fir-boughs.  Presently  the 
mourners  who  had  by  degrees  assembled  in 


the  house,  re-appeared,  bearing  the  coffin  on 
a  bier.  The  coffin  was  a  little  oblong  chest 
with  a  raised  lid ;  it  was  painted  white,  and 
had  a  black  cross  on  the  lid  and  on  the  head- 
board. A  chaplet  of  flowers  lay  upon  it,  and 
there  were  a  few  flowers  scattered  in  the 
doorway.  The  mourners  moved  off  slowly  in 
pairs,  to  a  church  not  far  distant ;  there  was 
no  sound  of  bell,  and  after  a  very  short 
interval,  they  returned  to  the  house  before 
dispersing. 

We  remained  only  one  night  at  Drammen, 
and  drove  the  next  morning  in  a  hired 
carriage  to  Hongsund,  a  little  village  on  the 
Drammen  river,  just  below  a  famous  salmon- 
leap.  I  have  a  friend  whose  servant  met  us 
at  this  place  with  two  carrioles  ;  the  carriole 
is  the  universal  summer  conveyance  of  the 
Norwegians.  It  is  a  long  carriage  without 
springs,  set  on  exceedingly  long  shafts  ;  it 
holds  one  person  only  in  the  body,  and  it  has 
a  board  behind,  which  accommodates  luggage 
or  a  driver.  It  runs  upon  very  large  wheels,  and 
is  very  well  adapted  to  the  rough  mountainous 
roads  of  the  country.  In  the  two  carrioles 
we  placed  ourselves ;  and  after  travelling 
another  Norsk  mile — which  is  equal  to  about 
seven  miles  English — we  arrived  at  the  junc- 
tion of  the  Drammen  and  Simoa  rivers.  Here 
we  crossed  by  a  ferry,  which  plied  just  under 
a  glorious  waterfall  on  the  one  hand,  and 
just  over  a  smaller  cascade  on  the  other  hand, 
whereof  the  spray  rose  and  fell  above  the 
surface  of  the  water.  Some  picturesque  mill 
and  farm-buildings  marked  out  the  landing- 
place  ;  the  distance  was  on  all  sides  bounded 
by  hills,  and  mills,  and  waterfalls ;  and  car- 
rioles, and  ferrymen,  and  travellers,  were  all 
in  a  glow  under  the  red  light  of  sunset. 

Again  starting  on  our  road,  we  were  in 
half-an-hour  at  my  friend's  house.  There  we 
were  greeted  in  the  Norsk  fashion  ;  they  had 
surrounded  the  doorway  of  the  house  with 
flowers  in  honour  of  our  arrival.  Large 
festoons  of  the  gay  wildflowers  with  which 
Norway  abounds,  were  fastened  on  each  side, 
while  from  the  centre  was  suspended  a  wreath, 
within  which  were  displayed  my  initials  (be 
it  known,  I  am  a  lady)  in  Forget-me-Nots. 
The  whole  household  was  collected  at  the 
door  under  the  flowers,  to  receive  the  guests 
with  hospitable  smiles. 

OUR  TOTAL  ECLIPSE  PIC-NIC  PARTY. 

On  the  morning  of  the  28th  of  July,  1851, 
we  were  anxiously  interested  in  the  state  of 
the  weather.  Norway  has  not  a  very  settled 
climate  ;  and  showers,  sunshine,  and  mist,  in 
rapid  alternation  for  some  days  beforehand, 
had  made  it  doubtful  whether  we  should  be 
edified  by  the  Eclipse,  which  many  travellers 
from  England  had  come  out  to  see  in  its 
perfection. 

The  steamer  which  conveyed  the  greater 
part  of  the  wise  men,  and  some  of  the  cuiious, 
to  Norway  on  this  occasion,  presented  an  odd 
scene.  The  "  passengers'  luggage  "  was  of  an 


232 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


unaccountable  description.  Mysterious  white 
deal  cases,  often  of  an  unwieldy  length,  and 
generally  marked  "  Glass,  with  great  care," 
or  not  uni'requently  declaring  the  owners' 
names  in  immense  capitals,  had  settled  down 
upon  the  ship  in  horrible  confusion.  The 
saloon  accommodated  several  ;  but  others 
were  strewn  along  the  passage,  and  some  lay 
in  wait  to  trip  up  those  who  walked  unwarily 
I'ipon  the  deck.  When  after  three  days  of 
discomfort  we  were  saluted  with  the  joyful 
summons  to  look  after  our  goods  because  the 
Custom  House  officers  had  come  on  board,  it 
was  a  pleasant  sight  to  see  these  sealed  cases 
handed  down  more  tenderly  than  babies,  into 
the  little  boats  by  which  we  were  to  land, 
each  superintended  by  its  owner.  The  Cus- 
tom House  had  courteously  waived  the  cere- 
mony of  minute  inspection. 

The  morning  of  July,  28,  1851,  respectably 
broke  out  cloudy,  but  with  a  tendency  to 
clear.  I  found  that  a  party  had  been  planned 
by  a  Norsk  friend  of  ours,  to  go  a  few  English 
miles  up  the  Fjord  to  the  Skuterud  Soeters  or 
summer  pastures,  which  commanded  an  exten- 
sive range  of  country,  over  which  to  observe 
the  effect  of  the  Eclipse.  This  arrangement, 
of  course,  had  been  dependent  on  the  weather, 
and  as  that  warranted  our  making  the  ex- 
periment, we  prepared  forthwith  for  the 
expedition.  We  started  soon  after  eleven 
o'clock  in  an  English  pony  carriage,  drawn 
by  a  pair  of  active  little  Norsk  horses,  and 
carrying,  as  luggage,  a  large  collection  of 
smoked  glasses,  and  a  tiny  telescope.  Our 
road  lay,  first,  through  the  little  village 
Nymoen,  then,  crossing  the  Simoa  river,  by  a 
bridge  immediately  over  a  foss  or  fall  of 
upwards  of  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  we  soon 
entered  a  pine  forest.  One  always  does  soon 
enter  a  pine  forest  in  traversing  Norwegian 
scenery ;  this  particular  one  was,  perhaps, 
more  than  usually  fragrant  in  consequence  of 
the  late  rains.  Now  the  sun,  good  fellow, 
broke  out  joyously,  and  put  forth  strength 
enough  to  make  us  grateful  for  the  shade  we 
were  enjoying.  Our  little  ponies  cantered 
up  and  galloped  down  hills  which  would 
have  been  terror  to  an  English  horse,  and  in 
an  hour-and-a-half  we  reached  the  mines  of 
Skuterud.  Beyond  this  point  there  is  no 
road,  a  foot-path  only  leading  to  the  SaBters. 
We  lost  no  time  in  securing  a  guide  to  lead  us 
to  the  rest  of  the  party,  who,  we  were  told, 
had  already  reached  their  destination.  As 
we  mounted  on  our  way,  the  view,  of  course, 
extended  on  all  sides.  Blue  hills  marked  out 
the  horizon,  with  a  magical  distinctness  ;  but 
since  the  sun  was  beating  upon  our  backs,  we 
were  glad  to  find  ourselves  at  last  on  the 
crowning  point,  selected  by  our  host  as  the 
fit  station  of  observation  ;  it  was  one  which 
could  not  easily  be  bettered.  We  were  com- 
pletely encircled  by  hills  of  picturesque  out- 
line, and  if  not  of  very  great  elevation,  yet 
high  enough  to  retain  traces  of  the  winter's 
snow.  North-east  lay  the  Tyri-fj  ord,  calm  and 


clear ;  and  immediately  around,  but  still 
below  us,  the  rude  Soeters,  built  of  stems  of 
fir-trees  like  the  Swiss  chalets,  and  like  them 
merely  summer  dairy  huts. 

The  group  collected  on  the  summit  was 
a  pleasant  company  ;  first,  I  was  introduced 
to  our  hostess,  "Fru,"  as  she  was  called,  a 
title  which  in  Norway  marks  a  higher  stand- 
ing than  '•'  Madame,"  but  which  is  enjoyed  by 
some  who  have  not  the  education  or  manners 
of  the  middle  class  in  England.  She  was 
a  short,  stout,  handsome  little  woman,  who 
bowed  low  and  shook  hands  with  me,  but 
speedily  retired  to  attend  to  her  hospitable 
preparations.  My  next  introduction  was  to 
her  eldest  daughter,  a  handsome  brunette, 
under  a  deep  brimmed  straw  hat.  The 
younger  children,  all  under  the  shadow  of 
broad  hats,  scudded  away  in  every  direction 
to  avoid  being  subjected  to  introductions. 
Seated  on  a  projecting  rock  was  a  young  man, 
fresh  from  the  University  of  Chrisfciania,  with 
a  handsome  countenance,  and  a  becoming 
beard.  He  was  talking  over  "coming  events" 
with  two  friends,  one  of  them  an  Englishman  ; 
these,  with  ourselves,  were  all  the  members 
of  the  party.  Punch  and  a  variety  of  cakes 
having  been  handed  about  by  the  two  elder 
daughters,  we  planted  ourselves  in  the  most 
comfortable  positions  for  watching  the  com- 
mencement of  the  Eclipse,  which  was  now 
nearly  due.  At  last,  at  aboiit  a  quarter  to 
three/  o'clock,  one  of  our  party,  an  English- 
man, had  reason  to  exclaim,  "  Now,  it's 
begun." 

As  the  shadow  increased,  the  change  in  the 
appearance  of  the  landscape  was  most  curious. 
The  light  gradually  grew  pale,  the  distant 
blue  became  gray,  the  foreground  dim  ;  in 
fact,  a  deep  twilight  seemed  to  have  stolen 
over  us.  The  temperature  sank  considerably  ; 
the  silence  was  complete ;  an  irresistible 
feeling  of  awe  compelled  us  all  to  speak  in 
whispers  ;  but  the  most  impressive  change 
took  place  about  two  minutes  before  the 
totality  commenced.  Then  a  shadow,  like  a 
thick  dark  cloud,  appeared  over  the  north 
and  north-west,  and  swept  slowly  on  towards 
the  south-east,  until,  when  the  Eclipse  became 
total,  it  surrounded  iis  entirely.  At  the 
same  moment  a  bright  orange  streak  of  light 
broke  out  on  the  western  horizon,  causing  the 
outlines  of  the  hills  to  stand  out  in  a  bold  relief, 
and  giving  to  the  whole  landscape,  somebody 
said,  the  effect  of  a  Claude.  The  corona  ap- 
peared to  emit  bright  yellow  rays,  but  they 
were  not  strong  enough  to  cast  a  shadow. 
Many  stars  were  visible  ;  we  have  since  made 
up  our  minds  that  there  were  at  least  twenty, 
but,  at  the  time,  we  were  all  too  busy  to  count 
them.  Mercury  and  Venus  were  conspicuous. 
We  declared  it  a  thousand  pities,  that  before 
the  totality  was  over  (and  with  us  it  lasted 
barely  three  minutes),  the  clouds  thickened 
so  rapidly,  that  we  afterwards  caught  only 
momentary  glimpses  of  the  Eclipse  passing 
away  behind  "them ;  for  that  reason  the  effects, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NOTES  FEOM  NORWAY. 


233 


produced  by  the  returning  daylight,  were  not 
so  decided  as  those  which  attended  upon  its 
departure.  At  about  a  quarter  to  five,  it 
was  decided  that  the  Eclipse  was  over,  and 
so  we  descended  from  our  eminence  towards 
the  mines,  in  the  guest-chamber  of  which 
we  were  to  find  a  feast  awaiting  us. 

On  our  way  we  stopped  to  look  at  the 
inside  of  a  Sseter.  It  contained  two  rooms  ; 
the  first  being  the  living-room  was  hung 
round  with  dairy  utensils,  and  furnished  with 
primitive  home-made  chairs  and  tables,  which 
stood  at  all  angles  on  a  rough  mud  floor.  An 
old  man  was  sitting  by  a  low  wood  fire, 
smoking  ;  and  two  little  bare-legged  and 
yellow-haired  children  were  silenced  in  the 
middle  of  a  noisy  frolic  by  our  entrance. 
Both  rooms  were  extremely  low  and  small, 
and  fitted  only  for  that  season  of  the  year 
during  which  they  are  to  be  occupied.  Of  the 
cattle  we  saw  nothing,  they  were  scattered 
far  and  wide  upon  the  pastures. 

We  ourselves  rambled  to  our  pasture  in  the 
little  guest  chamber,  a  small  wooden  building, 
of  which  the  floor  was  strewn  with  sprigs 
of  juniper,  a  kind  of  carpeting  that  gives 
a  strong  smell  to  Norwegian  rooms.  Some 
beautiful  specimens  of  cobalt  ore  from  the 
adjacent  mines  were  there  deposited,  one  of 
which  I  was  told  was  even  finer  than  that 
which  had  been  sent  to  the  Great  Exhibition. 

Summoned  to  dinner,  I  was  much  aghast  at 
finding  that  the  head  of  the  table  was  allotted 
to  me  as  the  stranger.  Dinner  began  with 
tea,  and  after  this  we  had  the  usual  pies,  and 
fowls,  and  bottles  of  a  pic-uic.  Toasts  were 
in  much  request,  including  the  healths  of  all 
the  great  astronomers  then  honouring  Norway 
with  their  visits  ;  this  we  very  properly  did, 
because  it  was  in  the  character  of  amateur 
astronomers  that  we  had  formed  our  pic-nic 
party.  When  we  prepared  for  our  departure 
we  discovered  that  the  rain  had  come  to  see 
us  home.  Wrapped  in  all  sorts  of  plaids  and 
cloaks  we  took  leave  of  our  host  and  hostess, 
and  climbing  into  our  respective  vehicles — 
which  formed  together  quite  a  motley  group 
of  carriages  and  carrioles,  we  drove  oft'  at  a 
rapid  pace,  some  taking  one  road,  some 
anothei,  galloping  to  our  respective  beds. 

A  DAY   OP  DINNER. 

A  Norsk  dinner-party  is  a  very  serious 
affair.  It  is  not,  like  our  parties  in  England, 
limited  to  a  duration  of  from  four  to  five 
hours,  and  those  in  the  evening  of  the  day, 
when  the  usual  occupations  of  most  people 
are  conrpleted  ;  in  Norway,  the  fashionable 
hour  for  dinner  is  from  two  to  three,  and  if 
the  party  be  at  all  large,  dancing  and  singing 
follow,  so  that  the  whole  business  probably  is 
not  concluded  until  two  or  three  o'clock  in 
the  next  morning.  There  is  something  ex- 
ceedingly quaint  and  primitive  in  the  Nor- 
wegian manners,  and  to  our  ideas,  even  in 
their  dress  and  physiognomy.  The  people  do 
not  look  much  unlike  Englishmen,  but  the 


likeness  in  them  is  to  the  old-fashioned 
portraits  of  our  ancestors,  not  to  the  men  of 
our  own  day. 

At  a  dinner  party,  which  I  mean  now  to 
describe,  guests,  to  the  number  of  twenty  or 
thirty,  were  expected.  To  the  last,  the  precise 
number  who  would  come,  remained  uncertain : 
for  in  Norway,  that  essentially  free  country, 
a  custom  prevails  of  giving  very  general  and 
undecided  answers  to  all  invitations,  also  of 
bringing  without  scruple  any  chance  guest  in 
addition  to  those  members  of  the  family 
really  invited. 

One  large  room  having  been  completely 
cleared  of  all  extraneous  furniture,  the  dinner 
tables  were  arranged  in  the  form  of  three 
sides  of  a  square,  leaving  only  room  between  the 
tables  and  the  walls  for  the  passage  of  waiters 
behind  the  chairs.  Another  room  was  appro- 
priated to  the  reception  of  the  guests,  a  third 
was  prepared  for  the  smokers  of  the  party, 
and  the  wide  folding-doors  of  the  hall  (uni- 
versal here)  were  thrown  wide  open,  seats 
being  arranged  inside  and  out  for  such  of  the 
company  as  preferred  these  less  formal 
quarters.  The  door-way  was  hung  with 
flowers,  a  fresh  green  mat  of  young  fir  boughs 
was  laid  down  before  it,  and  as  a  finishing 
touch,  the  sand  which  supplies  the  place  of 
gravel,  was  carefully  raked  over.  Soon  after 
two  o'clock  the  arrivals  began,  guests  came 
in  carriages  of  every  imaginable  size  and 
shape.  The  grandees  came  in  very  high  old- 
fashioned  barouches,  very  much  the  worse  for 
wear,  and  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  guess 
even  the  colour  through  the  mud  and  dust, 
which  seemed  to  have  accumulated  over  them 
during  the  past  months  or  years.  Some  drove  in 
double,  some  in  single  carrioles  ;  very  few  came 
on  foot.  These  arrivals  following  each  other  in 
rapid  succession,  one  was  soon  lost  in  a  con- 
fused maze  of  "  Frus,"  and  their  "  Froken  " 
daughters  ;  "  Madames  "  with  their  "  Jom- 
frus,"  Proosts,  Pastors,  and  titles,  or  rather, 
designations,  without  number.  Titles,  pro- 
perly so  called,  were,  some  years  since,  sup- 
pressed by  a  decree  of  the  Storthing  ;  this,  in 
spite  of  the  king's  refusal  to  sanction  it,  was 
passed  after  it  had  been  persisted  in  by  three 
successive  Storthings,  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  the  Norwegian  Constitution.  But, 
although  the  class  of  nobility  no  longer  exists, 
everyone  enjoys  his  own  title,  expressive  of 
his  occupation  in  the  world.  Thus,  a  dig- 
nitary of  the  church,  answering  perhaps,  to 
our  Rural  Dean,  is  called  Proost,  and  his  wife 
Proostinde  ;  a  lawyer  is  called  Advokat ;  a 
shopkeeper,  Kjobmand,  and  so  on.  This  is 
the  rule  in  writing  ;  in  general  conversation 
it  is  usual  to  mention  the  surname  only.  The 
company  having  arrived,  was  not  kept  waiting 
for  the  wine  and  cakes,  which  it  is  fit  to  offer 
before  dinner.  The  sofa  is  held  to  be  the 
seat  of  honour,  and  to  it  the  most  distinguished 
among  the  ladies  were  ushered  with  the  in- 
cessantly repeated  "  Veer  saa  god,"''  which  does 
duty  for  every  ceremony  of  politeness.  The 


234 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


assembled  party  did  not  present  a  very  gay 

denly  seized  by  no   less   grave   a   personage 

appearance  for  the  state  colour  is  black.     A 

than  the  Rector  of  the  University  of  Chris- 

black    bombazine  or  alpaca  dress,  or  better 

tiania,  who,  without  speaking,  led  me  into  the 

still,  a  black  silk,  is  the  true  adornment  of 

large  open  space  in  front  of  the  house,  and 

gentility.     A  sumptuary  law  ordains  black  to 

placed  me  in  the  midst  of  a  circle  *who  were 

be  worn  at  Court  to  avoid  the  greater  expense 

playing  at   a  game    nearly   resembling   our 

of  coloured   dresses  ;    and,   it    is   still   very 

English    "Puss  in  the   Corner."    He    then 

generally,  though  not  universally,  the  colour 

bade  me  follow  his  example  in  taking  a  part. 

in   request  for  balls.      Dinner   being   ready, 

I  was  much  rejoiced  to  see  this  wholesome 

we  proceeded  in  couples  to  the  dining-room. 

fun  heartily  kept  up  by  the  old  as  well  as  by 

The  host  and  hostess  were  seated  near  the 

the   young.      This   sport  was  followed  by  a 

middle   of  the  table,  on  which  were  placed 

game  called  Eukemand,  or  the  widower,  which 

merely  the  dishes  of  the  sweet  course  dressed 

was  played  in  the  following  manner  :  —  Several 

with  flowers,  and  the  cover  for  each  person. 

couples  placed  themselves  in  file,  all  the  ladies 

There  appeared  to  be  no  order  in  the  handing 

on  the  right  hand  of  the  gentlemen.      One 

round  of  the  dishes.     Fish  was  followed  by 

gentleman  —  the  Eukemand  —  stood   at  the 

meat,   and  afterwards  fish-pudding   (that  is, 

head  of  the  column,  and  called  out,  "  Sidste 

fish  beaten  up  in  a  mortar  until  it  is  of  the 

par  ud  "    (Last    pair  out)  ;    on   which  they 

consistency  of  cream,)  made  its  appearance. 

rushed  forward  to  the  front,  either  keeping 

The  vegetables  were  quite  curiosities  :  young 

to  their  respective  sides,  or  crossing,  to  deceive 

potatoes  were  swimming  in  parsley  and  butter, 

the   Eukemand  ;    whose    endeavour   was    to 

mixed  up   with  very  small  carrots.      Peas 

catch  the  lady  before  her  partner  could  seize 

were  served  in  their  pods,  equally  disguised 

her,  in  which  case  he  took  her  for  his  own, 

in  a  rich  gravy  ;  and  all  were  handed  about 

and  left  the  disappointed  gentleman  to  take 

and  eaten  by  themselves,  not  after  our  mode, 

his  place  as  Eukemand.  This  game  appeared  to 

as  adjuncts  to  the  meat.     Soon  after  we  were 

be  a  favourite,  and  gave  rise  to  abundant  mirth. 

all  seated,  the  toasts  began.    The  host  began 

Music  and  dancing  were  our  next  amuse- 

them, raising  his  glass  and  saying,  "  Velkorn- 

ments  :  not  much  of  the  music,  except  in  so 

men  til  lords  !  "  (Welcome  to  the  board  !)  and 

far  as  it  was  subservient  to  the  dancing  ;  for 

after  this  beginning  they  were  kept  up  briskly. 

people  either  could  not  or  would  not  —  cer- 

Toasts,   though    nearly    abolished    in   good 

tainly    they    did    not  —  sing   or    play.     The 

society   in   the  towns  and  more   fashionable 

dancing   was    made    up    chiefly   of   waltzes. 

places,  appear  to  be  still  very  general  in  the 

Something    like    a    country-dance    was    at- 

provinces of  Norway  ;  and,  in  the  instance  of 

tempted  ;  but  it  was  not  kept  up  with  much 

which  I  am  speaking,  they  were  perpetually 

spirit.     In  some  parts  of  Norway,  but  very 

proposed  during  the  couple  of  hours  we  spent 

generally  in  Sweden,  occasional  servants  have 

at  table.     It  is  not  the  custom  in  Norway  for 

to  perform  a  duty  which  would  astonish  the 

the  ladies  to  retire  before  the  gentlemen,  but 

ladies  whose  suburban  feasts  in  this  country 

all  rise   together  ;   moreover  the   signal  for 

are  helped  through  with  the  aid  of  the  green- 

retirement is  not  given  by  the  lady  of  the 

grocer,  or  by  a  man  from  the  confectioner's. 

house,  for  that  would  be  considered  an  almost 

It  is  expected  of  a  waiter,  not  only  that  he 

incredible  piece  of  rudeness  and  inhospitality. 

should   be    able    to   announce    names    in   a 

The  feast  is  closed  by  the  guests  themselves, 

sonorous   voice,   to   hand   dishes   rapidly,  to 

through   the   chief  of    them,   who    proposes 

change  plates  quickly,  to  help  wine  adroitly, 

"  Tak  for  Modem"  (Thanks  for  the  meal)  ;  and 

to  be  staid  and  .  respectable  in  his  conduct  in 

this  toast  being  drunk  by  all,  the  wondrous 

the  kitchen  ;  but  that  he  should  be  a  good 

scraping  of  chairs  on  the  bare  boards  which 

musician  !      When     the    dishes    have    been 

ensues,  announces  that   the   sitting   is   over. 

cleared  away  and  the  cloth  has  been  removed, 

Not  so  the  ceremonies  which  belong  thereto  ; 

after  he  has  been  handing  about  the  delicacies 

each  gentleman  escorts  his  lady  back  into  the 

of  the  season,  the  coffee,  and  in  summer,  the 

reception-room,  and   then   everybody  shakes 

ices  ;   he  again  appears,  music   in   hand,  to 

hands,  first  with  the  host  and  hostess,  saying 

perform  on  the  piano-forte.     The  Norsk  and 

again    "  Talc  for  Maden"   and,    afterwards, 

Swedish  amateurs  deem  it  beneath  the  dignity 

with  everybody  else.     This  is  an  embarrassing 

of  the  High  Art  music  to  which  they  aspire 

form  for  a  stranger,  who,  among  so   many, 

to  perform  mere  Terpsichorean  tunes.    Dance 

finds   it   far  from   easy  to  remember  which 

music  is  therefore  delegated  to  waiters,  some 

hands  he  has  shaken,  and  which  hands  remain 

of    whom      perform     Musard's     Quadrilles, 

to  be  sought. 

Strauss's  and  Lanner's  Waltzes,  and'Jullien's 

This  done,  coffee  was  served,  and  we  dis- 

Polkas, in  a  style  which  would  astonish  even 

persed  about  the  garden  and  grounds,  saunter- 

those who  in  this  country  belong  to  "High  Life 

ing  at   our  pleasure.       By   degrees,   as   the 

Below  Stairs."     After  dancing,  the  party  had 

evening  closed  in,  most  of  us  began  to  re- 

frequent recourse  to  some  game  or  other  to 

assemble  in  the  large  room  in  which  we  had 

enliven   them.      "French  blind-man's   buff," 

dined.     There   a  free  space  was  cleared  for 

and  "  hunt  the  ring,"  accompanied  by  music, 

dancing,   and    thereinto    fresh    guests    were 

were  both  in  request,  and  shared   in  by  as 

constantly   arriving.     While  standing   about 

many  as  could  find  room  in  the  circle.   Punch, 

and  talking  in  this  room,  my  arm  was  sud- '  by  no  means  badly  brewed,  was  constantly 


UP  VESUVIUS. 


235 


circulated,  and  produced  decidedly  enlivening 
effects. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock,  we  were  mar- 
shalled into  a  large  room  up-stairs,  where 
supper  was  laid  in  the  same  style  as  dinner 
had  been  ;  and,  indeed,  it  consisted  very  nearly 
in  the  same  routine  :  it  occupied,  to  be  sure, 
less  time.  Dancing  followed  once  more  ;  and, 
like  all  after-supper  dancing,  it  was  done  with 
spirit.  The  languor  of  the  previous  displays 
was  now  succeeded  by  vigorous  and  amusing 
movements.  Before  supper,  in  fact,  it  had 
been  really  hard  work  to  dance  in  a  room  by 
daylight.  In  the  middle  of  summer,  the 
evenings  are  so  light  in  these  northern  lati- 
tudes, that  we  had  not  required  candles  before 
supper. 

While  the  greater  part  of  the  company 
were  thus  engaged,  I  was  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  voices  in  chorus  outside,  and  wan- 
dered away  to  find  out  what  was  going  on.  I 
found  a  group  of  seven  or  eight  of  the  young 
men  of  the  party,  who  were  singing  Norsk 
and  German  songs  in  parts,  very  beautifully. 
They  stood  under  a  chestnut-tree  on  one  side 
of  the  hall-door,  and  the  light  from  one  of  the 
windows  of  the  dancing-room  fell  on  the  group 
with  capital  effect. 

Singing  in  parts  is  an  accomplishment 
much  valued  in  Norway.  In  Christiania  there 
are  various  clubs  or  societies  established  for 
the  practice  of  part-songs, — one  among  the 
students,  another  among  the  shopkeepers,  &c. 
The  Norsk  national  air,  "  For  Norge  Vigem- 
pers  Fodeland,"  was  sung  with  great  applause. 
It  is  a  most  inspiriting  strain,  of  modern 
origin,  being  the  composition  of  Mehul.  Our 
own  national  air  was  also  performed  among 
the  number,  and  was,  I  found,  claimed  by 
Sweden  as  well  as  by  Germany. 

By  this  time  it  had  really  become  late — 
past  midnight — and  some  of  the  party,  who 
had  several  English  miles  to  drive  before 
they  should  reach  home,  began  to  think  it 
high  time  to  take  leave. 

The  hostess  was  again  assailed  with  thanks  ; 
but  this  time  the  burden  of  the  compliment 
was,  "  Tak  for  idag  "  (Thanks  for  to-day). 
The  horses  were  put  to,  the  wondrous  car- 
riages again  drove  up  to  the  door,  looking 
exceedingly  clean  and  respectable  in  the  uncer- 
tain twilight ;  and  the  company  dispersed, 
after  the  "Vortens  Skaal "  (The  Host's 
Health)  had  been  performed  by  the  before- 
mentioned  choristers. 


UP  VESUVIUS. 


I  ROSE  in  particularly  good  time,  and  pro- 
ceeded at  once  to  Portici  by  the  first  train. 
The  reader  must  be  informed,  or  reminded,  of 
the  existence  of  a  snug  little  railway  in  this 
part  of  the  world,  that  ruus  along  the  smiling 
shore  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  and  connects 
the  capital  with  the  charming  watering-place 
of  Castel-a-mare.  On  this  railway,  Portici 
the  nearest  and  most  convenient  starting- 


point  for  Vesuvius  is  one  of  the  stations  ;  and 
another  station,  a  few  miles  further  down  the 
line,  is  the  town  of  Pompeii.  The  dry  bones 
may  hope  to  live  now  that  Pompeii  is  become  a 
railway  station.  Getting  out  of  the  carriage 
at  Portici,  I  walked  on  to  the  neighbouring 
village  of  Besina,  and  there  halted  for  break- 
fast. Most  of  the  Vesuvian  guides  live  here  ; 
and,  while  I  was  cracking  my  eggs  and  sipping 
my  coffee,  a  posse  of  these  worthies  were 
noisily  disputing  outside  for  possession  of  my 
person.  Putting  my  head  out  of  the  window, 
I  presumed  to  choose  my  own  custodian  ; 
beckoned  one,  who  seemed  the  most  intelligent, 
up  to  my  room,  and  made  an  arrangement  by 
which  I  agreed  to  give  him  for  the  day's 
services  the  sum  of  one  piashe  (about  four 
shillings),  and  the  customary  drink-money. 
A  traveller  in  Italy,  or  indeed  in  any  other 
country,  will  always  find  his  wheels  oiled  as 
he  passes  through  it,  if  he  make  a  point  of 
quietly  acceding  to  the  expectations  of  the 
people  in  such  little  matters. 

By  eight  A.M.,  under  orders  of  the  guide, Ihad 
left  Eesina,  and  we  were  on  our  way  to  Mount 
Vesuvius.  The  road  beyond  the  village  was 
tolerably  easy,  until  we  came  to  the  edge  of 
an  extensive  bed  or  stream  of  hard  irregular 
lava  that  had  found  its  way  out  of  the  volcano 
in  the  year  1849.  The  eruption  of  that  year 
caused  considerable  damage  to  the  vineyards, 
burning  them  up,  and  completely  destroying 
the  fertility  of  the  ground  for  some  miles 
around  the  base  of  the  mountain.  The  grapes 
cultivated  on  these  slopes  produce  an  excellent 
wine  called  Lacryma  Christi ;  it  has  some 
resemblance  to  Champagne,  and  fetches  a  high 
price.  We  walked,  or  rather,  stumbled,  across 
this  sterile  tract  ;  and,  in  about  an  hour  and 
a  half,  reached  a  small  hermitage,  where 
visitors  can  have  the  pleasure  of  signing  their 
names  in  a  book,  and  of  being  fleeced  in  the 
purchase  of  a  box,  containing  minute  fragments 
of  granite,  and  other  equally  scarce  pieces  of 
stone.  There  is  always  something  to  be  bought 
on  a  show-mountain  ;  on  Snowdon  they  sell 
worsted  stockings. 

A  little  farther  on,  stands  the  Royal  Obser- 
vatory. A  small  company  of  soldiers  are 
stationed  here  for  the  protection  of  travellers 
— a  precaution  by  no  means  needless — against 
robbers  ;  guides  included,  for  they  look  upon 
a  traveller  a  little  too  much  as  a  bit  of  booty. 
Another  hour's  hard  toiling  brought  us  to  the 
base  of  the  cone ;  for  so  the  upper  part  of  the 
mountain  near  its  mouth  is  termed.  Before 
attempting  to  ascend  this  cone — which  is  by  far 
the  steepest  and  most  difficult  part  of  the  whole 
ascent — we  halted,  and  laid  in  a  good  supply  of 
bread  and  fruit,  and  wine,  supplied  by  a  man, 
who  followed  in  our  train.  I  should  observe, 
that  travellers  can  ride  up  to  this  point  on 
horses  or  mules  ;  but,  since  I  had  enjoyed 
some  previous  experience  in  Switzerland,  and 
did  not  anticipate  more  difficulty  than  the 
mountains  in  that  country  present,  I  resolved, 
much  against  the  inclination  of  my  guide,  to 


236 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


walk  the  entire  distance.  I  was  not  so  wise, 
however,  as  I  thought  myself,  for  I  had  not 
made  sufficient  allowance  for  the  extra  fatigue 
consequent  upon  the  difference  in  temperature ; 
however,  the  higher  we  rose,  the  more  benefit 
we  derived  from  a  delighttully  fresh  breeze 
that  came  off  the  bay,  which  very  much  mode- 
rated the  oppression  of  the  sun.  The  wind, 
indeed,  was  so  cool  at  a  place  where  we  halted 
for  more  corn  and  wine,  that  we  were  glad  to 
run  for  shelter  under  the  lee-side  of  some 
masses  of  rock.  After  reclining  there  at  our 
ease  for,  perhaps,  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  we 
started  to  our  feet,  and  commenced  the  toil 
up  the  great  dust4ieap.  The  orthodox  way 
of  mounting  is  to  summon  to  one's  aid  two 
or  three  extra  guides ;  one  of  whom  pushes 
behind,  while  others  drag  in  front  by  means  of 
a  cord  fastened  round  the  waist.  Inspirited, 
however,  by  the  corn  and  wine,  I  spurned 
the  notion  of  this  ignominious  procedure,  and 
instead  of  following  the  beaten  track  up  the 
loose  dust  and  ashes — grand  pile  for  any 
scavenger  to  contemplate — I  made  my  way 
by  the  masses  of  broken  lava,  a  little  on  one 
side  ;  they  were  a  trifle  more  steep,  and  in  a 
minute  degree  more  dangerous,  because  a  fall 
on  the  rough  corners  of  the  lava  would  pro- 
duce unpleasant  cuts  ;  and  a  false  step  might, 
by  a  remote  chance,  lead  to  a  broken  neck. 
A  cool  head  and  a  firm  foot  are  of  service  in 
such  places,  and  it  is  desirable  to  avoid  looking 
either  downward  or  upward,  but  simply  to 
keep  the  eye  fixed  steadily  in  front,  and  wholly 
occupied  in  selecting  the  most  convenient 
ptaces  upon  which  to  plant  the  foot. 

At  length,  after  some  severe  struggling,  varied 
by  sundry  slips,  and  an  occasional  pause  for 
breath,  I  stood  on  the  true  summit  of  Vesu- 
vius. The  surface  all  around  was  quite  warm, 
and  everywhere  intersected  by  numerous 
crevices,  from  which  there  were  escaping 
little  wreaths  of  smoke.  We  first  looked  for 
the  crater  of  1849,  and  walked  round  its  edge. 
The  interior  was  encrusted  with  a  coating  of 
sulphur  of  various  shades  and  tints,  which 
had  a  peculiar  effect  when  the  sun  shone  on 
it  ;  a  sulphurous  vapour  issued  from  the  abyss 
beneath,  and  enveloped  us  in  its  annoying 
fumes.  We  then  went  to  the  old  and  large 
crater  :  here  the  heat  of  the  surrounding  sur- 
face was  considerably  greater ;  so  great, 
indeed,  as  to  penetrate  through  thick-soled 
boots,  and  to  be  intolerable  to  the  naked 
hand.  At  this  spot  my  guide  commenced  a 
series  of  experiments,  of  a  highly  interesting 
and  philosophical  character  ;  the  first  of  them 
consisted  in  thrusting  a  stick  into  one  of  the 
many  crevices  or  fissures  in  the  earth,  and 
immediately  bringing  it  out  in  a  state  of 
ignition.  This  was  a  waste  of  timber  ;  but 
the  next  experiment  had  a  more  useful  and 
economic  bearing  ;  it  was  none  other  than 
the  cooking  in  one  of  the  said  cracks  of  some 
eggs,  which  were  produced  unexpectedly  out 
of  the  guide's  coat-pocket.  These  eggs,  being 
thus  cooked,  I  ate.  I  was  not  hungry  ;  but 


it  is  one  of  the  uses  of  a  volcano  that  eggs 
may  be  roasted  in  its  crater,  and  it  would 
have  ill  become  a  traveller,  after  ascending 
Mount  Vesuvius,  to  slight  whatever  efforts 
the  old  fellow  might  make  to  offer  him 
refreshment  and  amusement. 

Travellers  may  generally  safely  descend  for 
some  depth  into  the  mouth  of  the  volcano  ; 
but  at  the  time  of  my  visit,  the  suffocating 
fumes  of  sulphur  were  rolling  out  more 
copiously  than  visual,  and  the  guide  dissuaded 
me  from  a  too  hazardous  attempt.  The  view, 
of  course,  was  grand,  extending  completely 
over  the  bay,  with  the  beautiful  little  towns 
skirting  its  edge,  including  also  in  the  distance 
the  islands  of  Capri,  Ischia,  and  Procida,  and 
the  deeply  interesting  and  classical  region  of 
the  Bay  of  Baiee.  Almost  immediately  under 
us,  to  the  left,  was  the  railway  station  of 
Pompeii.  If  we  turned  round  to  look  inland, 
the  country,  so  far  as  the  eye  could  scan,  waa 
studded  with  white  palaces  and  houses,  which 
in  this  pure  and  clear  atmosphere,  really 
continue  white  all  the  year  round,  without 
the  bespattering  of  whitewash  every  spring. 
Vesuvius,  though  generally  represented  in 
prints  as  a  regular  truncated  cone,  is,  in 
reality,  a  mountain  from  which  rise  two 
distinct  cones  ;  the  one  out  of  whose  crater 
issued  the  fatal  stream  that  overwhelmed 
Pompeii  and  Herculaneum,  has  long  since 
spent  its  fury,  and  become  quite  still.  Its 
companion  every  now  and  then,  however, 
gives  unequivocal  evidence  of  life. 

I  remained  at  the  top  for  about  an  hour, 
and  then  made  preparations  for  descending. 
In  proportion  as  the  ascent  of  the  cone  is, 
from  its  exceedingly  abrupt  steepness,  more 
difficult  than  the  ascent  of  almost  any  other 
mountain,  so  is  its  descent  in  equal  degree 
more  easy.  It  requires  a  good  hour  to  reach 
the  top,  but  less  than  five  minutes  are  enough 
to  see  us  to  the  bottom.  The  rapidity  and 
ease  of  the  downward  motion  are  really  quite 
surprising  ;  it  is  a  downward  flight.  The 
wayfarer  leans  backward  at  an  angle  of 
about  fifty  degrees,  and  begins  to  take 
enormous  strides  or  plunges.  At  each  step  he 
sinks — deeply  into  the  powdered  ashes,  so  that 
he  cannot  lose  his  footing,  or  roll  over ;  the 
only  nervousness  or  apprehension  that  can  be 
experienced,  is  derived  from  a  conviction  of 
the  utter  impossibility  of  stopping  himself 
until  he  reaches  his  jouniey's  end  ;  if  in  his 
progress  the  foot  should  unluckily  be  caught, 
against  a  piece  of  rock  or  lava,  concealed 
below  the  surface,  it  is  probable  that  lie  may 
get  through  the  remainder  of  the  descent 
head  foremost.  Although  this  brisk  flight 
through  the  air  and  ashes  has  a  peculiarly 
exhilarating  and  agreeable  effect  on  the 
spirits,  it  does  not  unfortunately  extend  its 
kindly  influences  to  the  clothes.  I  found  my 
garments  in  some  disrepair,  but  my  boots 
having  been  made  expressly  with  an  eye  to 
this  feat,  suffered  no  more  injury  than  a 
slight  baking. 


Published  »t  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BBADBUBT  &  Ev*!«s,  Whitefri»r«,  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."— SHA 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  MAY  29,  1852. 


[PRICK  Id. 


THE   GEEAT  CHOWSEMPOOR  BANK. 


IT  has  long  been  a  prevalent  idea  with  that 
benighted  creature,  "the  million,"  that  to 
follow  the  avocation  of  a  banker,  requires  a 
long  life  of  training  in  the  deep,  mysterious 
workings  of  complicated  accounts,  interest- 
tables,  and  something  more  than  mere  mul- 
tiplication ;  that  to  become  an  expert  and 
successful  banker,  involves  deep  anil  patient 
study,  long  practice,  and  an  unblemished 
career  ;  in  short,  that  bankers,  like  bishops, 
can  hardly  be  worth  anything  until  their  hair 
is  grey.  It  has  been  the  task  of  the  Anglo- 
Indian  community  of  the  present  century  to 
demonstrate  the  hollowness  of  this  long- 
cherished  belief.  The  wise  men  of  the  East 
have  flung  the  antiquated  Lombard  Street 
creed  far  into  the  shade ;  they  have  de- 
monstrated to  a  nicety  that  what  Lord  Byron 
once  wrote  of  criticism  may  now  be  equally 
applied  to  the  banker's  craft : 


UQU     UV     lilt/     HSCBUlfeCX    >3    VylCtlU   . 

A  man  must  serve  bis  time  to  every  trade, 
Save  banking,  bankers  all  are  ready  made." 


"  A  i- 


Undcr  the  genial  influence  of  a  tropical 
climate,  the  development  of  a  bank  far  out- 
strips the  fabled  worth  of  Jack's  magic  bean- 
stalk. While  some  institutions  on  the  old 
system,  in  the  old  country,  would  be  issuing 
circulars  and  preparing  their  ledgers  ;  in  the 
East,  young  military  subs  and  beardless 
civilians  spring  up  iuto  full-grown,  "  first- 
chop  "  bank  directors. 

It  Avas  in  the  latter  part  of  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  something — not  so  long 
since,  but  that  I  perfectly  remember  all  the 
circumstances,  and  I  am  not  an  old  man  yet, — 
when  a  party  of  officers  and  civilians  sitting 
round  the  mess-table  at  Blankpoor,  a  military 
station  in  the  largest  presidency  of  our  Indian 
Empire,  agreed  among  themselves  to  "get 
up  "  a  bank  ;  the  want  of  "  accommodation  " 
being  then  much  felt  in  that  part  of  the 
world.  Before  they  rose  from  the  table,  the 
amount  of  capital  had  been  agreed  upon,  the 
scrip  apportioned,  the  "direction"  filled,  and 
the  secretary  and  managers  appointed.  No 
time  was  lost.  It  was  discovered  that  what 
looked  so  beautifully  rose-colour  after  a 
dozen  of  Champagne,  wore  an  equally  cheerful 
aspect  when  looked  at  the  following  morning 
over  Bass's  pale  ale.  The  thing  was  not  long- 


in  embryo.  Within  a  week  the  Great  Chow- 
sempoor  Bank  was  a  fact.  The  Bank  had 
directors  and  a  regular  working  staff1;  the 
directors  had  shares  ;  and,  by  some  compli- 
cation of  circumstances,  before  a  dozen  ac- 
counts were  opened,  the  shares  got  up  to  a 
premium.  Residents  at  the  other  neighbour- 
ing stations,  military  and  civil,  thirsted  for 
bank  honours,  and  scrip  was  applied  for  from 
all  quarters,  and  in  any  quantity. 

For  some  brief  period  the  Chowsempoor 
institution  wore  an  appearance  of  intense 
humility  and  modesty.  It  would  not  for  the 
world  have  been  thought  ambitious  or  even 
presuming.  The  young  captain  of  light-in- 
fantry, who  condescended  to  act  as  secretary 
011  three  thousand  rupees  a  month,  informed 
the  public,  in  the  virgin  Chowsempoor  cir- 
cular, that  their  capital  was  intended  to  be 
limited  to  a  lac,  or  ten  thousand  pounds. 
But,  the  ten  thousand  became  augmented  to 
twenty,  and  then  to  fifty  thousand.  Neither 
was  it  very  long  before  the  majors,  and 
collectors,  and  magistrates  forming  the  Board 
discovered,  that  such  places  as  Blankpoor  and 
Anditorbad,  and  other  minor  hill  stations 
were  far  too  circumscribed  a  field  for  their 
growing  operations.  They  must  extend  their 
influence  through  other  channels  ;  they  must 
have  a  branch  establishment  at  the  great 
metropolis  of  the  Presidency  ;  accordingly  a 
branch  was  formed  —  a  branch  which  was 
fated  to  outgrow  the  parent  institution  in 
more  respects  than  mere  extent  of  ope- 
rations. 

By  way  of  a  little  variety,  a  few  merchants 
were  admitted  into  the  branch  direction  ;  this 
imported  fresh  vigour  to  the  system,  and  the 
Hooghly  Bund  Branch  of  the  Great  Chowsem- 
poor Bank  bade  fair  to  do  all  in  its  power  to 
develope  the  resources  of  that  portion  of 
British  India,  on  the  most  approved  modern 
principle. 

A  spacious  building  was  appropriated  for 
the  "  Branch,"  in  the  most  commanding  and 
expensive  part  of  the  capital.  The  house  was 
fitted  and  furnished  in  true  Oriental  style  and 
costliness,  and  was  tended  and  guarded  by  a 
little  army  of  retainers.  Not  the  least  splendid 
were  the  suite  of  apartments  devoted  to  the 
local  manager — a  skilful  penman,  a  mighty 
warrior  in  figures,  a  special  pleader  in 
conversation,  in  deeds  something  more  :  in 


VOL.  v. 


114- 


238 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


short,  precisely  the  man  to  make  such  a 
child  as  he  had  in  hand,  walk  alone  before  it 
was  a  year  old.  It  was  perfectly  marvellous 
to  see  how  the  institution  grew  and  throve. 
People  were  lost  in  amazement  at  it.  Even 
the  cunning  old  foxes  of  natives  were  not 
prepared  for  it — and  they  are  usually  prepared 
for  a  good  deal.  Bramins  and  Zemindars 
became  envious  of  the  Great  Chowsempoor 
Bank,  and  determined  to  become  shareholders. 
It  was  not  long  before  the  list  of  directors 
contained  the  revered  names  of  Baboo  Futty 
Maund,  and  Dustomiewallah  Dutt. 

The  resources  of  the  Presidency  were  now 
being  fully  developed — in  vulgar  words,  the 
exports  were  doubled ;  credit  was  lavishly 
given,  and  as  freely  taken.  Small  men  of  a 
few  odd  thousands  shipped  produce  to  the 
extent  of  hundreds  of  thousands,  and  they  were 
not  over  particular  as  to  what  they  shipped. 
Shopkeepers  swelled  into  merchants.  Mer- 
chants expanded  into  princes.  Civil  servants 
turned  up  their  official  noses  at  their  dry 
routine  duties,  thought  seriously  of  re- 
tiring from  the  service,  and,  as  they  revelled 
in  the  winning  Hookah,  gave  themselves  up 
to  dreams,  which  in  fairy  splendour  and  im- 
possible magnificence,  could  only  have  found 
a  rival  in  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertain- 
ments. To  their  imaginative  vision  the  fabled 
Pagoda  Tree  appeared  to  be  putting  forth  its 
glittering  foilage,  and  ripening  its  tempting 
fruit  with  magic  rapidity. 

That  was  a  right  merry  season  for  the 
bold  and  the  venturesome ;  and  everybody 
became  bold  and  venturesome.  Each  member 
of  the  Hooghly  Bund  community  appeared 
to  possess  a  chip  of  the  real  original  philoso- 
pher's stone,  a  touch  of  which  transmuted 
every  object  into  the  precious  metal.  Many 
and  brilliant  were  the  evening  parties,  and 
the  dinners,  and  the  nautches  given  by  the 
elite  and  the  non-elite,  at  which  the  "  Lions  " 
were  sure  to  be  one  or  two  directors,  with 
perchance  the  Manager  of  the  Hooghly  Bund 
Branch  of  the  Great  Chowsempoor  Bank. 
The  shares  of  the  Bank  continued  to  rise 
until  they  reached  one  hundred  per  cent,  pre- 
mium :  where  they  remained,  either  lacking 
the  courage  to  go  any  higher,  or  feeling  that 
they  had  done  their  duty. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  state  here  the  prin- 
ciple which  regulated  the  allotment  of  the  new 
shares,  of  which  the  Bank's  enormous  success 
warranted  the  issue,  as  it  will  at  once  show 
the  immensely  superior  management  of  Indian 
banks  to  that  of  the  old  school.  The  new 
scrip  was  not  permitted  to  find  its  way  at 
once  among  the  vulgar  crowd.  It  was 
apportioned  among  the  existing  share- 
holders in  an  exact  ratio  with  the  number 
of  shares  held  by  them,  and  of  course  made 
over  to  them  at  par — i.e.  each  share  of 
fifty  pounds,  was  handed  to  them  at  that 
figure,  although  worth,  in  the  share  market, 
double  that  amount  ;  and,  inasmuch  as 
most  of  these  same  proprietors  had  taken 


as  many  shares  as  they  could  find  cash 
to  pay  for,  the  Bank  very  considerately  gave 
them  the  new  scrip  on  credit.  The  fortunate 
possessors  of  this  fresh  stock,  at  once  turned 
their  acquisitions  to  good  account,  by  selling 
them  for  cash  at  the  ruling  high  rate  of  pre- 
mium ;  paying  in,  to  their  account  at  the  Bank, 
the  price  at  par,  and  comfortably  pocketing 
the  difference.  This  simple  and  good-natured 
process  was  repeated  several  times  over,  in- 
finitely to  the  satisfaction  of  those  in  the 
secret.  In  order  to  prevent  the  possibility  of 
any  serious  decline  in  the  market  price  of 
these  new  shares,  and  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure,  the  wary  manager  watched  the 
course  of  events  ;  and,  on  any  appearance  of 
there  being  more  sellers  than  buyers,  went 
in  and  bought  up  all,  at  a  trifle  below  the 
full  rate.  On  account  the  Bank  ?  Not  at  all ; 
purchases  were  made  with  the  Bank  funds 
it  is  true  ;  but  in  the  name  of  the  directors, 
in  equal  proportions.  In  time,  the  crafty 
Bank  Manager  contrived  to  monopolise  every 
share  as  it  fell  in  the  market,  and  thus, 
buyers  went  to  him,  as  a  sheer  matter  of 
course,  as  the  only  chance  of  obtaining  a 
share  ;  so  that,  not  only  was  the  price  well 
maintained,  but  something  handsome  was 
turned  over  in  the  shape  of  profit  for  division 
among  the  "  direction." 

Far  and  wide  the  Bank  share  mania  spread. 
The  Cholera  and  the  Plague  travelled  at 
a  mere  snail's  pace — and  a  very  infirm  old 
snail's  pace  too — compared  with  the  rapid 
raging  of  this  Joint  Stock  fever.  High  and 
low,  rich  and  poor,  washed  and  unwashed, 
Christian  and  Heath-en,  Jew  and  Gentile, 
were  alike  struck  down.  The  judge  upon 
the  bench,  the  pleader  at  the  bar,  the  priest 
in  the  pulpit,  the  poorest  clerk,  the  meanest 
money-changer, — all  bowed  the  knee  to  the 
new  golden  image,  which  they  of  Chowsempoor 
had  set  up.  A  bank  director  was  thrown  from 
his  horse  on  the  parade  ;  quick  as  thought, 
half-a-dozen  doctors  rushed  to  the  disabled 
man  ;  and,  as  the  foremost  and  most  fortunate 
among  them  felt  his  pulse,  whispered  in  his 
ear  an  inquiry  about  a  few  of  the  next  issue 
of  shares.  The  trustee  of  a  Benevolent 
Fund  for  Widows  and  Orphans,  was  so 
anxious  to  add  to  the  means  of  these  poor 
dependent  creatures,  that  on  his  own  re- 
sponsibility, and  in  secret  (as  good  should 
ever  be  done),  he  invested  the  whole  of  the 
moneys  in  his  hands  in  Chowsempoor  Bank 
Stock. 

The  young  and  rather  speculative  firm  of 
Hookey,  Walker,  and  Company,  went  boldly 
to  work  in  the  way  of  "developing  the  re- 
sources of  the  country ; "  which  signifies 
literally,  making  enormous  shipments  of  raw 
produce.  They  made  large  purchases  of  silk, 
indigo,  rice,  gums,  and,  in  short,  of  all  the 
most  valuable  products  of  the  land  ;  and, 
having  shipped  them  to  England,  they  found 
not  the  least  difficulty  in  obtaining  from  the 
very  useful  Chowsempoor  institution  an 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GEEAT  CHOWSEMPOOR  BANK. 


239 


advance,  in  cash,  quite  equal  to  the  entire 
value  of  the  goods.  The  rule  had  been,  to  ad- 
vance no  more  than  two-thirds  of  the  prime 
cost ;  but  by  an  ingenious  process,  known  as 
"salting  the  invoice,"  the  articles  were  made 
to  appear  as  worth  fifty  per  cent,  beyond 
their  real  value.  Thus  the  enterprising  firm 
recovered  on  the  spot  all  they  had  paid  for 
their  shipments. 

Moreover,  Messrs.  Hookey,  "Walker,  and 
Company  were  largely  interested  in  Indigo 
Factories ;  that  is  to  say,  they  possessed 
several  extensive  estates  producing  that 
article.  The  firm,  finding  how  well  the  system 
worked  with  their  shipments,  determined  to 
launch  out  in  planting  matters.  One  of  the 
partners  being  a  director  of  the  Bank,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  "accommoda- 
tion ;"  in  other  words,  a  loan  of  a  few  lacs, 
(a  lac  is  only  ten  thousand  pounds)  to 
enable  these  enterprising  merchants  to  ex- 
tend their  operations,  which  they  accord- 
ingly did  in  the  most  approved  fashion. 
Among  many  other  transactions  of  that 
time  may  be  instanced  the  sale,  by  this 
same  firm,  of  an  indigo  factory  in  the  in- 
terior, at  a  rather  heavy  figure.  Payment 
was  made  in  bank  post  bills  of  the  other 
Hooghly  establishment — the  "Junction  Bank" 
paper — which  was  then  fully  thirty  per  cent, 
below  par.  Our  friends,  Hookey,  Walker, 
and  Company,  took  these  bills  to  the  Chow- 
sempoor  Bank,  who,  not  wishing  to  refuse 
good  customers,  obligingly  cashed  the  paper 
at  its  full  original  value. 

To  any  ordinary  mind  this  would  appear  a 
somewhat  losing  game.  But,  oh  dear  !  no ; 
the  Manager  of  the  "  Chowsempoor  "  was  too 
clever  for  that,  and  soon  backed  out  of  the 
difficulty.  An  "advance "  happened  to  be 
wanted  by  a  customer,  on  a  rather  shaky  sugar 
concern ;  and  the  hawk-eyed,  clear-headed  man 
of  business  consented  to  make  the  loan,  on  con- 
dition that  it  was  taken  in  the  unfortunate 
bank  post  bills,  valued  at  par.  It  is  true  this 
sugar  estate  turned  out  a  very  sorry  affair, 
indeed  ;  and  it  was  soon  after  evident  that 
unless  the  Bank  assisted  the  proprietor  with  a 
further  loan  of  rupees  to  keep  it  in  good  culti- 
vation, the  property  would  go  to  utter  ruin, 
and  the  directors  would  find  their  first  advance 
scattered  to  the  winds.  That  mattered  little  ; 
further  aid  was  granted  ;  the  owner  was  still 
embarrassed;  and  it  ended  in  the  factory 
reverting  to  the  Bank  as  their  own  pro- 
perty, whilst  the  directors  and  managers 
chuckled  at  the  increasing  extent  of  their 
operations. 

But,  the  benevolent  Bank  did  not  shower 
its  golden  favours  on  commercial  men  alone. 
It  was  particularly  indiscriminate  in  its  gene- 
rosity. The  directors,  doubtless,  bending 
under  the  weight  of  gold  mohurs  and  Com- 
pany's rupees,  smiled  complacently  on  all  man- 
kind, and  appeared,  by  their  distribution  of 
worldly  riches,  to  be  imbued  with  Com- 
munist principles.  The  young  cadet,  bask- 


ing in  the  sunshine  of  college  life,  crippled 
and  fettered  by  his  paltry  allowance  from 
the  Honourable  Company,  of  four  hundred 
rupees  a-month,  besought  the  friendly  offices 
of  this  truly  charitable  institution  ;  and 
not  in  vain,  for  one  of  the  directors  was  his 
uncle's  most  intimate  friend.  A  few  strokes 
of  the  pen,  and  the  embryo  civilian  possessed 
the  means  of  driving  his  tandem,  drinking 
Champagne  at  tiffin,  giving  crack  parties, 
frequenting  the  gaming-table  ;  in  short,  of 
qualifying  himself  for  a  perfect  model  Hooghly 
Bund  Sahib. 

So  long  as  the  gold  and  silver  stream  swept 
gaily  and  smoothly  over  the  land,  all  went  well. 
Trade  flourished  and  traders  prospered.  Em- 
ployment was  good,  and  prices  rose  enormously. 
Imported  goods  were  consumed  in  huge  quan- 
tities, at  lavish  rates.  Exports  swelled  to  an 
unusual  amount ;  ships  were  no  sooner  in  the 
river  and  unloaded,  than  they  were  freighted 
with  costly  goods  for  Europe.  The  collectors 
of  revenue  were  faint  with  the  effort  of  receiving 
so  many  taxes  :  the  treasury  of  "  John  Com- 
pany "  was  well  nigh  bursting  open  its  massive 
doors,  so  vast  were  the  piles  of  glittering  coin, 
within.  Indeed  all  allowed  that  there  never 
had  been  seen  such  a  prosperous  time 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  civilian. 
The  public  prints  were  loud  in  their  exulta- 
tions, and  their  praises  of  the  judicious 
management  of  the  Banks.  They  pointed 
with  exultation  to  the  enormously  increased 
trade  of  the  country,  and  gave  all  honour 
to  those  noble  and  useful  institutions,  which 
thus  fostered  the  commerce  of,  and  added 
fresh  lustre  to,  the  brightest  gem  in  the 
crown  of  Britain  ! 

This  state  of  things  was  not  destined  to  last 
for  ever.  Some  evil  genius,  envious  of  the 
Chowsempoor  career,  stepped  in  and  spoilt 
the  pleasant  game.  Time  rolled  on  ;  half- 
yearly  meetings  of  shareholders  were  held,  and 
most  cheering  prospects  were  developed  by 
eloquent  directors  in  sanguine  speeches,  and 
attested  by  kind  auditors  in  glowing  accounts. 
Easy,  however,  as  it  was  to  cook  up  pleasant 
reports,  it  became  somewhat  less  easy  to  con- 
tinue providing  the  usual  dividend  of  twelve 
per  cent,  per  annum.  Accordingly,  after  a 
little  delay,  the  twelve  was  reduced  to  six,  and 
proprietors  were  told  to  thank  their  stars  it 
was  not  four. 

A  change  came  o'er  the  doings  in  the  East. 
Heavy  shipments  outward  and  homeward 
overstocked  both  markets  ;  prices  fell  seri- 
ously ;  and,  as  every  one  wanted  to  sell,  no 
one  wanted  to  buy,  and  of  course  matters 
did  not  improve.  Some  merchants  were  so 
pressed  by  heavy  losses,  that  they  actually 
ventured  to  sell  out  Chowsempoor  stock, 
The  effect  of  this  upon  the  market  was  not 
long  in  being  felt  ;  for  fear  is  contagious,  like 
many  other  complaints  ;  and  the  fashion  of 
converting  scrip  into  real  rupees,  soon  be- 
came prevalent,  much  to  the  mortification 
of  directors  and  managers.  It  was  found 


240 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


impossible  to  continue  the  old  plan  of  buying 
up  shares  from  the  market,  since  every 
one  who  could,  became  a  seller ;  the  stock 
rapidly  fell  to  par,  and  then  to  much  below 
that  moderate  point,  until  all  the  world 
had  shares  to  sell,  but  no  buyers  were  left. 
And  then,  but  not  until  then,  the  price 
ceased  to  fall  any  lower,  for  the  shares  had 
no  price  ;  they  fell  to  zero. 

The  next  general  meeting  was  an  anxious, 
and  an  unpleasant  meeting  for  all  parties.  Still 
the  directors'  report  spoke  confidently  of  the 
future.  No  actual  panic  had  then  occurred, 
and  although  heavy  losses  on  all  sides  were 
matters  of  notoriety,  the  considerate  auditors 
had  put  down  no  more  than  a  few  thousand 
rupees  as  bad  debts.  To  be  sure,  the  dividend 
of  five  per  cent,  boldly  declared  on  the  current 
year,  would  have  had  to  be  paid  out  of  the 
capital,  but  it  was  dreaded  that  it  would  be 
very  difficult  for  the  manager  to  discover  any 
capital  whatever.  This  difficulty  was  soon 
mastered  ;  the  directors  were  not  put  to  the 
trouble  of  fishing  for  capital  in  empty  coffers, 
and  an  infinite  amount  of  vexation  and  de- 
claring of  accounts  was  saved  them  by  the  far 
more  simple  process  of  suspending  payment  ; 
which  was  done  not  long  afterwards  to  the 


As  for  the  Great  Chowsempoor  Bank  itself, 
its  affairs  are  still  being  wound  up,  with  710 
prospect  of  a  dividend  ;  although  some  very 
clear-headed,  sharp-dealing  individuals  have 
contrived  to  realise  fortunes  out  of  the  scat- 
tered wreck  ;  how,  it  is  scarcely  necessary  for 
me  to  relate. 


SNAILS. 


01 
re- 


After  working  sedulously 
of    horolosical    mechanism 


terror    of  many, 
more. 


EPHRAHIM    SLITHERHOUSE,   the    father 
William  Slitherhouse,   our   hero,   was   a 
spectable  mechanic,  who  gained  his  livelihood 
by  making  clock-faces,  or  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, a   certain  part   of  them,  for  he  only 
made  the  hands, 
at    this    branch 

during  fifty-three  years,  he  was  just  beginning 
to  think  of  importing  a  few  Dutch  clocks,  and 
establishing  an  independent  trade,  when  his 
own  hour-hand  stopped.  He,  dying,  "be- 
queathed to  his  son  a  good  name,"  togetherwith 
special  directions  as  to  the  manufacture  of  the 
black  hands,  in  the  Swiss  style,  as  he  thought 
them  more  elegant  than  gold  ones,  and  also 
clearer  to  be  seen  at  dusk,  or  by  night.  William 
Slitherhouse  followed  all  his  father's  injunc- 
tions so  carefully,  that  after  remaining  in  busi- 


and   the   astonishment    of  i  ness  five-and-forty  years,  he  had  saved  enough 
to  retire  to  a  six-roomed  villa,  at  Camberwell. 


It  was  then  clearly  demonstrated  that 
whilst  the  Great  Chowsempoor  Bank  had 
been  so  ardently  bent  upon  "  developing  the 
resources  of  the  country,"  the  directors  had 
overlooked  the  necessity  of  developing  the 
resources  of  the  Bank.  The  stale  old  maxim 
about  being  just  before  being  generous  had 
found  no  place  in  the  managers'  creed,  and 
when  the  hour  of  trial  and  difficulty  came, 
they  who  had  been  so  lavish  towards  others 
found  there  was  not  a  single  friend  or  sup- 
porter for  themselves. 

Of  the  scenes  which  passed  in  and  about 


A  strip  of  garden  at  the  back,  enclosed  by  a 
brick  wall  on  two  sides,  with  a  wooden  paling 
and  a  salubrious  ditch  at  the  bottom,  afforded 
him  every  opportunity  for  rural  recreation 
and  the  pursuit  of  new  sources  of  interest  iii 
life. 

William  Slitherhouse  took  to  gardening. 
In  his  first  season  he  tried  a  great  many 
things,  and  found  they  would  not  grow. 
Some  died  at  once,  and  others  in  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks.  He  saw  that  it  was  not  wise 
to  be  too  ambitious,  and  that  the  climate  of 
Camberwell  had  been  overrated  by  his  land- 


Chowsempoor  Bank,  it  would  be  not  less 
difficult  than  painful  to  treat.  To  such  firms 
as  Hookey,  Walker  and  Company,  it  was  no 
doubt  disti-essiug  and  inconvenient  to  a  degree  ; 
to  the  Insurance  Companies  it  was  perhaps 
more  so  :  while  the  young,  confiding,  embryo 
civilians,  and  the  juvenile  captains  and  inno- 
cent ensigns,  all  of  whom  had  learnt  to  look  at 


Hooghly  Bund,  after  the  stoppage  of  the  Great   lord.      After  his  third  season,  he  came  to  his 


senses,  and  was  content  with  humble  flowers 
and  vegetables.  His  greatest  success  was  in 
cabbages  ;  that  is  to  say,  so  far  as  their  growth 
and  promise  were  concerned ;  but  unfor- 
tunately there  always  came  a  large  colony  of 
snails  in  the  spring,  which  multiplied  im- 
mensely all  through  the  summer  and  autumn, 
and  devoured  the  best  of  his  produce.  Not 


the  Bank  as  greatly  honored  by  the  accommo-   a  cabbage  was  left  heart-whole,  and  all  the 
datiou  accorded  them,  considered  it  extremely   best  of  the  intermediate  leaves  were  riddled  like 


hard  to  be  called  upon  to  "pay  up "  their 
accounts — so  very  hard  indeed  that  scarcely  any 
attended  to  the  call.  But  if  it  proved  harassing 
and  annoying  to  all  these,  how  was  it  with 
the  poor  friendless  widows  and  orphans,  whose 
all  in  this  world  had  been  eugulphed  within 
the  fatal  vortex  of  the  banking  mania  ?  Terror 
would  be  a  faint  term  to  apply  to  the  feelings 
of  these  stricken  people  when  they  learnt  the 
extent  of  the  blow — that  they  were  not 
only  friendless,  but  penniless  !  Their  official 
Trustee  was  exceedingly  sorry  for  what  had 
occurred  ;  but  he  had  acted  for  the  best ! 


very  fine  old  point  lace,  or  otherwise  damaged 
for  all  edible  purposes.  This  gave  Mr.  Slither- 
house a  hostile  feeling  towards  the  ma- 
rauders, and  he  always  did  his  best  to  get 
rid  of  them. 

It  is  very  much  to  be  feared  that  humane 
people,  who  are  fond  of  gardening,  dispose  of 
their  surplus  snails  by  throwing  them  over 
into  the  gardens  of  their  next  door  neighbours. 
It  is  clear  they  must  be  disposed  of  somehow. 
The  question  is,  in  all  similar  cases,  who  are 
to  eat  the  vegetables — the  grower,  or  the 
pirates  ?  But  a  snail  is  a  sort  of  substance 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SNAILS. 


241 


not  very  nice  and  easy  to  deal  with.  It  is  all 
very  well  for  gardening-books  simply  to  say, 
"  Snails  are  destroyed  by  crushing.'  Of  course 
they  are ;  but  who  likes  to  do  it  1  William 
Slitherhouse,  I  say  it  to  his  honour,  was  not 
the  man.  Bobbed  though  he  was  every  year 
of  the  best  part  of  the  produce  of  his  garden, 
he  could  never  make  up  his  mind  to  vise  his 
virtuous  amateur  spade  for  any  such  purpose. 
It  is  true  that  a  chemist  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, having  whispered  to  him  that  salt  was  a 
deadly  poison  to  snails,  our  friend  did  once 
deposit  a  score  of  them  in  a  flower-pot,  and  then 
cast  over  the  moving  mass  of  shells  and  horns 
half  a  handful  of  salt.  But  he  never  did  it 
twice.  The  instantaneous  shrinking  back  of 
all  those  protruding  and  inquiring  horns — 
the  yellow  froth  of  the  shell-mouths,  and  the 
anguished  rolling  over  of  the  shells,  was  too 
much  for  him — and  no  wonder.  Mr.  Slither- 
house's  servant,  an  old  woman  of  no  imagina- 
tion, once  collected  a  heap  of  snails  from  the 
palings  near  the  ditch  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden,  and  after  scolding  them  all  down  the 
pathway  into  the  kitchen,  threw  them  into 
the  fire.  She  received  warning  that  very 
day. 

Mr.  Slitherhouse  now  adopted  the  plan  of 
collecting  two  or  three  scores  of  the  ma- 
rauders in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  and  carrying 
them  a  few  miles  off  to  deposit  them  beneath 
the  hedge  of  some  field.  By  these  means  he 
avoided  the  horrors  of  gelatinous  contortions, 
and  all  the  spittings  and  splutterings  attend- 
ing extermination  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  he 
reconciled  the  fact  of  such  injury  as  the  snails 
might  do  to  the  hedge-leaves  and  field-grass, 
by  the  reflection  that  snails  were  sent  iuto  the 
world  to  eat  something,  and  that  he  had  not 
the  least  knowledge  of  the  person  who  owned 
the  field.  Perhaps  it  belonged  to  Her  Most 
Gracious  Majesty  the  Queen,  in  which  case 
there  was  no  harm  done. 

No  doubt  can  exist  but  the  revulsion  caused 
in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Slitherhouse,  by  the  pre- 
vious murders  that  he  had  himself  committed 
as  well  as  witnessed  during  the  "  reign  of 
terror,"  had  caused  a  re-action  in  his  feelings, 
so  that  he  now  pursued  his  task  of  tracing 
out  and  capturing  the  interlopers  with  a 
degree  of  interest  in  the  creatures  themselves. 
This  naturally  increased  as  he  bestowed  more 
and  more  observation  on  their  structure  and 
habits.  One  day  he  noticed  a  snail  whose 
shell  bad  been  partially  crushed,  creeping  into 
a  cranny  in  the  wall  with  the  languid  air  of 
an  invalid  going  to  the  hospital.  Finding  it 
still  there  the  next  time  he  visited  the  spot, 
he  attentively  watched  its  operations,  and  the 
creature's  repair  of  its  shell,  in  each  stage  of 
the  process.  At  length  it  was  all  made  com- 
pact once  more  and  hardened  in  the  wind, 
and  the  very  first  morning  the  snail  issued 
forth  alter  its  recovery,  Mr.  Slitherhouse  had 
the  pleasure  of  witnessing  one  of  those  scenes 
so  excellently  described  by  Mr.  Rymer  Jones, 
in  which  the  snail,  meeting  with  an  admirer 


of  its  own  species,  they  each  began  to  make 
extraordinary  demonstrations  in  the  air  with 
their  horns  (or  rather,  the  tentacles)  and  ex- 
hibited an  alacrity  of  gesticulation  in  the 
uplifting  and  twirling  the  head  and  neck, 
which  showed  that  their  love,  though  at  first 
sight,  was  mutual. 

From  this  day  we  have  to  date  a  great 
change  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Slitherhouse.  He 
now  pursued  his  researches  after  snails  with 
a  very  different  eye  from  that  of  a  gardener. 
He  had  unconsciously  become  a  close  observer 
—a  naturalist.  "  No  doubt,"  mused  he,  in  his 
little  summer-house,  built  after  the  approved 
manner  of  English  suburban  villas,  on  the 
borders  of  the  ditch — "  No  doubt  but  the 
department  of  Natural  History  which  I  have 
adopted  for  especial  study,  is  not  very  ex- 
tensive ;  nevertheless,  there  must  be  a  great 
many  snails  in  the  world,  and  as  nature  loves 
variety,  they  are  probably  not  all  alike."  In 
order  to  ascertain  how  the  fact  stood  in  this 
respect,  he  sent  to  a  bookseller  for  Mr.  Lovell 
Reeve's  book  on  the  subject,  having  been  in- 
formed that  this  contained  the  most  compre- 
hensive account,  and  was  also  the  latest 
authority.  He  desired  that  the  pamphlet, 
or  whatever  else  that  author  had  written 
on  snails,  should  be  forwarded  to  him  by 
post. 

The  bookseller  had  the  good  sense  to  spare 
Mr.  Slitherhouse  the  postage,  and  forwarded 
the  "order"  by  the  Parcels'  Deliveiy  Com- 
pany— a  large  quarto  volume  of  some  two 
hundred  pages,  with  nearly  a  hundred  plates, 
all  beautifully  drawn  and  coloured  (fac-similes) 
of  the  original  snail-shells,  price  five  guineas. 
Mr.  Slitherhouse,  with  an  equal  mixture  of 
pride,  respectful  awe,  and  delight,  sank  back 
in  his  arm-chair,  and  sat  staring  at  the  quarto 
as  it  lay  upon  the  table,  not  yet  quite  emanci- 
pated from  the  thick  sheets  of  brown  paper 
in  which  it  had  been  packed. 

Lying  by  the  side  of  the  goodly  quarto  was 
a  thin  pamphlet  by  the  same  author,  "  On  the 
Geographical  Distribution  of  the  Bulimi  " — 
(Mr.  Slitherhouse  felt  the  importance  of  snails 
considerably  enhanced  as  he  pronounced  the 
word,  and  he  assumed  a  more  dignified  attitude 
in  his  chair  as  he  read  furthermore) — "a 
Genus  of  terrestrial  Mollusca  ;  and  on  the  Mo- 
dification of  their  Shell  to  the  local  physical 
Conditions  in  which  the  Species  occur.  By 
Lovell  Eeeve,  F.L.S.,  &c.,  with  a  map  !  "  Mr. 
Slitherhouse  turned  over  the  pages  with 
avidity,  devouring  their  contents — with  his 
eyes.  He  took  an  enthusiastic  flight  and  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole.  He  saw  what  a 
field  was  before  him.  That  day  the  abste- 
mious naturalist  drank  nearly  a  whole  bottle  of 
port  wine  after  dinner.  He  felt  quite  another 
man.  He  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  wall 
of  his  room,  till  the  papering  gradually 
assumed  the  outlines  of  Mr.  Reeve's  coloured 
map,  and  his  imagination  became  geographical 
as  he  wandered  over  the  world  in  the  pursuit 
of  snails. 


242 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Just  where  the  faded  tail  of  an  eccentric 
peacock  on  the  paper  of  his  sitting-room, 
lost  itself  in  the  faint  pink  of  a  true  lover's 
knot,  forming  an  introductory  flourish  to  the 
stem  of  a  large  white  oak  leaf  with  a  pale 
blue  acorn,  Mr.  Slitherhouse  began  to  distin- 
guish the  southern  part  of  Europe  (famous 
chiefly  for  its  snails),  running  down  to  the 
Mediterranean  and  extending  to  the  Black 
Sea,  and  thence  advancing  to  the  Caucasian 
variety  of  the  Bulimi.  Having  gratified  the 
first  gush  of  his  roving  imagination  thus  far, 
Mr.  Slitherhouse  bethought  him  that  it  would 
be  better  to  methodise  his  excursions  a  little, 
and  in  accordance  with  the  map  he  had  seen 
in  the  pamphlet.  Still  keeping  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  paper  of  his  room,  he  made  a  dash 
through  nine  peacocks'  tails,  with  their 
associated  true  lovers'  knots  and  white  oak 
leaves,  and  alighted  at  once  upon  a  spot  which 
corresponded  with  his  ideas  of  the  Brazilian 
and  other  snail-provinces  of  South  America, 
recollecting  that  Mr.  Heeve  had  distinctly 
stated  that  this  hemisphere  comprised  the 
"  four  grand  provinces  of  their  distribution." 
He  there  saw  in  imagination  (or  to  speak  more 
correctly,  in  memory,  for  he  had  just  been 
looking  at  the  coloured  fac-similes),  amidst 
the  luxuriant  wilds  of  Venezuela  and  !New 
Granada,  "  the  highest  condition  of  the  genus." 
Here  the  warm  temperature  and  the  vegeta- 
tion, watered  by  the  tributaries  of  the  Mag- 
dalena  and  the  Orinoco  rivers,  are  most 
favourable  to  the  development  of  these 
interesting  creatures,  so  that  sixty  different 
species  may  be  collected  at  different  altitudes. 
Ou  the  sides  of  the  mountains  sloping  from 
the  sea,  where  there  is  little  vegetation,  Mr. 
Slitherhouse  saw  but  a  few  species,  dud  of 
these  the  shell  was  extremely  poor ;  thin  in 
substance  and  dull  of  hue,  owing  to  the  want 
of  sufficient  moisture  in  the  animals.  Their 
bodies,  however,  were  curiously  spotted  and 
painted,  and  they  clung  in  bunches,  one  over 
the  other,  to  many  a  splendidly-flowering 
cactus,  eating  into  the  very  middle  of  the 
leaves  and  stem,  notwithstanding  the  thorns, 
prickles,  and  frizzy  hairs  that  protected  the 
food.  How  so  soft  a  substance  as  the  head 
and  neck  of  a  snail  could  contrive  to  escape 
without  wounds  in  so  dangerous  a  feeding- 
place,  was  a  question  of  much  admiring 
speculation  in  the  mind  of  our  naturalist. 
But  what  a  difference  between  the  dull 
colour  of  these  snail-shells,  and  those  of  some 
other  parts  of  the  world,  where  they  were  so 
brilliant,  transparent,  and  variegated.  These 
differences  were  discoverable,  to  a  great 
extent,  between  the  shells  of  the  same  pro- 
vinces at  different  elevations,  according  to  the 
temperature,  and  to  the  character  of  the 
vegetation.  Journeying  up  the  mountains  of 
Venezuela,  for  instance,  they  are  large  and 
sombre  in  some  parts,  bright  and  small  in 
others ;  proceeding  higher  still,  the  plants 
become  thicker,  and  gradually  give  place  to 
forests  -with  undergrowth  of  broad  green 


leaves,  the  whole  space  being  enveloped  in 
clouds  and  mists.  Mr.  Slitherhouse  perceived 
at  once,  that  although  this  was  no  place  to 
read  "  Thomson's  Seasons  "  in,  it  was  a  very 
beautiful  locality  for  snails.  Here,  at  an  ele- 
vation of  from  four  thousand  to  six  thousand 
feet,  he  remembered  to  have  seen  (in  Plate 
twenty-four  of  the  quarto)  the  richly  coloured 
Bulimi  fuZminans,  and  Blainvilleanus ;  the 
former,  oblong,  acuminated  towards  the  apex, 
having  five  whorls  (curls),  with  a  lip  "  widely 
reflected,"  its  colour  a  peculiar  semi-trans- 
parent smoky  brown,  shot  with  sharp  angular 
zigzags  of  bright  chestnut  ;  the  latter  creature 
similar  in  architecture  and  tone  of  colour  to 
i\\e  fulminans,  but  over-laid  with  a  remark- 
able epidermis  of  a  dark  green  hue,  sometimes, 
in  highly  favoured  individuals,  dotted  with 
yellow  spots,  deposited  in  fine  rippling 
wrinkles,  resembling  those  which  we  often  see 
on  oil  paintings  that  have  been  too  much 
exposed  to  the  heat  of  the  sun.  Clambering 
higher  still  up  these  mountains,  in  fact,  to  an 
elevation  of  eight  thousand  feet,  our  naturalist 
had  no  doubt  but  the  temperature  which  he 
should  feel  would  be  considerably  lowered  ; 
for  there,  beneath  decayed  leaves  of  dense 
woods,  or  in  cold  shadowy  ravines  and  clefts 
of  rocks,  were  the  huge  widely-inflated,  thick- 
shelled  "  vehicles  "  of  several  very  im- 
posing creatures,  and  more  especially  of  the 
darkly  painted  Moritzianas, — brown,  streaked 
with  yellowish  white,  in  a  wavy  pattern, 
covered  with  an  olive  green  epidermis,  and 
having  a  broad  lip  of  deep  orange. 

Here  the  memory  of  Mr.  Slitherhouse, 
excited  as  it  had  been,  quite  failed  him,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  withdraw  his  eyes  from  the 
geographical  wall  of  his  apartment,  and  turn 
to  Mr.  Eeeve's  map,  pamphlet,  and  the  Plates 
of  the  quarto. 

He  found  that  the  great  Snail  families  were 
distributed  over  the  equatorial,  tropical,  and 
temperate  regions  of  the  globe,  in  tribes,  each 
of  a  distinct  character,  and  not  at  all  disposed 
to  change  their  special  localities.  "  Being  of 
sluggish  habits,"  says  the  pamphlet,  "with 
few  means  of  transport  "  (none,  we  should 
fancy,  beyond  their  own  slow  coaches),  "  little 
migration  occurs,  even  where  there  are  no 
such  natural  boundaries  as  seas,  deserts,  or 
mountain-chains."  The  localities  of  nearly 
six  hundred  different  species,  distributed  over 
the  world,  are  now  well  authenticated.  Our 
enthusiastic  naturalist,  having  hastily  exa- 
mined the  Venezuelan  and  Brazilian  provinces, 
turned  his  gaze  to  the  sandy  plains  of 
Chili,  where  there  is  little  moisture,  except 
that  which  is  derived  from  the  dews.  The 
shells  here  were  generally  small,  thin,  and  not 
very  admirable  in  colour  or  marking.  Near 
the  sea-shore,  they  were  darkly  speckled,  and 
existed  in  a  torpid  state  for  many  months  in 
the  crevices  of  rocks.  In  the  warmer  district  of 
Peru,  however,  they  were  more  bright  of  colour, 
and  possessed  more  variety  in  their  patterns. 
Still,  Mr.  Slitherhouse  found  there  was 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SNAILS. 


243 


equally  a  want  of  rain  in  those  localities  ;  and 
that,  in  the  more  arid  parts  of  Peru,  the 
shells  had  a  colder  aspect  than  those  of  the 
same  latitude  in  Brazil,  on  account  of  the 
very  scanty  nature  of  the  vegetation,  the 
less  degree  of  humidity  in  the  atmosphere,  and 
the  cold  precipitated  from  the  cold  antarctic 
drift-current,  which  flows  in  a  northerly 
direction  along  the  western  shores  of  South 
America  nearly  to  the  equator.  The  effect 
of  moisture,  and  consequent  amount  of  de- 
caying vegetable  matter,  in  promoting  the 
formation  of  shell,  was  curiously  illustrated  by 
the  presence  of  a  stout,  richly-coloured  species, 
of  large  size,  on  the  rainy  border  of  Peru, 
where  they  crawled  up  the  stripped  trees  in 
great  abundance  ;  and  by  another  species — 
dwelling  on  bushes  and  garden-walls,  on  the 
Bolivian  side  of  the  Andes,  at  an  elevation  of 
nine  thousand  feet: — which  had  a  robust,  dark- 
painted  shell,  similar  to  those  of  the  lofty 
Venezuelan  type.  Mr.  Slitherhouse  had  also 
the  pleasure  of  making  the  acquaintance  of 
a  family  which  inhabits  a  wide  range  of 
country,  extending  from  the  environs  of 
Valparaiso,  near  the  sea,  to  Cocapata,  in 
Bolivia  ;  crouches  under  stones  in  the  sand, 
in  the  first-named  locality ;  and  has  a  pale, 
smooth,  calcareous  shell.  In  the  woods  of 
Cocapata — where  the  family  reside  in  more 
humid  situations,  among  the  trunks  of  trees 
— he  found  the  shell  larger,  stouter,  more 
richly  coloured,  and  with  more  of  epidermis  : 
the  change  which  characterised  different 
species,  presented  in  the  same  species  under 
different  conditions,  thus  became  apparent. 
Another  remarkable  instance  was  presented 
in  a  kind  of  zebra- marked  shell.  This  species 
inhabited  an  area  of  Central  America,  en- 
closing Honduras,  Nicaragua,  the  West  Indies, 
and  Pejnambuco,  reaching  to  the  shores  of 
Peru,  and  produced  a  shell  varying  so  much  in 
chai'acter,  according  to  the  physical  conditions 
under  which  it  was  formed,  that  it  has  been 
described  as  several  species  ;  but  Mr.  Slither- 
house perceived  very  clearly  that  such 
descriptions  were  deficient  in  research,  and 
accuracy. 

Our  naturalist  now  took  a  careful  view  of 
the  provinces  of  Bolivia,  of  Central  America, 
and  of  the  islands  of  the  Western  Hemisphere, 
particularly  the  Gelapagos ;  but  he  found 
that  the  Polynesian  Islands  were  among  the 
most  wretched  places  on  the  face  of  the  globe 
(so  far  as  snails  are  concerned),  and  the  Mar- 
quesas, Friendly,  and  Society  Islands  not 
very  much  better. 

Becoming  impatient  at  the  lamentable 
deficiency  of  snails  in  the  above  places, 
Mr.  Slitherhouse  turned  to  the  quarto  ;  and, 
without  reference  to  any  learned  description 
or  comment  whatever,  feasted  his  eyes,  plate 
after  plate,  on  the  numerous  and  beautiful 
varieties  which  were  there  set  out  before  him, 
• — the  choice  products  of  the  Eastern  Hemi- 
sphere, the  Caucasian,  Malayan,  and  African 
provinces  —  in  addition  to  those  at  which 


he  had  previously  glanced.  He  examined, 
with  great  curiosity  the  tiger-striped  snails 
of  Africa,  and  other  shells  whose  form  and 
colours  suggested  with  equal  force  the  pre- 
sence of  wild  beasts  of  different  kinds,  some 
of  the  shells  being  marked  with  dark  spots, 
stripes  or  clouds — and  of  a  vivid  brown,  dark- 
yellow, — black  and  tawny, — or  dusky  grey 
colours  ;  and  others  having  mouths  set  all 
round  with  ugly  fangs.  Some  were  pale, 
white,  or  dun  coloured,  suggestive  of  arid  soils, 
hot  and  sandy  ;  others  of  rich  chestnut,  or  of 
deep  sea-weed  green,  showing  that  they 
belonged  to  the  luxuriant  undergrowth  of 
woods,  and  were  huge  feeders  upon  the  leaves 
of  trees.  Here,  he  found  a  snail  with  a  house 
as  bright  as  the  brightest  yellow  of  a  canary- 
bird  ;  there,  he  saw  one  all  covered  with  the 
most  minute  work  and  tracing,  a  sort  of 
mosaic,  which  (in  the  real  shell)  is  revealed 
to  be  more  perfect  and  minute  in  proportion  to 
the  power  of  the  magnifying  glasses  through 
which  it  is  examined  :  here,  he  regarded  with 
delight  the  golden-haired  shells  from  the 
Phillipine  Islands ;  there,  he  beheld  with 
wonder  the  immense  shells  of  the  largest 
species  of  snails,  and  pictured  to  himself  what 
would  be  the  effect  of  walking  in  a  wood,  and 
suddenly  perceiving  a  snail  with  his  state- 
coach,  or  van  of  a  long  helmet  shape,  solemnly 
advancing  to  meet  him  with  uplifted  and. 
inquiring  horns!  Finally,  he  examined  a 
variety  of  snails'  eggs,  many  of  them  little 
round  yellow  balls,  many  in  size  and  shape 
exactly  like  white  sugar  plums  ;  some  the  size 
of  peas,  others  like  fine  porcelain  beans  ;  and 
a  few  of  the  shape,  colour,  and  size  of  pigeon's 
eggs.  The  size  of  the  eggs,  he  perceived, 
were  curiously  disproportioued  to  the  size 
of  the  creatures ;  the  largest  eggs  by  no 
means  belonging  to  the  larger  sort  of  shells. 
Not  less  interesting  were  the  infant  snails, 
which  in  some  species  are  produced  from  the 
maternal  shell,  of  a  minute  size ;  yet,  in  all 
respects,  perfect  creatures. 

It  is  not  to  be  denied,  but  that  the  reading 
of  the  quarto  and  the  pamphlet  on  this  sub- 
ject, with  the  examination  of  the  map  and  the 
contemplation  of  the  plates,  did  produce  a  very 
considerable  excitement  in  the  imagination  of 
Mr.  Slitherhouse,  so  that  (he  confessed  this, 
subsequently,  to  his  friends)  he  had  begun  to 
form  a  project  for  starting  off  to  the  Phillipine 
Islands,  as  the  most  prolific  of  all  localities  for 
the  discovery  and  collection  of  all  sorts  of 
shells.  But  the  result  of  hip  first  inquiries  put 
an  end  to  his  dream.  He  found  that  Mr.  Hugh 
Cuming,  the  conchologist,  had,  some  tim<j 
since,  hired  a  yacht  with  a  crew,  and 
that  he  had  passed  ten  years  on  board  this 
little  vessel,  assiduously  dredging  for  shells, 
and  cruising,  day  by  day ;  especially  among 
the  Phillipine  Islands.  At  this  news  the 
great  Camberwell  naturalist  drew  in  his 
horns,  and  resolved  in  future  to  content 
himself  with  the  reality  of  his  little  garden, 
while  he  indulged  his  imagination  in  the 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


quarto  with  its  brightly  coloured  plates,  and 
in  tracing  on  the  map  the  course  of  Mr. 
Curning's  yacht  among  the  sunny  little  spots 
of  the  shell-islands. 


DEPAETED  BEGGAES. 

CHARLES  LAMB  in  his  day  complained  of 
the  decay  in  the  number  of  beggars  in  the 
metropolis.  The  decay  has  now  approached 
dissolution. 

Where  are  the  beggars  to  whom  the 
macaronis  of  George  the  Fourth's  princely  and 
wasted  youth  flung  the  smaller  coins,  after 
Brummell  had  banned  contumeliously  the 
retention  of  small  "  change  1 "  Where  are  the 
weather  aud  brandy-beaten  soldiers,  redder 
or  browner  than  their  tattered  uniforms,  who 
asked  for  alms — "  an  obolus  to  Belisarius  1 " 
[A  fable,  but  it  ought  to  have  been  true.] 
Where  are  the  seamen,  sturdy  as  they 
were  crippled,  who,  as  a  matter  of  choice — 
when  choice  permitted — were  for  the  "  town's- 
end  "  for  life  ?  and  even  London  town  had 
then  a  few  straggling  and  varying  indica- 
tions of  what  might  be  called  "ends."  Where 
is  the  escaped  negro  slave,  whose  back  was 
marked  as  with  scars  from  the  leathern 
and  wiry  claws  of  the  slave-driver's  cat,  and 
whose  body,  bowed  in  mendicant  and  slave- 
(like  humbleness,  was  often  to  be  re-marked 
for  its  dull,  sable  obesity  ?  Where  are  the 
unshorn  and  ill-linenecl  men  who  watched 
the  congregating  aud  departing  of  classical 
schools,  and  begged,  as  they  thought,  classi- 
cally, "Miserere  mei!  Sum  pauper  egensque  ;" 
or  asked  those  whom  they  knew,  or  fancied, 
to  belong  to  the  French  class,  "Donnez-moi 
un  sou,  milord;  un  petit  sou;  pour  V amour  de 
Dieu  ?  "  Where  are  the  brimstone-tipped 
match-sellers  who,  in  the  age  of  tinder-boxes, 
introduced  their  wares  and  wants  in  London 
suburbs,  under  cover  of  some  lugubrious 
psalm,  or  solemn  "  werses  for  the  occasion," 
despite  the  bidding  that  it  is  for  the 
merry  to  sing  psalms  ?  Where  are  the 
attractive,  yet  repulsive,  deformities  who 
begged  loudly,  openly,  upbraidingly,  of  re- 
cusant Christian  people,  in  other  days  1 
Where,  I  say,  are  all  these  long- established 
and  long -remembered  public  characters  now  1 
Gone,  all  gone  ;  as  defunct  as  the  box-seat  of 
the  York  mail,  or  as  the  London  street  cry, 
which  heralded  the  dawn,  and  in  some  parts 
was  heard,  like  the  nightingale,  "  all  the  night 
long,"  the  cry  of  "  Sa-loop."  The  New  Police- 
man walks,  with  slow  and  measured  steps, 
along  dismantled  or  demolished  streets,  once 
the  beggar's,  the  veritable  beggar's  hotel, 
his  lavatory,  his  tiring-room,  his  harem. 
Streets,  too,  which  once  rang  with  mendicant 
melody  or  malediction,  are  now  purged  and 
live  cleanly. 

Yet,  it  is  little  more  than  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago  that  the  streets  were  prolific  in 
the  very  pith  and  pride  of  beggary.  The 
martial  cankers,  the  remnants  of  the  long 


war,  and  the  simulations  of  the  battered 
trooper's  dress  and  manners,  were  bold  in 
the  highways.  They  had  their  peculiar 
feasts  and  fun,  their  favourite  viands,  their 
still  more  favourite  beverages,  their  own 
toasts  and  their  own  "  cant,"  their  graceless 
orgies,  and  their  unbroken  slumbers  upon 
broken  floors.  Gone,  all  gone.  The  beggar 
has  nightmares  now  ;  his  blue  lettered  and 
numbered  enemy  haunts  him  in  his  dreams. 

The  spirit  of  street  mendicity  and  menda- 
city is  broken  ;  the  genius  of  beggars'  inven- 
tion has  shrunk  into  the  envelope  of  ill-worded 
begging  letters.  Where  is  there  now  a  man 
like  "  the  Scotchman,"  who  wore  four  waist- 
coats and  three  coats,  but  was  shoeless  and 
noseless,  and  had  a  loose  robe,  disposed  like  a 
lady's  shawl  about  him,  and  so  artistically, 
that  he  looked  "  a  deplorable  object  ?"  And 
did  he  not  gain  his  thirty,  or  forty,  or  fifty 
shillings  a-day  by  pure  begging  1  What  was 
a  lieutenant's  or  a  captain's  half-pay  to 
that  1  And  did  he  not,  all  calm  and  un- 
ruffled, when  interrupted  in  the  exercise  of 
his  profession  by  a  buzzing  insect  of  a  beadle, 
retire  to  a  public-house,  inviting  thither 
also  his  interrupter,  and  consume  for  dinner 
a  pound  of  ham,  half-a-pound  of  less  sa- 
voury beef,  with  a  pint  of  rum,  and  two  pots 
of  ale  ? 

The  strictly  professional  beggars  in  those 
days,  the  flourishing  beggars  until  they  re- 
laxed for  the  night,  carried  their  liquor  like 
gentlemen,  and  were  grave  in  the  streets  as 
was  Thomson's  doctor,  "a  black  abyss  of 
drink  "  among  the  fox-hunters.  And  had  not 
the  Scotchman  a  tin  case  between  his  shoulders 
in  which  lie  kept  bank-notes,  of  genuine 
Abraham  Newland's  mark  (for  he  was  his 
own  banker),  and  did  he  not,  moreover,  enjoy 
a  pension  from  Chelsea  Hospital  1  Show  me 
half  so  adventurous  a  pensioner  in  our  dull 
days;  half  so  successful  a  beggar.  The  present 
fraternity  are  like  the  men  of  whom  Le  Sage 
tells,  who  went  to  Madrid  to  see  what 
o'clock  it  was,  and  went  away  as  wise  as  they 
came. 

In  those  days  there  was  actually  a  man  who 
posed  all  civic  wisdom.  He  appeared  in  man- 
of-war  attire,  and  was  led  by  a  dog  who  carried 
his  master's  poor-box  in  his  mouth.  This 
man  put  it  to  the  Mansion  House,  and  he  put 
it  to  the  Guildhall,  that  it  was  his  dog  which 
begged,  and  not  he.  Then  there  was  a  man 
with  a  valuable  limp,  which  he  put  off  when 
he  retired  into  domestic  life,  and  stood  forth 
a  first-rate  boxer.  A  Chelsea  pensioner 
boasted  over  his  cups  of  his  success  in 
begging,  as  he  stood  by  his  "  friend  Devon- 
shire's "  wall  in  Piccadilly,  shrinking  and 
blinded,  from  the  war  in  Egypt.  His  pension 
was  only  some  ten  shillings  a-week.  One 
beggar,  who  patronised  Eussell  Square,  until 
it  was  spoilt  by  Mr.  Croker,  did  not  carry  his 
liquor  like  a  gentleman,  although  sedate 
enough  in  his  business  hours  ;  but  he  took 
his  quaffing  pints  of  gin  at  a  draught,  and 


Charlt.  Dickens.] 


DEPARTED  BEGGARto. 


245 


repeating  the  draught  in  a  very  quack-like 
style,  was  continually  snoring  o'  nights  in 
street  kennels.  I  need  not  dwell  on  the 
instances  of  beggars  having  bequeathed 
fortunes  (one,  as  a  token  of  gratitude,  left  a 
legacy  to  a  bank- clerk,  who  was  good  for 
a  penny  a-day) ;  and  one  begging  negro 
retired,  rich,  to  the  West  Indies,  the  English 
climate  being  cold  and  insalubrious.  Neither 
have  I  time  to  tell  of  women-beggars  who 
really  outdid  the  men  ;  and,  after  the  manner 
of  such  women,  did  not  fail  to  tell  them 
of  it. 

Beggary  (in  which  word  I  include  simply 
begging)  rallied  a  few  years  back.  Certain 
legionaries,  in  faded  uniforms,  paraded  the 
streets,  announcing  their  sufferings  for  Queen 
Christina  in  Spain.  Great  was  their  success. 
"  Why,  we  had,  sir,"  one  of  the  batch  of  street- 
professionals  said,  "  wine  when  we  liked,  and 
hot  giblet  pies  for  supper !  "  Inferior  vagrants 
cleaned  these  men's  boots.  But  legionaries 
sprung  up  like  a  crop  from  dragons'  teeth, 
and  the  "  lurk  " — such  is  the  technicality — 
was  demolished  by  the  police.  The  man 
whose  words  I  have  cited  has  begged  from 
his  infancy  upwards. 

There  were  also  the  "  distressed  tradesman" 
and  the  "  clean  "  lurk ;  but  they  were  little 
better  than  revivals. 

Where,  I  repeat,  is  there  an  old-school 
beggar  in  London  ?  Nowhere.  Have,  then, 
mendicancy  and  vagrancy  left  the  streets  and 
highways  of  London  to  the  ten  thousand 
wheels  of  commerce  ;  to  gents  in  Hansoms, 
and  ladies  in  Broughams  ;  to  rich  and  reading 
professionals,  and  M.P.s,  whose  carriages  are 
vehicular  "  studies  ;"  and  to  the  race  of  aristo- 
cratic loungers  and  shoppers,  in  chariots 
heavy  with  armorial  bearings  ;  as  well  as  to 
the  host  of  pedestrians  upon  pocket-com- 
pulsion 1  Not  so  :  vagrancy  is  rife  through 
the  kingdom  ;  but  mendicancy — able  and  most 
special-pleading  mendicancy,  which  once 

Flew,  like  night,  from  limd  to  land, 


Which  had  strange  powers  of  speech— " 

pure  mendicancy — is  gathered  to  the  fathers 
and  mothers  of  whom  I  have  just  presented 
a  simple  record.  There  was  once  a  pride  of 
art  which  bore  the  beggar  bravely  on ;  but 
now,  even  the  veriest  singing  beggar  is  (com- 
paratively) as  silent  as  Memnou's  statue,  the 
poets  notwithstanding.  If  these  beggars 
chance  to  sing,  they  also  strive  to  sell ;  they 
are  not  of  the  true  blood  of  beggary  ;  not  of 
the  breed  which  could  assume  the  simple  and 
timid  look  at  will ;  they  are,  like  Lear  and 
his  friends  and  fool,  "  sophisticated;"  the  bye- 
gone  beggars  were,  like  Mad  Tom,  "  the  thing 
itself." 

There  is,  however,  a  covert  mendicancy  in 
our  day.  Aged  and  infirm  people  go  from 
door  to  door  with  small  stocks  of  lucii'er- 
match  boxes,  or  stay  and  boot  laces,  or  memo- 
randum-books or  almanacks,  and  under  shelter 
of  this  array  of  small  traffic,  they — beg.  The 


children,  little  girls  especially,  beg  under  the 
odour  of  violets,  "  only  a  penny  a  bunch," 
even  in  winter.  They  profess  no  mendi- 
cancy ;  but  their  dress,  their  look,  their 
tone,  their  straggling  hair  and  protruding 
toes,  are  all  mendicants'  pleas,  and  they 
sometimes  beg  directly.  Sorely,  I  have  been 
told  by  two  young  sisters,  have  they  some- 
times been  snubbed  by  fine,  but  not  very 
young  ladies,  because  the  children  refused 
a  halfpenny  for  the  nosegay,  which  was 
about  its  cost,  by  the  dozen  bunches,  at  day- 
break, in  Covent  Garden  market  in  the  bleak 
frost. 

Then  there  are  Irish  beggars.  Some  are 
old  men,  tottering  to  a  pauper's  grave, 
who  sell  match-boxes,  and  when  a  civil 
word  or  a  pitiful  look  encourages  them,  beg 
eloquently. 

"  Well  thin,  sir,"  said  a  grey-headed  feeble 
Irishman,  whom  I  questioned,  "  I  was  a  lock- 
smith, and  came,  in  my  prime,  yer  honner,  to 
mend  myself  in  this  country.  But  sorra  the 
file  can  I  hold  now,  for  it  has  plazed  God  to 
fail  niy  fingers  and  hands  with  the  rheu- 
matics. Ah  !  it's  a  match-box  I  can  scarce 
hold  now.  Ay,  and  indeed,  yer  honner,  you 
may  say,  '  sad  changes.'  The  streets  get 
cowlder  and  cowlder,  sir,  and  people  gets 
crosser  and  Grosser  wid  an  old  man  like  me. 
But,"  brightening  up  a  little,  "  I  have  a 
daughter  that's  immigrated.  The  Lord 
fasten  thellife  in  the  good  lady  that  helped 
her,  though  it  almost  broke  my  heart.  But 
she'll  help  me,  will  my  daughter,  sure  ;  and  I 
must  go  on  as  I  do  now,  till  thin." 

The  street  beggar's  vocation  is,  therefore, 
not  entirely  gone  from  among  us.  It  lingers, 
and  is  found  here  and  there,  like  the  small- 
pox ;  but  it  is  fast  disappearing,  or  has 
assumed  strange  guises,  of  which  I  have  not 
now  space  to  tell.  Bethual  Green  shall  have 
no  more  legends  ;  and  no  King  Cophetua 
could  now  find  a  beggar-maid  beseemingly  to 
woo.  The  "jovial  beggar,"  too,  of  Burns's 
lay  is  not.  In  fact,  I  have  had  opportunities 
to  observe  that  your  beggar,  if  he  be  a  cripple, 
and  must  beg  or  pine  in  a  workhouse,  is  an 
exceeding  dull  fellow.  In  our  age  an  idle 
heavy  lad  who  must  yet  be  a  runaway  and 
scorn  restraint,  sinks  into  a  beggar  ;  the  more 
quick-witted  young  vagrant  (for,  in  such  cases, 
a  common  lodging-house  is  a  hot-house,  a 
forcing-house)  soon  blooms  a  thief. 

There  is  another  and  a  remarkable  change 
portending  to  this  matter.  In  other  days  the 
vagabond,  or  the  beggar,  seems  to  have  been, 
as  Blackstone  calls  seamen,  "  favourites  of  the 
law  ;  "  or  rather,  perhaps,  of  London  magis- 
trates. The  man  was,  perhaps,  sent  off  into 
the  next  street  to  beg,  after  bowing  to  an 
injunction  to  "  look  out  for  honest  work  ;  "  a 
frequent  consequence,  and  always  to  the 
disgust  of  the  reproved  and  now  (in  such 
functions)  superseded  beadle,  who  had  cap- 
tured the  beggar  "  in  the  act."  Now  the 
conviction  is  summary. 


246 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


The  lines  of  street  beggary  are  not,  in  this 
year  of  grace,  cast  in  pleasant  places. 


SUBMARINE  GEOGRAPHY. 


BY  an  act  of  the  American  Congress  in 
March  1849,  the  secretary  of  the  United 
States  Navy  was  authorised  to  appoint  three 
suitable  vessels  for  the  purpose  of  investigating 
the  phenomena  of  the  winds  and  the  waves, 
to  find  short  routes,  and  to  discover  matters 
of  importance  to  commerce  and  navigation. 
These  vessels  were  to  sail  under  the  instruc- 
tions of  Lieutenant  Maury,  the  author  of  the 
Wind  and  Current  Charts,  published  at  New 
York.  From  some  cause,  but  one  vessel  was 
fitted  out  for  this  important  service ;  the 
"Fancy,"  a  schooner  commanded  by  Lieu- 
tenant Walsh,  which  sailed  from  New  York, 
in  October  1849,  amply  furnished  with  the 
means  of  carrying  out  the  instructions  given. 
Those  orders  included  not  only  constant  ob- 
servations upon  the  wind,  the  force  and  set  of 
the  currents,  with  their  temperature,  depth, 
position,  &c.,  but  also  notices  of  the  general 
temperature  of  the  ocean,  with  "  deep-sea 
soundings." 

In  May  of  the  following  year,  the  United 
States  ship  Albany,  Commander  Plate,  was 
despatched  on  similar  service  to  the  West 
India  station,  equally  well  found  in  every 
requisite  for  the  purpose.  The  field  of  the 
"  Fancy's  "  operation  was  to  have  been  the 
"  Horse  Latitudes "  to  the  north  of  the 
Equator,  and  a  few  degrees  south  of  the 
Line,  between  fifteen  and  twenty-five  degrees 
west  longitude.  Unfortunately,  this  vessel 
proved  unseaworthy,  and  her  commander  was 
compelled  to  relinquish  his  undertaking  before 
being  half  completed.  This  first  voyage  was, 
however,  not  without  results,  for  it  enabled 
the  officer  in  command  to  disprove  the  exist- 
ence of  various  supposed  rocks  between  the 
West  India  Islands  and  the  African  continent, 
and  which  had,  until  that  time,  been  regu- 
larly laid  down  in  the  official  charts.  Lieu- 
tenant Walsh  also  discovered  a  submarine 
current  of  considerable  velocity,  moving  in 
a  direction  opposite  to  that  on  the  surface  ; 
he  found  water  at  a  great  depth,  which,  when 
brought  up,  relieved  of  all  pressure,  and 
equalised  to  the  surface  temperature,  proved 
to  be  lighter  than  the  water  at  the  surface. 
In  "  deep-sea  soundings  "  less  was  done  than 
had  been  anticipated,  owing  mainly  to  the 
loss  of  their  longest  wire-line,  which  parted 
close  to  the  reel  on  deck.  The  deepest  sound- 
ing made  by  this  expedition,  and  which  is 
also  the  deepest  yet  made,  was  five  thousand 
seven  hundred  fathoms,  or  six  miles  and  a 
half,  at  which  immense  depth  no  bottom  was 
found.  This  was  made  about  three  hundred 
miles  to  the  eastward  of  Bermuda,  on  the  15th 
of  November,  1849,  and  serves  to  establish 
the  fact,  that  the  actual  depth  of  the  great 
ocean  basin  is  greater  than  any  elevation 


above  the  sea  level.  The  time  occupied  by 
this  length  of  wire  in  running  out  was  one 
hour  and  a  half ;  and,  to  have  wound  it 
up  on  the  reel  by  two  or  three  men,  would 
have  required  at  least  twelve  hours  ;  that 
labour,  however,  was  not  needed,  as  the 
whole  length  parted  at  the  surface,  and  was 
lost. 

It  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  detail  the 
mode  by  which  the  direction  and  velocity  of  the 
under-currents  were  determined — a  method 
at  once  simple  and  efficacious.  A  large  cldp- 
log  of  a  quadrantal  form,  the  arc  of  it 
measuring  four  feet,  and  being  heavily 
loaded  with  lead  to  keep  it  upright,  was  sunk 
to  the  required  distance,  say  one  hundred  and 
twenty  fathoms  ;  on  the  upper  end  of  the  line 
to  which  this  was  saaured,  was  a  barrega,  or 
float,  which  of  course  followed  the  direction 
of  the  sunken  chip-log,  propelled  by  the  under- 
current; and  the  rate  at  which  it  moved 
was  ascertained  by  means  of  a  log-line  and 
glass,  in  the  ordinary  way.  Lieutenant 
Walsh  found,  by  these  means,  a  great  number 
of  under-currents  moving  at  various  rates, 
according  to  depth,  ranging  from  two  miles 
to  half  a  mile,  but  always  in  a  direction  con- 
trary to  the  surface  current,  and  usually 
moving  at  a  more  rapid  rate. 

The  second  expedition  in  the  Albany, 
proved  far  more  successful  than  the  first ;  and 
although  the  scene  of  operations  was  on  a 
much  more  limited  scale,  the  task  was  per- 
formed most  completely.  This  vessel  was  of 
much  larger  tonnage,  more  liberally  officered, 
and  better  supplied  with  materiel.  In  place 
of  wire  sounding  lines,  cod-lines  of  sufficient 
size  were  furnished,  which  were  well  waxed 
or  oiled,  and  marked  off  at  every  hundred 
fathoms.  The  supply  extended  to  fifty 
thousand  fathoms,  sufficient,  one  might  sup- 
pose, for  several  such  voyages,  yet  the  greater 
part  of  it  was  used  on  this  one  trip  ;  losses  of 
some  thousands  of  fathoms  occurring  inces- 
santly from  the  inferior  make  of  the  line 
causing  it  to  part. 

The  first  deep-sea  soundings  were  made 
somewhat  to  the  southward  of  the  Bermudas, 
where  no  bottom  was  found  with  lines  of  one 
thousand  nine  hundred  fathoms  and  one  thou- 
sand fathoms.  Standing  on  towards  Hayti, 
and  within  a  few  degrees  of  that  island, 
bottom  was  found,  and  regular  sets  of  sound- 
ings effected  in  a  most  satisfactory  manner 
from  that  point  right  across  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico,  and  afterwards  across  the  Carribean 
Sea.  From  a  depth  of  sixteen  hundred  fathoms 
(about  two  miles)  the  ground  gradually 
trended  upwards,  towards  the  coast  of  Hayti, 
with  very  ordinary  undulation.  Passing  on, 
westerly,  through  the  shoals  and  islands  to 
the  northward  of  Cuba,  at  which  island  the 
vessel  remained  a  day  or  two  to  overhaul  the 
lines  and  correct  the  imperfections,  a  course 
of  soundings  was  taken  right  across  the  bay 
from  east  to  west,  and  again  from  west  to 
east.  Three  months  were  occupied  in  this 


Charles  Diciecs.j 


SUBMARINE  GEOGEAPHY. 


247 


portion  of  the  work,  and  although,  at  times, 
the  squally  state  of  the  weather  rendered 
soundings  quite  impracticable,  the  fine  cairn 
days  intervening  sufficed  for  every  useful 
purpose.  The  result  of  these  operations  was 
to  show  that  the  depth  of  the  two  great 
waters,  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  the  Car- 
ribean  Sea,  is  not  nearly  so  great  as,  from  their 
extent,  might  have  been  anticipated ;  whilst,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  submarine  valleys  situated 
between  Cuba  and  some  of  the  immediately 
adjacent  islands,  stretch  to  a  much  greater 
distance  below  than  the  larger  undulations. 
These  contiguous  ocean-valleys  are,  in  fact,  so 
many  sharp  precipices  descending  to  a  depth 
of  sixteen  hundred  fathoms,  and  twelve  hun- 
dred fathoms  ;  equal,  by  land  measurement, 
to  two  miles,  and  one  and  a  half  mile.  The 
greatest  declivity  found  in  the  Mexican 
Gulf  was  eight  hundred  and  eighty  fathoms, 
a  trifle  over  a  mile,  whilst,  in  the  deepest  part 
of  the  Carribean  Sea,  right  to  the  westward, 
the  soundings  gave  fully  thirteen  hundred 
fathoms,  decreasing,  with  a  few  irregularities, 
to  about  three  hundred  fathoms  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  gulf  stream,  between  Cuba  and  Cape 
Haytien.  The  formation  of  these  two  vast 
basins  is  especially  interesting,  as  connected 
with  the  course  and  strength  of  the  great 
gulf  stream  and  other  tributary  ocean  rivers, 
which  it  is  now  evident  feed  the  one  mighty 
stream.  The  operations  of  the  officers  on 
board  the  Albany  prove  that,  in  the  centre  of 
the  Mexican  Gulf,  stretching  away  for  the 
North  American  coast,  between  the  mouths 
of  the  Mississippi,  towards  the  Yucatan  Pass, 
there  lies  a  ridge  of  elevated  matter,  which, 
whilst  it  serves  to  confine  the  in-coming  gulf 
stream  to  its  present  course,  protects  the 
mouths  of  the  great  Mississippi  from  any  en- 
croachments from  that  quarter.  Doubtless, 
the  submarine  barrier  thus  thrown  up  as  it 
were  for  mutual  purposes,  owes  its  origin  and 
growth  to  more  than  one  system  of  rivers. 
In  all  probability,  the  mighty  Amazon  and 
Orinoco  have  as  much  to  do  with  it  as  the 
great  northern  torrent  ;  and  should  these 
inquiries  be  carried  out  to  their  full  extent 
by  obtaining  specimens  of  the  bottoms  in  all 
these  soundings,  the  point  might,  with  no 
great  difficulty,  be  determined,  through  the 
means  of  microscopic  observation. 

Who  can  say  what  mighty  work  may  not 
be  in  progress  beneath  the  surface  of  these  far 
waters  ?  Who  can  tell  what  vast  sedimentary 
formations  may  not  be  in  course  of  prepara- 
tion, to  give  to  the  world,  in  a  future  genera- 
tion, new  lands,  new  countries,  rich  in  organic 
remains,  rich  in  all  that  can  astound  and 
bewilder  the  naturalist,  who,  gazing  in  ages 
to  come  at  the  treasures  thus  locked  up,  will 
find  within  the  overwhelming  mass,  fossil 
palms  and  infusoria  from  the  Amazon ;  reptiles 
from  the  Orinoco ;  birds  from  the  Rio  Grande ; 
plants  and  creepers  from  the  Upper  Missouri ; 
jine,  beech,  and  ash,  from  the  Mississippi — 
^aped  up  in  gigantic  confusion  with  wrecks 


of  steamers,  and  skeletons  of  man,  and  beast, 
and  monsters  of  the  deep. 

Having  stated  briefly  the  actual  results  of 
the  two  first  attempts  at  fathoming  the  depths 
of  the  great  waters,  I  will  now  mention 
further  operations  undertaken  in  another 
direction  by  the  Commander  of  the  United 
States  ship  John  Adams,  during  the  spring 
of  last  year  (1851).  This  vessel  was  steered 
nearly  due  west,  from  latitude  thirty-eight 
degrees,  fifty  minutes  north,  and  made  some 
most  successful  deep-sea  soundings.  The  first 
was  taken  in  about  fifty-two  degrees  west 
longitude,  when  bottom  was  found  at  twenty- 
six  hundred  fathoms.  In  about  forty-five 
degrees  west  longitude,  bottom  was  found  at 
five  thousand  five  hundred  fathoms,  which 
is  the  greatest  depth  at  which  soundings  have 
been  successful ;  for,  although,  in  the  Fancy 
expedition,  two  hundred  fathoms  deeper  were 
explored,  no  bottom  was  found.  The  above 
sounding  corrected  for  drift,  i.  e.  making  due 
allowance  for  the  effect  of  under-currents 
upon  the  line  whilst  running  out,  gives  an 
actual  up-and-down  descent  of  twenty-eight 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifty  feet.  In 
longitude  forty-four  degrees  west,  the  sound- 
ings gave  bottom  at  two  thousand  three 
hundred  fathoms.  From  this  spot  to  within 
twenty-four  miles  of  the  Peak  of  Pico,  the 
bottom  ascended  gradually  to  six  hundred 
and  seventy  fathoms,  whilst,  between  the 
Azores  and  Madeira,  the  depth  increased  to 
beyond  a  thousand  fathoms.  In  this  course 
of  soundings  a  great  deal  of  line  was  lost 
from  accidental  breakages ;  a  casualty  to 
which  all  the  tackle  employed  appears  to 
have  been  especially  subject.  It  will  be 
observed  that  the.  soundings  taken  in  forty- 
five  degrees  and  forty-four  degrees  west  longi- 
tude, differed  most  materially ;  the  actual 
distance  of  locality  did  not  exceed  seventy 
miles,  yet  the  ocean  bed  was  found  to  sink 
from  over  five  thousand  fathoms  to  less  than 
half  that  depth.  Here,  then,  we  have  a  direct 
proof,  that  the  irregularity  in  the  submarine 
geography  of  the  world  is  not  confined,  as 
has  been  imagined,  to  the  immediate  neigh- 
bourhood of  dry  land,  but  that  ocean  valleys 
and  mountains  exist  far  away  in  the  watery 
wraste  of  equal  grandeur  with  any  on  our 
continents,  and,  as  already  proved,  of  greater 
vastness  in  some  cases.  This  is  but  the  result 
of  an  inquiry  and  research  at  present  in  its 
infancy  :  the  knowledge  is  as  yet  only  dawn- 
ing upon  our  minds  :  what  it  may  lead  to,  can 
be  but  mere  surmise.  The  island  of  Saint 
Helena  is,  as  we  know,  a  bluff,  up-heaved, 
rocky  mass,  running  off  at  a  very  precipitous 
angle  below  the  water's  edge.  Doubtless,  it 
forms  the  summit  of  some  ocean  Andes,  some 
tremendous  ranges  of  geological  structures, 
which,  if  in  our  upper-land,  would  be  capped 
with  eternal  snows. 

Of  the  structure  and  irregularities  of  the 
great  southern  basin  nothing  is  as  yet  known. 
It  will  not  be  long,  however,  before  we 


248 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


possess  some  data  on  which  to  rest  future 
stores  of  knowledge.  Already  a  portion  of 
the  American  navy  has  gone  to  the  south- 
ward in  prosecution  of  this  most  interesting 
inquiry,  provided  with  every  possible  re- 
quisite, and  in  charge  of  men  of  undoubted 
ability  and  energy. 

Before  concluding  this  notice,  it  may  be  as 
well  to  detail  the  plan  of  operations  as  carried 
on  in  these  deep-sea  soundings.  The  cordage 
found  to  be  best  adapted  for  the  work,  is  stout 
fishing-line,  of  equal  strength  throughout  its 
entire  length.  It  should  be  oiled  or  waxed, 
in  order  to  prevent  as  much  as  possible  any 
degree  of  friction  in  passing  rapidly  through 
the  salt  water.  The  line  must  be  measured 
off,  and  marked  at  every  thousand  fathoms 
with  silk  thread  of  various  colours,  tied 
tightly  round  it.  The  intervening  hundred 
fathoms  are  to  be  denoted  by  threads  of  cor- 
responding colours,  but  secured  in  a  different 
manner,  so  as  to  indicate  from  one  to  nine 
hundred. 

The  weight  employed  for  sinking  the  line 
has  been  a  thirty-two  pound  shot,  slung  in 
eanvas  bands,  and  so  secured  to  the  line,  that 
any  sudden  jerk  upon  it  will  detach  the  one 
from  the  other  :  the  labour  of  hauling  up  that 
weight  at  the  end  of  a  line,  several  thousands 
of  fathoms  long,  would  be  far  too  great :  as  it 
is,  the  reeling  up  of  the  line  itself  is  a  task  of 
considerable  magnitude,  though  the  reel  is 
worked  by  cranks  and  fly-wheels,  at  which 
three  or  four  men  are  employed.  Several 
attempts  were  made  by  persons  on  board 
these  surveying  ships,  to  raise  one  of  the 
thirty-two  pound  shot  from  the  ground,  when 
on  the  bottom  of  the  ocean,  at  a  depth  of 
about  three  thousand  fathoms  ;  but  although 
it  was  easy  enough  to  drag  it  along  the  smooth 
bed,  the  strongest  man  in  the  vessel  was 
unable  to  lift  it  an  inch.  To  regulate  and 
check  the  passing  out  of  the  line  during  the 
descent  of  the  shot,  canvas  friction-bauds  are 
employed ;  otherwise  the  twine  might  flow 
from  the  reel  more  rapidly  than  the  shot 
would  sink  it,  and  so  become  entangled  on 
the  surface.  It  has  been  found  by  many 
trials,  that  the  weight  descends  with  a  steadily 
decreasing  rapidity,  in  exact  proportion  with 
the  depth  attained  by  it :  a  knowledge  of  this 
has  enabled  those  employed  in  the  soundings 
to  detect  the  existence  of  an  under-current 
at  any  depth  below,  for  the  action  of  such 
current,  though,  perhaps,  of  not  more  than 
half  a  knot  per  hour  upon  the  great  length  of 
line  out,  caused  it  to  run  off  the  reel  more 
rapidly  than,  according  to  the  depth,  it  should 
have  done.  In  this  way,  by  timing  the 
descent  of  the  line  at  every  hundred  fathoms, 
not  only  is  it  perfectly  easy  to  detect  the 
existence  of  an  under-current,  but  also  to 
determine  its  position,  and,  with  some  tolerable 
accuracy,  its  speed.  The  five  thousand  five 
hundred  fathoms  run  out  by  the  Albany,  with 
soundings,  took  two  hours  and  forty  minutes 
in  its  descent,  and  required  ten  hours  for 


re-winding  by  four  men,  --recording  to  the 
usual  rate.  This  rate  of  descent,  it  will  be 
seen,  Avas  much  less  than  that  of  the  five 
thousand  seven  hundred  fathoms  of  wire-line, 
which  the  officers  of  the  Fancy  passed  out 
without  getting  soundings,  and  which  occu- 
pied but  one  hour  and  a  half  in  its  fall,  owing 
to  the  smaller  amount  of  friction  with  the 
metal  than  the  fibrous  line. 

Let  us  hope  that  what  has  been  so  well 
begun  by  our  friends  across  the  Atlantic,  may 
be  not  disregarded  by  our  own  authorities, 
but  that  similar  researches  may  be  made  in 
those  seas  which  peculiarly  form  the  high- 
way of  our  Oriental  commerce.  If  these 
things  are  worth  the  attention  of  a  young 
people  like  the  Americans,  how  much  more 
so  of  the  care  of  the  British  Government, 
whose  ships  of  war  are  floating  in  almost 
every  degree  of  longitude  and  latitude 
throughout  the  watery  world  1  In  the  vast 
Indian  Ocean  there  is,  beyond  doubt,  a  rich 
harvest  awaiting  the  labourer  :  the  field  so 
often  passed  over  is  as  yet  unexplored.  The 
crude  materials  extracted  from  ships'  log- 
books go  to  show  that  in  the  Indian  seaa 
there  exists  a  gulf  stream  similar  to  that  on 
the  Eastern  coasts  of  America,  having  a 
temperature  often  above  blood  heat. 

In  the  system  of  aqueous  circulation  thus 
detected,  and  in  the  prevailing  winds  of  the 
Pacific,  are  to  be  found  the  conditions  which 
cause  the  climates  of  the  Atlantic  States  to 
be  repeated  along  the  coasts  of  China ;  the 
climate  of  Western  Europe  to  be  re-duplicated 
iu  North-western  America.  In  the  tepid 
waters  of  India  which  this  stream  conveys 
towards  the  Fox  Islands — the  Newfoundland 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean — is  to  be  found  the 
origin  of  the  fogs  of  the  North  Pacific  and 
the  European-like  climate  of  Oregon.  It  may 
readily  be  imagined  that  the  storms  which 
take  their  rise  near  the  western  margin  of 
the  Pacific  Ocean  will  also  follow  this  stream 
in  their  course.  The  passage  from  China  to 
California,  now  made  in  fifty-four  days,  may 
reasonably  be  reduced  to  thirty,  if  we  obtain 
an  accurate  knowledge  of  all  these  matters  ; 
and  in  like  manner,  the  voyage  from  Cal- 
cutta or  Hong-Kong  to  London  might  be 
shortened  by  a  week  or  two. 


THE  FIERY  TRIAL. 

A   LEGEND. 

"  Go,  carry  to  thy  convent  back 

That  scarred  and  ugly  face, 
And  sure  the  lady  sisterhood 

Will  thank  thee  for  the  grace. 
If  thoughts  of  beauty's  fleeting  bloom 

For  such  meek  souls  be  fit, 
Good  sooth,  they  have  their  lesson  here, 

Not  delicately  writ. 

Our  household  portraits  do  they  need 

The  added  charm  of  thine  ? 
No  ;  let  oblivion  drink  the  blot 

From  our  well-favoured  Hue," 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  FIEEY  TRIAL. 


"  In  days  of  old,  oh  graiulamc  stern ! 

The  holy  olden  time, 
To  give  a  blemished  lamb  to  God, 

It  was  a  grievous  crime. 
My  darling  sister  from  my  kiss 

Her  bright  mouth  backward  drew, 
As  though  she  feared  the  faded  lips 

Had  power  to  wither  too. 
But  her  ;  why  do  I  speak  of  her  ? 

My  father  scowled  at  me  ; 
Was  it  a  dream  that  I  had  been 

Once  fondled  on  his  knee  ? 

"  And  yet,  I  could  have  borne  it  all 

Had  but  my  mother  shown 
That,  e'en  beneath  such  foul  disguise, 

Her  love  could  tell  its  own. 
I  kissed  her  hand,  for  near  embrace 

I  felt  had  been  amiss ; 
But  my  whole  heart,  my  yearning  heart, 

I  poured  into  that  kiss. 

"  Oh  love  !  wert  thou  as  powerful 

As  legends  say  thou  art, 
Thy  charmed  touch  had  moved  her  hand 

To  draw  me  to  her  heart. 
They  say  I  was  a  pretty  child 

(They  need  to  say  so  now !) 
Ah  !  then  she  used  to  smooth  the  hair 

That  curled  about  my  brow. 

"  The  curls  are  gone,  or  gold  or  brown, 

Their  lost  hue  I  forget, 
But,  on  their  scorched  and  scant  remains 

That  pressure  lingers  yet. 
But,  for  the  cruel  hand  that  stayed 

The  red  flames  wreathing  high, 
I  might  have  died,  and  left  my  name 

A  household  memory. 

"  And,  deep  within  my  mother's  heart, 

Beyond  Death's  power  to  kill, 
I  still  had  been  the  little  child, 

The  bright-haired  darling  still." 

"  Go  back  !     Thy  seemly  covering 

The  veil  and  hood  must  be, 
For  never  shall  our  ancient  house 

Give  coronet  to  thee." 

"  A  coronet !  oh,  give  me  back 

The  home  aflection  gone  ! 
I  covet  from  our  lineal  gems 

That  pearl  of  price  alone. 
'Twas  at  thy  word  the  convent's  gloom 

My  childhood  darken'd  o'er  ; 
But  I  've  stepped  beyond  the  worldly  shades, 

I  shall  not  enter  more. 

"  Bethink  thee,  I  am  scarce  sixteen, 

And  grievous  it  appears 
To  learn  my  life-time  in  a  day, 

Yet  live  it  three-score  years. 
As  well  I  may,  for  convent  life 

Doth  draw  a  sluggish  breath  ; 
Life,  did  I  say? — 'twere  better  called 

A  long  look-out  for  death. 

P'And,  oh  !  amidst  those  cloisters  dim, 

"Where  not  e'en  tlioiiyht  is  free, 
The  mounting  bird,  the  running  stream, 

Would  still  keep  haunting  me. 
Nor  could  the  missal's  sacred  lore 

My  thoughts  with  Heaven  engage  ; 
Some  landscape  from  the  world  without 

Still  floated  o'er  the  page, 


"  Keep,  keep  thy  wealth,  nud  rank  and  name, 

Yea,  home  and  friend  deny, 
Let  me  be  free  to  come  and  go 

Beneath  God's  open  sky. 
In  nature's  large  and  loving  heart 

I  have  not  lost  my  place  ; 
The  stream  that  gives  thine  image  back 

Doth  not  refuse  my  face. 

"  The  flower  doth  not  avoid  my  touch, 

Nor  tall  tree  wave  me  hence, 
The  breeze  doth  kiss  thy  cheek  and  mine 

Without  a  difference. 
But  sickly  plants  I  love  to  tend, 

For  these  my  kindred  be, 
And,  when  their  gentle  breath  flows  out, 

It  feels  like  sympathy. 

"  With  these  and  my  unquestioned  thoughts 

Here  will  I  live  and  die  ; 
Though  at  the  altar,  I  should  stand, 

Thy  power  I  will  defy." 

In  vain  their  stormy  anger  burst 

The  steadfast  maiden  o'er ; 
So  they  were  fain  to  seek  for  one 

To  take  that  burden  sore. 

They  offered  wealth,  but  knight  and  squire 

Of  high  and  low  degree, 
Vowed  they  would  need  her  weight  in  gold 

To  wed  with  such  as  she. 
Then  the  poor  maiden  raised  her  head, 

And  all  a  woman's  pride 
Swelled  the  slight  neck,  while  jest  and  sco2 

Flew  round  from  side  to  side. 

But  up  then  spake  a  yeoman  stanch, 

And  his  sun-browned  face  flushed  high, 
"  If  ye  be  knights  and  gentlemen, 

Thank  God,  so  am  not  I ! 
I  have  a  home.     Dear  lady,  say, 

If  thou  couldst  stoop  so  low  ; 
Thou  knowest  that  on  the  lowly  bush 

A  pleasant  fruit  doth  grow. 

"  An  ancient  house ;  it  hath  in  front 

An  oak,  a  royal  tree; 
But  each  old  branch,  at  mom  and  eve, 

Shall  learn  to  bow  to  thee. 
It  hath  a  pleasant  garden-ground  ; 

I  '11  make  thee  there  a  seat, 
Just  where  the  rivulet  can  float 

Its  lilies  to  thy  feet. 

"  A  quiet  house,  where,  year  by  year, 

The  building  swallows  come; 
Poor  wounded  bird  !  the  heights  are  cold, 

Come  to  the  sheltered  home. 
And,  to  atone  for  all  the  griefs 

That  robbed  youth  of  its  right, 
True  love  shall  make  thy  later  years 

A  childhood  for  delight." 

And  then  the  maiden  bent  her  head, 
And  all  her  pride  was  gone  ; 

She  said,  "  I  will  wear  out  my  life 
In  serving  thee  alone." 

Then  spake  the  graiidame  :  "  As  thy  wife- 
She  may  not  own  my  name." 

"And shall  not  !  "  quoth  the  yeoman  bold, 
"  It  was  her  only  sliame. 


250 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


"  And  keep  thy  wealth,  thou  cruel  heart ! 

It  never  shall  be  told, 
My  wife  had  not  sufficient  worth 

To  he  mine,  without  gold." 
Thus  cast  they  from  their  halls  of  pride 

Their  innocent  reproach  ; 
But  her  bruised  heart  felt  evermore 

Affection's  healing  touch. 

And  love,  o'er  the  unsightly  face, 

To  its  old  magic  true, 
Shed  coloured  floods  of  softened  light 

To  please  the  husband's  view; 
She  read  and  sang  to  win  his  ear, 

And  often  would  he  bless 
The  voice,  that  seemed  the  lingering  sprite 

Of  her  dead  loveliness. 

And,  as  the  years  increased,  arose 

Fair  children  round  her  knees, 
Who  only  felt  their  mother's  love, 

Not  her  deformities. 
Her  features  did  from  her  altered  life 

Such  natural  graces  gain, 
Her  mother's  self  could  scarce  have  known 

The  happy  Lady  Jane. 


PHASES   OF  "  PUBLIC  "  LIFE. 

IN   THREE   CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  THE  SECOND. 

IN  a  suburban  locality,  mostly,  shall  you 
find  the  artistic  public-house.  There  is 
nothing  essentially  to  distinguish  it  from  other 
houses  of  entertainment.  Indeed,  by  day, 
were  it  not  for  the  presence,  perhaps, 
of  an  old  picture  or  two  in  the  bar,  and 
a  bran-new  sacred  piece  by  young  Splodger 
"  Madonna  col  Bambino  "  (models  Mrs. 
Splodger  and  Master  "W.  Splodger),  with  an 
intensely  blue  sky,  a  preternaturally  fat  Bam- 
bino, and  a  Madonna  with  a  concentrated 
sugar-candyish  sweetness  of  expression — 
were  it  not  for  these,  you  would  be  puzzled 
to  discover  that  the  arts  had  anything  to  do 
with  this  class  of  public.  But  after  eight 
o'clock  at  night,  or  so,  the  smoking-room 
is  thronged  Avith  artists,  young  and  old  : 
grey-headed  professors  of  the  old  school,  who 
remember  Stothard,  and  have  heard  Fuseli 
lecture ;  spruce  young  fellows  who  have 
studied  in  Paris,  or  have  just  come  home 
from  Italy,  full  of  Horace  Vernet,  Paul  Dela- 
roche,  the  loggie  and  stanze  of  the  Vatican,  the 
Pitti  Palace,  and  the  Grand  Canal ;  moody 
disciples  of  that  numerous  class  of  artists 
known  as  the  "great  unappreciated,"  who 
imagine  that  when  they  have  turned  their 
shirt  collars  down,  and  their  lips  up,  grown 
an  enormous  beard  and  moustache,  and 
donned  an  eccentric  felt  hat,  all  is  done 
that  can  be  done  by  art,  theoretical,  practical 
and  sesthetical,  and  that  henceforward  it  is  a 
burning  and  crying  shame  if  their  pictures 
are  not  hung  "  on  the  line  "  in  the  Exhibition 
of  the  Royal  Academy,  or  if  the  daily  papers 
do  not  concur  in  an  unanimous  pasan  of 
praise  concerning  their  performances.  Very 
rarely  condescends  also  to  visit  the  artists' 
public  that  transcendent  genius  Mr.  Ciinabue 


Giotto  Smalt,  one  of  the  P.P.P.B.  or  "Prae- 
painting  and  Perspective  Brotherhood."  Mr. 
Smalt,  in  early  life,  made  designs  for  the 
Ladies'  Gazette  of  Fashion,  and  was  sus- 
pected also  of  contributing  the  vigorous  and 
highly-coloured  illustrations  to  the  Hatchet 
of  Horrors — that  excellent  work  published 
in  penny  numbers  by  Skull,  of  Horrorwell 
Street.  Subsequently  awakening,  however,  to 
a  sense  of  the  hollowness  of  the  world,  and 
the  superiority  of  the  early  Italian  school 
over  all  others,  he  laid  in  a  large  stock  of  cobalt, 
blue,  gold  leaf,  small  wooden  German  dolls, 
and  glass  eyes,  and  commenced  that  course  of 
study  which  has  brought  him  to  the  proud 
position  he  now  holds  as  a  devotional  painter 
of  the  most  eesthetic  acerbity  and  the  most 
orthodox  angularity.  He  carefully  unlearned 
all  the  drawing  and  perspective  which  his 
kind  parents  had  been  at  some  trouble  and 
expense  to  have  him  taught ;  he  studied  the 
human  figure  from  his  German  dolls,  expres- 
sion from  his  collection  of  glass  eyes,  drapery 
from  crumpled  sheets  of  foolscap  paper,  colour 
from  judiciously  selected  morceaux  (in  panel) 
such  as  Barclay  and  Perkins's  blue  board,  and 
the  "Red  Lion"  at  Brentford.  He  paints 
shavings  beautifully,  sore  toes  faultlessly.  In 
his  great  picture  of  St.  Laurence,  the  bars  of 
the  gridiron,  as  branded  on  the  saint's  flesh,  are 
generally  considered  to  be  masterpieces  of 
finish  and  detail.  Some  critics  prefer  his 
broad  and  vivid  treatment  of  the  boils  in 
his  picture  of  "Job  scraping  himself"  (the 
potsherd  exquisitely  rendered),  exhibited  at 
the  Academy  last  year,  and  purchased  by 
the  Dowager  Lady  Grille  of  Pytchley.  He 
dresses  in  a  sort  of  clerico-German  style,  cuts 
his  hair  very  short,  sighs  continually,  and 
wears  spectacles.  No  Mondays,  Tuesdays,  or 
Wednesdays,  are  there  in  his  calendar.  The 
days  of  the  week  are  all  Feasts  of  St. 
Somebody,  or  Eves  of  something,  with  him. 
When  he  makes  out  his  washing  bill  his 
laundress  is  puzzled  to  make  out  what 
"  shyrtes  "  and  "  stockynges  "  mean,  for  so  he 
writeth  them  down  ;  and  when  he  wanted  to 
let  his  second  floor,  not  one  of  the  passers-by 
•ould  for  the  life  of  them  understand  the 
wondrous  placard  he  put  forth  in  his  parlour- 
window,  the  same  being  an  illuminated  scroll, 
telling  in  red,  blue,  and  gold  hieroglyphics  of 
something  dimly  resembling  this  : 

FVRNISHED   CHAMBERES   MAZE    ON    YE   UPPER 
FLOOR   EEE   HADDE. 

Pipes  are  in  great  request  in  the  smoking- 
room  of  the  artist's  public — fancy  pipes  of 
laborate  workmanship  and  extraordh 
degrees  of  blackness.  The  value  of  a 
seems  to  increase  as  its  cleanliness  dimiiii; 
Little  stumpy  pipes,  the  original  cost  of 
which  was  one  halfpenny,  become,  after  they 
"nave  been  effectually  fouled  and  smoke- 
blackened,  pearls  beyond  price — few  content 
themselves  with  a  simple  yard  of  clay — some- 
thing more  picturesque — more  mot/en  age. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 


251 


Chrome,  who  paints  "  still  life  "  nicely,  fruit 
and  flowers,  and  so  on,  (his  detractors  say 
apples,  oranges,  and  bills  of  the  play,)  smoke; 
a  prodigious  meerschaum,  warranted  to  be 
from  the  Danube,  crammed  with  Hungarian 
tobacco,  and  formerly  the  property  of  'the 
Waywode  of  Widdin.  Scumble  (good  in  old 
houses  and  churches)  inhales  the  fumes  of  a 
big  pipe  with  a  porcelain  bowl,  purchased  in 
the  Dom-Platz  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  having 
Saladin  and  all  his  paladins  depicted  thereon. 
The  black  cutty,  patronised  by  Bristley  (son 
of  Sir  Hogg  Bristley,  R.A.)  has  been  hi 
constant  companion  in  the  adventurous 
sketching  journeys  he  has  undertaken — was 
with  him  when  under  sentence  of  fusillation 
for  sketching  a  droschky  in  the  Nevski  Per- 
spective at  Petersburg!!  ;  when  lion-hunting 
in  Caffreland ;  nay,  it  is  suspected,  even  lay 
quiescent  in  his  pocket  when  hunted  as  a 
lion  here,  on  his  return. 

In  the  farther  corner,  sits,  as  perpetual 
vice-chairman,  the  famous  Nobbs.  Nobbs 
was  gold  medallist  and  travelling  student 
of  the  Royal  Academy  in  the  year  Thirty- 
four.  He  has  been  a  blockhead  ever  since. 
He  has  never  painted  a  picture  worth  look- 
ing at ;  nor,  I  seriously  believe,  were  you 
to  lock  him  into  a  room  with  a  pencil  and  a 
piece  of  paper,  could  he  draw  a  pint  pot  from 
recollection.  Yet  hath  he  covered  roods, 
perches,  acres,  of  tinted  paper,  with  studies 
from  the  antique  and  the  life  ;  set  him  be- 
fore a  statue,  with  drawing-board,  crayons, 
compasses,  and  plumb-line  complete,  and  he 
will  give  you  every  hair  of  Moses's  beard, 
every  muscle  of  the  Discobolus  ;  give  him 
a  Raphael  or  a  Titian  to  copy,  and  he  will 
produce  a  duplicate  so  exact  that  you  would 
be  puzzled  to  tell  the  ancient  from  the  modern. 

Storyteller  in  ordinary,  historiographer,  and 
undisputed  nautical  authority,  is  Jack  Bute, 
who  is  supposed,  once  upon  a  time,  to  have 
painted  Lord  Nelson's  portrait,  and  who,  on 
the  strength  of  that  one  achievement,  has  been 
a  famous  man  ev&r  since.  Who  would  not 
be  proud  of  standing  fourpenn'orth  to  Jack 
Bute  1  Jack  has  been  a  sailor,  too,  a  gallant 
sailor.  "  I  was  at  Algiers,  sir,"  he  says,  "and fit 
there  " — he  always  says  fit.  "  I  was  among  the 
boarders,  and  the  only  difficulty  I  had  was  in 
shaking  the  Algerine  blackguards  oif  my 
boarding-pike,  I  spitted  so  many  of  them." 
Sometimes  an  over-sense  of  his  dignity,  and 
an  over-dose  of  gin-and-water,  make  Jack 
quarrelsome  and  disagreeable  ;  sometimes  he 
is  maudlin,  and  can  only  ejaculate  "  Nelson  " 
— "  Fourpeun'orth  " — amid  floods  of  tears. 

The  artists'  "  public  "  is  generally  hard-by 
a  "life  school,"  or  institution  where  adult 
artists  meet  nocturnally  to  study  the  human 
figure,  animals,  &c.,  from  the  life.  One  of 
the  standing  patterns  or  text-books  of  the 
school  is  quietly  standing  in  front  of  the 
house  now,  in  the  shape  of  a  symmetrically- 
shaped  donkey,  which  Bill  Jones,  its  mas- 
ter, the  costermonger,  is  very  happy  (for  a 


consideration)  to  lend  to  the  life  school  to  be 
"  drawed  "  at  night,  after  the  patient  animal 
has  been  drawing  all  day.  Another  pattern 
is  refreshing  himself  with  mild  porter  at  the 
bar,  being  no  other,  indeed,  than  the  well- 
known  Caravaggio  Potts,  Artiste -module,  as  he 
styles  himself.  He  began  life  as  Jupiter 
Touans,  subsequently  passed  through  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  and  is  now  considered  to  be 
the  best  Belisarius  in  the  model  world.  His 
wife  was  the  original  Venus  Callipyge,  of 
Tonks,  R.  A.,  but  fluctuates  at  present  between 
Volumnia  and  Mrs.  Primrose. 

The  landlord  of  the  artists'  inn  knows  all 
about  the  exhibitions,  what  days  they  open, 
and  what  days  they  shut — who  ought  to  have 
been  hung  "on  the  line,"  who  the  prize- 
holders  in  the  Art  Union,  are,  and  what 
pictures  they  are  likely  to  select  for  their 
prizes.  Were  you  to  enter  the  sitting-room, 
you  would  be  astonished  at  the  number  of  por- 
traits, full-length,  half-length,  three-quarter- 
length,  in  oil,  water-colour,  and  crayons,  of 
himself,  his  wife,  children,  and  relations 
generally,  which  adorn  that  apartment.  Has 
the  blushing  canvas  blotted  out  the  sins  of 
the  slate  ? 

Between  art  and  literature  there  is  a  very 
strong  band  of  union  (becoming  stronger 
every  day,  I  trust),  and  I  would  step  at  once 
from  the  artists'  tavern  to  the  literary  tavern, 
were  I  not  enabled  to  save  time  and  our 
chariot  steeds  by  remaining  awhile  in  Camden 
Town,  where  two  or  three  varieties  of  Public 
life  yet  remain  to  be  noticed ;  for,  in  this 
locality  uplifts  its  lofty  head  "  The  Railway 
Tavern  ; "  here,  also,  is  the  "  house  "  fre- 
quented by  veterinary  surgeons  ;  here,  the 
hostelry  affected  by  medical  students.  A 
brief  word  we  must  have  with  each  of  them. 

Hope — wild,  delusive,  yet  comfortable  hope 
— baked  the  bricks  and  hardened  the  mortar 
of  which  the  Railway  Tavern  was  built.  Its 
contiguity  to  a  railway  station  appeared  to 
its  sanguine  projector  a  sufficient  guarantee 
for  immense  success.  He  found  out  what  the 
fallacies  of  hope  were,  before  he  had  done 
building.  He  hanged  himself.  To  him  enters 
an  enterprising  licensed  victualler,  formerly 
of  the  New  Cut,  who  obtained  a  transient 
meed  of  success  by  an  announcement  of  the 
sale  within  of  "  Imperial  black  stuff,  very 
nobby."  Everybody  was  anxious  to  taste  the 
"  Imperial  black  stuff,"  and  for  some  days 
the  Railway  Tavern  was  thronged ;  but  the 
public  found  out  that  the  mixture  was  not 
only  very  nobby,  but  very  nasty,  and  declined 
a  renewal  of  the  draught.  The  next  pro- 
prietor was  a  fast  gentleman,  which  may 
account  for  his  having  gone  so  very  fast  into 
the  Gazette;  although  he  always  attributed 
his  ruin  to  his  having  had  a  great  many 
pewter  pots  stolen,  which  he  subsequently  un- 
wittingly received  again  in  the  guise  of  bad 
half-crowns.  For  years  the  Railway  Tavern 
itood,  big,  white,  deserted-looking,  customer- 
.ess  ;  but  a  new  neighbourhood  gradually  arose 


252 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


round  the  station  ;  front  streets  gradually 
generated  back  streets ;  back  streets  begot 
courts  and  alleys.  There  is  a  decent  assem- 
blage of  customers,  now,  at  the  bar ;  a  fair 
coffee-room  connection,  and  a  very  numerous 
parlour  company,  composed  of  guards  and  en- 
gine-drivers ;  strongly  perfumed  with  lamp-oil, 
who  call  the  locomotives  "  she,"  the  company 
"  they,"  and  each  other  "  mate."  Though  it 
has  been  built  some  years,  the  Railway  Tavern 
has  yet  an  appearance  of  newness.  The  paint 
seems  wet,  the  seats  unworn,  and  the  pots 
unbattered.  The  doors  have  not  that  coin- 
lortable,  paint-worn  manginess  about  the 
handle  common  to  public-houss  portals  in 
frequented  neighbourhoods.  The  Railway 
Tavern  always  reminds  me  of  the  one  hotel 
in  a  small  Irish  town — that  square,  white, 
many-windowed,  uncomfortable-looking  edi- 
fice, frowning  at  the  humble,  ramshackle 
little  chapel,  awing  the  pigs  and  embellishing 
the  landscape ;  but  seldom  troubled  with 
custom  or  customers. 

Out  of  the  way,  lumbering  drink-dray  of 
ours,  and  let  this  smart  gig,  with  the  fast- 
trotting  mare  braced  up  very  tight  in  the 
shafts  thereof,  rattle  by  !  In  the  vehicle  sits  a 
gentleman  with  a  very  shiny  hat,  a  very  long- 
shawl,  and  an  indefinite  quantity  of  thick 
great-coats,  from  the  pocket  of  one  of  which 
peep  a  brace  of  birds.  The  gig  is  his  "  trap," 
and  the  fast-trotting  mare  is  his  mare  Fanny, 
and  he  himself  is  Mr.  Sandcracks,  of  the  farm 
of  Sandcracks  and  Windgall,  veterinary  sur- 
geons. He  is  going  to  refresh  Fanny  with 
some  meal  and  water,  and  himself  with  some 
brandy  and  ditto,  at  the  Horse  and  Hocks, 
a  house  especially  favoured  and  frequented  by 
veterinary  surgeons,  and  the  walls  of  whose 
parlour  (the  H.  and  H.)  are  decorated  with 
portraits  of  the  winners  of  ever  so  many 
Derbies,  and  some  curious  anatomical  draw- 
ings of  horses.  The  frequenters  of  the 
H.  and  H.  are  themselves  curious  com- 
pounds of  the  sporting  character  and  the 
surgeon.  You  will  find  in  the  bar,  or  behind 
it  (for  they  are  not  particular),  or  in  the  par- 
lour, several  gentlemen,  with  hats  as  shiny, 
shawls  as  long,  and  coats  as  multifarious,  as 
Mr.  Saudcracks',  discoursing  volubly,  but  in  a 
somewhat  confusing  manner,  of  dogs,  horses, 
spavins,  catch-weights ;  the  tibia  and  the 
fibula,  handicaps,  glanders,  the  state  of  the 
odds,  and  comparative  anatomy.  They  will 
bet  on  a  horse  and  bleed  him  with  equal 
pleasure — back  him,  dissect  him,  do  almost 
everything  with  him  that  can  be  done  with 
a  horse.  They  must  work  hard  and  earn 
money  ;  yet  to  my  mind  they  always  seem 
to  be  driving  the  fast-trotting  mare  in  the 
smart  gig  to  or  from  the  Horse  and  Hocks. 

Medical  men  don't  enter  into  my  category 
of  "public  "  users.  They  have  their  red  port 
wine  at  home.  The  Medical  students'  public 
is  never  known  by  its  sign.  It  may  be  the 
Grapes,  or  the  Fox,  or  the  Magpie  and 
Stump,  but  it  is  always  distinguished  among 


the  students  as  Mother  So-and-so's,  or  old 
What-d'ye-call-him's.  The  students  generally 
manage  to  drive  all  other  customers  away.  Nor 
chair,  nor  benches — nay,  nor  settles,  are  re- 
quired for  the  students'  parlour.  They  pre- 
fer sitting  on  the  tables ;  nor  do  they  want 
glasses — they  prefer  pint  pots  ;  consuming 
even  gin-and-water  from  those  bright  flagons  : 
nor  do  they  need  spittoons,  nor  pictures  on 
the  walls,  nor  bagatelle  boards. 

If  I  wonder  how  the  veterinary  surgeon 
finds  time  to  practise,  ho\v  much  greater  must 
be  my  dubiety  as  to  how  the  medical  students 
find  time  to  study  !  The  pipe,  the  pot  of  half- 
and-half,  the  half-price  to  the  theatre,  the 
cider-cellars  to  follow,  and  the  knocker -twist- 
ing gymnastics  to  follow  that  (with,  some- 
times, the  station-house  by  way  of  rider) 
appear  to  fill  up  their  whole  time — to  leave 
not  a  point  unoccupied  upon  the  circle  of 
their  daily  lives.  Yet,  work  they  must,  and 
work  they  do.  The  smoking,  drinking,  fight- 
ing life,  is  but  an  ordeal — somewhat  fiery,  it 
is  true — from  which  have  come  unscathed 
Doctor  Bobus,  rolling  by  in  his  fat  chariot ; 
Mr.  Slasher,  ready  to  cut  off  all  and  each 
of  my  limbs,  in  the  cause  of  science,  at 
St.  Spry's  Hospital ;  but,  from  which  have 
crawled,  singed,  maimed,  blackened,  half- 
consumed,  poor  Jack  Fleam  (he  sang  a  good 
song  did  Jack,  and  was  a  widow's  son),  now 
fain  to  be  a  new  policeman  ;  and  Coltsfoot,  the 
clinical  clerk  at  Bartholomew's,  who  died  of 
delirium  tremens  on  his  passage  to  Sydney. 

On  again  we  roll,  and  this  time  we  leave 
the  broad  suburban  roads,  furzed  with  trim 
cottages  and  gardens— -white  cottage  bonnets 
with  green  ribbons  —  for  crowded  streets 
again.  If  you  want  to  back  Sally  for  the 
Chester  Cup,  or  Hippopotamus  for  the 
double  event,  or  to  get  any  information  on 
any  sporting  subject,  where  can  you  get  it 
better,  fresher,  more  authentic,  than  in  one 
of  the  sporting  houses,  of  which  I  dare  say 
I  am  not  very  far  out  if  I  say  there  are  a 
hundred  in  London  1  Not  houses  where  sport- 
ing is  casually  spoken  of,  but  where  it  is 
the  staple  subject  of  conversation,  business, 
and  pleasure  to  the  whole  of  the  establish- 
ment, from  the  landlord  to  the  potboy. 

Let  us  take  one  sporting  house  as  a  type. 
Dozens  of  pictures — Derby  winners,  Dog- 
Billies,  the  Goclolphin  Arabian ;  Snaffle,  the 
jockey  ;  Mr.  Tibbs,  the  trainer  (presented  to 
him  by  a  numerous  circle  of,  &e.,  &c.).  Nailed 
against  the  wall  are  a  horse-shoe,  worn  by 
Eclipse,  and  a  plate  formerly  appertaining  to 
I -itile  Wonder.  In  a  glass-case  behind  the 
bar  is  a  stuffed  dog — Griper  ;  indeed,  the 
famous  bull-dog  formerly  the  property  of  that 
enthusiastic  sporting  character,  Jack  Myrtle, 
who  having  had  rather  too  decided  a  settling- 
day  with  one  Mr.  Ware,  was  done  to  death 
at  Aylesbury  ;  the  body  of  Mr.  WTare  having 
been  found  in  a  pond,  and  twelve  ignorant 
jurymen  having  concurred  in  a  verdict  that 
the  bold  Jack  Myrtle  put  him  there.  The 


Charles  Dickena.] 


PHASES  OF  "PUBLIC"  LIFE. 


253 


landlord  of  the  sporting  house  is  a  sporting 
character,  you  may  believe  me.  Such  a 
chronological  memory  he  has  of  all  the  horses 
that  have  won  races,  for  goodness  knows  how 
many  years  !  Such  bets  he  makes  touching 
these  same  chronological  questions  ! — such 
crowns,  half-crowns,  and  "  glasses  round " 
he  wins  !  When  he  has  been  lucky  on  an 
"  event,"  he  stands  unlimited  champagne. 
He  has  a  Derby  Sweep,  and  a  St.  Leger  Sweep, 
and  a  Great  Northamptonshire  Sweep,  and  a 
great  many  other  sweeps,  or  ticket  lotteries, 
at  his  house  ;  of  which  sweeps  I  only  know 
that  I  never  drew  the  highest  horse  in  any  of 
them,  and  never  knew  the  sporting  character 
who  did. 

Horses  are  A.  1,  of  course,  at  the  sporting 
public,  but  dogs  are  not  despised.  The  Screw- 
tail  Club  have  a  "  show "  meeting  every 
Friday  night,  followed  by  a  harmonic  meeting. 
At  the  "  show,"  comparisons  take  place,  and 
the  several  qualifications  are  discussed  of 
spaniels,  terriers,  greyhounds,  and  almost 
every  other  kind  of  canine  quadruped.  Dark 
whiskered  men  in  velveteen  shooting-coats, 
loom  mysteriously  about  the  bar  on  show- 
nights.  In  their  pockets  they  have  dogs  ;  to 
them  enter  "parties,"  or  agents  of  "parties" 
who  have  lost  the  said  "  dogs  " — flagons  of 
beer,  and  noggins  of  Geneva  without  number, 
are  discussed  to  bind  bargains,  or  "wet" 
bargains,  or  as  portions  of  the  "  regulars,"  to 
•which  the  agents  or  their  assigns  are  entitled. 

Who  comes  to  the  sporting  public-house  1 
Who  drinks  in  its  bar  and  parlour  1  Who  puffs 
in  its  smoking-room  1 — who,  but  the  sallow- 
faced  little  man,  with  the  keen  black  eye  and 
the  bow-legs — swathed  in  thick  shawls  and 
coats — who,  every  Derby-day,  bursts  on  your 
admiring  gaze,  all  pink  silk,  snowy  buck- 
skins, and  mirror-like  tops,  as  a  jockey  ?  Who 
but  "  Nemo,"  who  offers  you  an  undeniable 
*'  tip,"  and  "  Mendax,"  with  his  never-failing 
"  pick  ? " — who  come  incog.,  indeed,  but  still 
«ome  to  see  without  being  seen  ?  Who,  but 
that  fool  of  all  fools — that  dupe,  of  all  dupes 
— that  gull  of  all  gulls — the  sporting  fool,  the 
sporting  dupe,  the  sporting  gent !  He  (brain- 
less youth)  who  has  "good  information"  about 
Hawkeye,  who  "lays  out  his  money"  upon 
Buster  ;  who  backs  Pigeon  for  the  "  double 
event ; "  who  "  stands  to  win "  by  every 
horse,  and  loses  by  them  all ;  who  is  so 
stupendously  knowing,  and  is  so  stupidly  and 
grievously  plucked  by  the  most  transparent 
sharpers  upon  earth  ! 

London,_  the  great  city  of  refuge  for  exiles 
of  all  nations,  the  home  or  place  of  sojourn 
for  foreign  ambassadors,  foreign  merchants, 
foreign  singers,  cooks,  artists,  watchmakers, 
sugar -bakers,  organ-grinders,  and  hair- 
dressers, has  necessarily  also  its  public-houses, 
favoured  by  the  more  especial  and  peculiar 
patronage  of  foreigners  temporarily  or 
permanently  resident  in  the  metropolis.  The 
toreigner  can  take  his  glass,  and  imbibe  his 


"  grogs  "  with  as  much  pleasure  as  the  true 
Briton  ;  although,  perhaps,  with  somewhat 
more  moderation,  and  less  table- thumping, 
lass-replenishing,  waiter-bullying,  and  sub- 
sequent uneven  and  uncertain  locomotion.  It 
is  a  great  mistake  to  imagine  that  foreigners 
cannot  appreciate  and  do  not  occasionally  in- 
dulge in  conviviality  ;  only  they  generally  con- 
tent themselves  with  the  "  cheering  "  portion 
of  the  cup,  eschewing  its  "inebriating"  part. 

Let  us  essay  a  pull  at  the  beer-engine  of 
one  of  the  foreign  hostelries  of  London — 
the  refugees'  house  of  call.  Herr  Brutus 
Eselskopf,  the  landlord,  is  a  refugee  himself, 
a  patriot  without  a  blot  on  his  political 
scutcheon.  He  has  been  a  general  of  brigade 
in  his  time  ;  but  he  has  donned  the  Boniface 
apron,  and  affiliated  himself  to  the  Boniface 
guild,  and  dispenses  his  liquors  with  as  much 
unconcern  as  if  he  had  never  worn  epaulettes 
and  a  cocked  hat,  and  had  never  seen  real 
troops  with  real  bands  and  banners  defile 
before  him.  Where  shall  his  house  be  ?  In 
the  purlieus  of  Oxford  Street,  near  Leicester 
Square,  or  in  the  centre  of  that  maze  of 
crooked,  refugee-hau  nted  little  streets  between 
Saint  Martin's  Lane  and  Saint  Anne's  Church, 
Soho  ?  Go  for  Soho  !  Go  for  a  mean,  un- 
pretending-looking little  house  of  entertain- 
ment at  the  corner  of  a  street,  a  Tadmor  in  the 
wilderness,  set  up  by  Herr  Brutus  Eselskopf 
for  the  behoof  of  his  brothers  in  exile. 

No  very  marked  difference  can  at  first  be 
discerned,  as  regards  fittings  up  and  appur- 
tenances, between  the  refugees'  and  any  other 
public-house.  There  is  a  bar,  and  a  barmaid, 
there  is  a  beer-engine  and  there  are  beer- 
drinkers  ;  and  were  it  not  that  the  land- 
lord wears  a  Turkish  cap  with  blue  tassels, 
and  a  beard  and  moustachios  of  prodi- 
gious magnitude,  all  of  which  are  rather 
out  of  the  common  or  Britannic  order  of 
things,  you  might  fancy  yourself  at  an 
English  public-house.  But  five  minutes' 
sojourn  therein,  and  five  minutes'  observation 
of  the  customers,  will  soon  convince  you  to 
the  contrary.  Herr  Eselskopf's  little  back 
parlour  is  filled,  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
with  foreigners  under  political  clouds  of 
various  degrees  of  density,  and  in  a  cloud  of 
uniform  thickness  and  of  strong  tobacco, 
emitted  in  many-shaped  fumes  from  pipes  of 
eccentric  design.  By  the  fire,  reading  the 
"Allegemeine  Zeitung"  or  "  Ost-Deutsche 
Post,"  and  occasionally  indulging  in  muttered 
invectives  against  the  crowned  heads  of 
Europe,  generally,  and  the  Emperor  of  Austria 
in  particular,  is  that  valiant  republican  Sparta- 
cus  Bursch,  erst  P.H.D.  of  the  University  of 
Heidelberg,  then  on  no  pay,  but  with  brevet 
rank,  behind  a  barricade  formed  of  an 
omnibus,  two  water-carts  and  six  paving- 
stones  at  Frankfort  ;  subsequently  and  after- 
wards of  the  Charite  Hospital  at  Berlin, 
possessor  of  a  broken  leg  ;  afterwards  of  the 
fortress  of  Ehrenbreitstein,  condemned  to  im- 
prisonment for  life ;  afterwards  of  Paris, 


254 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


France,  Red  Republican,  manufacturer  of 
lucifer-ruatches,  affilie  of  several  secret 
societies,  chemical  lecturer,  contractor  for 
paving  roads,  usher  in  a  boarding-school ; 
tli  en  of  Orau,  Algeria,  private  soldier  in  the 
Foreign  Legion  ;  then  of  Burgos,  Santander, 
St.  Sebastian,  and  Passajes,  warrior  in  the 
Spanish  service,  Car  list  or  Christino  by  turns; 
then  of  Montevideo ;  then  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  professor  in  the  colleges  of 
Gouveville,  Va.,  and  Ginslingopolis,  Ga.  ;  bar- 
man at  a  liquor  store,  professor  of  languages, 
and  marker  at  a  New  Orleans  billiard-room  ; 
subsequently  and  ultimately  of  London,  pro- 
moter of  a  patent  for  extracting  vinegar 
from  white  lead,  keeper  of  a  cigar-shop,  pro- 
fessor of  fencing,  calisthenics,  and  Gez-man 
literature  ;  and  latterly  out  of  any  trade  or 
occupation. 

There  is  likewise  to  be  found  here,  the  Polish 
colonel  with  one  arm,  Count  Schottischyrinkski 
playing  draughts  with  Professor  Toddiegraff, 
lately  escaped  from  Magdeburg  ;  Captain 
Scartaffaccio,  who  has  fought  bravely  imder 
Charles  Albert,  at  Novara,  and  for  the  Danes 
in  Schleswig  Holstein,  and  against  the  French 
on  the  battlements  of  Rome,  and  under 
Manin,  at  Venice,  against  the  Austrians  ; 
also  there  may  be  encountered  sundry  re- 
fugees of  the  vielle  souche — the  old  style,  in 
fact  —  men  who  can  remember  the  Grand 
Duke  Constantine,  the  knout,  nose-slitting, 
and  Siberia  ;  who  have  been  St.  Sirno- 
nians,  and  Carbonaros,  and  Setembrists  ; 
who  can  tell  you  grirn  stories  of  the  piombi 
of  Venice,  of  Prussian  citadels,  and  Italian 
galleys,  of  the  French  cellular  vans,  and  the 
oubliettes  of  Spielberg.  But  the  last  few  years, 
and  the  almost  European  revolt  that  followed 
the  Revolution  of  1848,  has  brought  to  Eng- 
land a  new  class  of  refugees,  somewhat  looked 
down  on,  it  must  be  said,  by  the  old  hands, 
the  matriculated  in  barricades,  and  those  who 
have  gone  in  for  honours  in  street  combats, 
but  still  welcomed  by  them  as  brothers  in 
adversity.  These  are  enthusiastic  young  ad- 
vocates, zealous  young  sons  of  good  families, 
patriotic  officers,  who  have  thrown  up  their 
commissions  under  despot  standards  to  fight 
for  liberty,  freedom-loving  literary  men,  re- 
publican journalists,  Socialist  workmen.  These 
poor  fellows  have  been  hunted  from  frontier 
to  frontier  on  the  Continent,  like  mad-dogs. 
Half  of  them  have  been  condemned  to  death 
in  their  own  country,  many  of  them  forced  to 
fly  from  home,  and  kindred  and  friends,  and 
occupation,  for  deeds  or  thoughts  expressed 
in  print  or  writing,  which  ministers  or  govern- 
ments would  take,  here,  more  as  compli- 
ments than  otherwise.  They  manage  things 
differently  abroad  ;  and  so  there  are  in 
London  many  public-houses  and  coffee-shops 
always  full  of  refugees.  Harmless  enough 
they  are,  these  unfortunate  forestieri.  There 
are  black  sheep  among  them,  certainly ;  but  St. 
Wapshot's  sainted  fold  itself  has,  sometimes, 
muttons  of  suspicious  hue  amongst  its  snowy 


fleeces.  There  are  refugees  who  cheat  a  little 
sometimes  at  billiards,  and  who  rob  their  fur- 
nished lodgings,  and  attempt  to  pass  bad  half- 
crowns,  and  forge  Prussian  bank-notes  (I  never 
could  find  out  how  they  could  pay  for  forging, 
for  their  value  appears  to  vary  between  two- 
pence-halfpenny and  sixpence).  There  are 
refugees  who  get  up  sham  testimonials,  and 
are  connected  with  swindling  companies  and 
gambling  cigar -shops ;  but  consider  how 
many  thousands  of  them  here  in  London, 
born  and  bred  gentlemen,  who  have  lost 
everything  in  the  maintenance  of  what  they 
conscientiously  believed  to  be  the  right  against 
might,  live  quietly,  honestly,  inoffensively, 
doing  no  harm,  existing  on  infinitesimal 
means,  working  hard  for  miserable  remu- 
neration, willing  to  do  anything  for  a  crust, 
teaching  languages  for  sixpence  a  lesson, 
painting  portraits  for  a  shilling  apiece, 
taking  out  lessons  on  the  flute  or  piano- 
forte in  bread  or  meat  !  We  give  them  foot- 
room,  to  be  sure,  but  little  more  ;  and  stout 
John  Bull,  with  all  his  antipathy  to  foreigners, 
may  sometimes  melt  at  the  sight  of  a  burly 
Polish  major  of  heavy  dragoons,  explaining 
the  intricacies  of  an  Italian  verb  to  the  young 
ladies  in  a  boarding-school,  or  a  Professor 
of  moral  philosophy  selling  cigars  on  commis- 
sion for  his  livelihood.  They  live,  somehow, 
these  poor  foreigners,  much  as  the  young 
ravens  do,  I  opine  ;  yet  they  meet  sometimes 
at  Herr  Eselskopt 's,  in  Soho,  or  at  some  French 
or  Polish  or  Italian  public-house  in  the  same 
refugee  neighbourhood,  and  take  their  social 
glass,  drinking  to  better  times,  when  they 
shall  enjoy  their  own  again.  Meanwhile, 
they  accommodate  themselves,  as  best  they 
may,  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  their 
step -fatherland,  forgetting  Rhine  wines  and 
Bavarian  beer,  and  such  foreign  beverages  for 
the  nonce,  and  living  humbly,  industriously, 
contentedly,  good-humouredly,  on  such  poor 
meats  and  drinks  as  they  can  get. 

I  call  these  refugees  (and  they  form  the 
great  majority  of  the  exiles  in  London)  the 
quiescent  ones ;  but  there  are  also  the  in- 
candescent ones,  the  roaring,  raging,  ram- 
paging, red-hot  refugees ;  the  amateurs  in 
vitriol,  soda-water  bottles  full  of  gunpowder, 
and  broken  bottles  for  horses'  hoofs  ;  the 
throwers  of  grand  piano-fortes  from  first 
floor  windows  on  soldiers'  heads,  the  cutters 
off  of  dragoons'  feet,  the  impalers  of  artillery- 
men. There  are  some  of  these  men  in 
London.  Where  do  they  meet  1  Not  at 
Herr  Eselskopf's,  certainly.  They  did  fre- 
quent his  establishment ;  but  since  Hector 
Chalamot,  ex-silkweaver  from  Lyons,  at- 
tempted to  bite  off  the  nose  of  Captain 
Sprottleowski,  on  the  question  of  assassinating 
the  King  of  Prussia :  which  little  rixe  was 
followed  by  Teufelshand,  delegate  of  the 
United  Society  of  Brother  Butchers,  demand- 
ing the  heads  of  the  company :  and  by 
little  Doctor  Pferdschaff  insisting  on  singing 
his  "  Tod-lied"  or  Hymn  to  the  Guillotine, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NOTES  FROM  NORWAY. 


to  the  tune  of  the  Hundredth  Psalm, — 
since  these  events,  good  Herr  Eselskopf 
would  have  none  of  them.  They  met  after 
that  at  a  little  gastliaus  in  Whitechapel, 
formerly  known  as  the  "  SchinJcenundbrod"  or 
German  sandwich  house;  but  Strauss,  the 
landlord,  in  compliment  to  the  severe  political 
principles  of  his  guests,  rechristened  it  under 
the  title  of  the  "  Tyrants'  Entrails."  Liberty, 
equality,  and  fraternity  were  here  the  order 
of  the  day,  until  Dominico  Schiavonne  was 
stabbed  by  an  Italian  seaman  from  the  docks, 
because  he  was  a  Roman  ;  the  assassin  being 
subsequently  knived  himself  by  another  sea- 
man, because  he  was  a  Tuscan. 

Well,  well !  Can  ever  a  pot  boil  without 
some  scum  at  the  top  ?  There  is  bellow  and 
black  smoke  as  well  as  a  bullet  to  every 
blunderbuss. 


NOTES  FROM  NORWAY. 

SUMMER     AMONG    THE     FARMERS. 

IN  a  country  which,  like  Norway,  can  hardly 
be  said  to  possess  more  than  two  seasons, 
summer  and  winter,  one  must  "  make  hay 
while  the  sun  shines."  The  frost  is  generally 
in  the  ground  from  October  till  May,  or  the 
beginning  of  June,  and  none  of  the  chance 
thaws  pierce  the  surface  of  the  soil  when  it 
is  once  fast  frozen.  Frequently  the  crops  are 
scarcely  cleared  and  there  remains  no  time  for 
ploughing,  before  winter  takes  the  farms  into 
its  keeping.  Nevertheless,  when  he  has  once 
broken  the  ice,  the  sun  is  anything  bxit  bashful, 
and  his  small  talk,  in  the  shape  of  vegetation, 
springs  up  with  a  wonderful  rapidity.  A 
doubtful  summer  is  a  certain  loss  ;  for  the 
short  season  does  not  permit  of  waste  time  to 
be  recovered.  Even  in  ordinary  years,  many 
little  devices,  equally  unknown  and  unneces- 
sary in  our  more  favoured  land,  are  employed 
to  help  the  farmer  forward. 

The  hay-season  lasts  from  the  end  of  July 
to  the  end  of  August  or  beginning  of  Sep- 
tember ;  all  hands  are  pressed  into  the  service, 
and  the  horse  demanded  by  the  traveller  who 
journeys  post,  is  very  grudgingly  bestowed. 
The  hay-field  itself  has  not  an  English  look  ; 
the  stunted  grass  is  thickly  interspersed  with 
weeds  and  wild  flowers  of  many  kinds,  among 
which  one  sees  commonly  the  tall  French 
willow. 

Women,  as  well  as  men,  are  employed  in 
mowing,  and  the  cut  grass  is  usually  hung  on 
racks  about  the  field,  to  catch  every  ray  of 
sun  and  every  breath  of  wind.  When  it  is 
dry  enough,  they  take  it  home  on  hay  sledges 
— carts  resembling  a  cattle-crib  set  011  wooden 
skates,  with  two  little  wheels  behind,  not 
larger  than  a  pair  of  dinner  plates.  These 
carry  a  very  light  load,  and  contrast  greatly 
with  our  large  and  solid  hay-carts.  The  hay 
in  the  sledges  is  conveyed,  not  to  a  rick-yard, 
but  into  the  upper  story  of  the  large  barn 
which  forms  part  of  every  homestead.  It  goes 
up  by  means  of  an  inclined  plane,  generally 


formed  of  logs  laid  crosswise,  up  which  the 
sledge  goes,  horses  and  all.  In  the  landing 
at  the  top  it  is  unloaded,  the  hay  being  con- 
veniently deposited  in  the  loft  over  the  stable. 
But  hay  is  not  the  only  food  housed  for  the 
maintenance  of  cattle  during  the  long  winter. 
Straw  is  chopped  up  for  them,  and  the  leaves 
of  many  trees  (such  as  the  alder,  poplar,  &c.) 
are  used  to  eke  out  other  provisions.  As 
autumn  comes  on,  one  may  see  women  and 
children  busily  at  work  laying  bare  the 
anatomy  of  these  trees,  and  carrying  the 
leaves  home  in  bundles  on  their  heads.  The 
people  even  pay  a  rent  to  the  owners  for  a  right 
to  secure  this  addition  to  their  winter  stores. 

The  hay-season  is  closely  followed  by  the 
harvest.  Wheat  is  not  much  grown  ;  it  is 
only  here  and  there  that  there  occur  small 
patches  of  it,  and  what  I  have  seen  has  been 
so  thin  and  poor,  that  it  certainly  seemed 
scarcely  to  repay  the  cost  of  cultivation. 
Barley  and  rye  are  the  customary  crops,  with, 
perhaps,  nearly  an  equal  quantity  of  oats. 
Here,  again,  women  are  to  be  seen  at  work 
reaping,  almost  as  frequently  as  men.  The 
corn  is  cut  very  close  to  the  ground,  to  secure 
as  much  of  the  straw  as  possible.  After  lying 
a  few  days,  it  is  stacked  for  drying  and  ripen- 
ing, but  not  quite  in  the  same  manner  as  the 
hay.  At  regular  intervals  throughout  the 
field  are  planted  stout  strong  poles  of  ten  or 
twelve  feet  high  ;  to  these  the  sheaves  are 
bound  from  top  to  bottom,  all  the  heads  being 
turned  towards  the  south,  the  warmest 
quarter,  to  ripen.  This  arrangement  gives 
the  corn-field  a  most  curious  appearance,  par- 
ticularly towards  evening,  when  the  sun  is 
low  and  the  long  shadows  fall  slanting  from 
each  laden  pole  ;  the  fields  then  seem  to  be 
alive  with  giants.  Sometimes,  the  corn  is  cut  so 
green  that  it  remains  standing  in  this  way  even 
during  the  first  frosts.  Now  and  then  I  have 
seen  it  hung  out  on  horizontal  beams,  pro- 
tected by  a  roof  from  some  part  of  the  cold, 
while  the  wind  had  full  liberty  to  travel 
through  the  building.  After  all,  it  will 
occasionally  happen  that  none  of  these  means 
properly  succeed  ;  so  it  was,  for  instance,  in 
the  autumn  of  1851,  when  the  rye  was  very 
green  and  damp,  and  rye  being  the  staple 
food  of  the  people,  a  great  deal  of  sickness 
was  occasioned. 

Oats  are  used  very  much  for  flacl-brod, 
which  closely  resembles  the  Scotch  bannock  ; 
it  is  oatmeal  rolled  out  to  the  thinnest  possible 
extent,  and  being  skilfully  transferred  by 
means  of  a  couple  of  irons  or  sticks  to  a  girdle 
or  round  plate  of  iron,  supported  on  a  tripod 
over  a  bright  wood  fire,  it  is  there  allowed  to 
bake  for  about  five  minutes,  being  turned  two 
or  three  times  during  that  space  of  time.  It 
is  then  piled  up  on  a  hanging  raft,  such  as  is 
used  for  bacon  in  our  midland  counties.  When 
crisp,  this  oat-cake  is  really  excellent,  much 
better  than  flad-brod  made  of  wheaten-flour ; 
for  that  is  disagreeably  insipid. 

Another  piece  of  autumnal  farm  business 


256 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


in  Norway,  pleasant  to  witness,  is  the  bringing 
home  the  cattle  from  the  Sceters  up  the  fjeld, 
whither  they  are  sent  at  the  beginning  of  the 
summer.  They  are  brought  down  in  the 
middle  of  September,  either  for  sale  to  avoid 
the  expense  of  feeding  them  through  the  long 
winter,  or  to  be  kept  in  close  confinement  in 
the  cow-house  for  the  next  eight  or  nine 
months.  In  either  case  it  is  a  dreary  change 
for  them,  after  the  freedom  of  their  mountain 
pastures. 

The  herdsmen,  carrying  the  dairy  utensils, 
or  leading  horses  laden  with  them,  head  the 
procession ;  and  the  cow  bearing  the  bell 
walks  next,  the  others  diligently  following  her 
lead.  When  the  cavalcade  exchange  land 
for  water,  the  amusement  of  the  scene  begins. 
During  a  passage  of  this  kind  I  spent, 
one  day,  some  hours  at  a  ferry.  It  was 
near  the  bend  of  the  river,  which,  befog 
of  considerable  depth  and  undisturbed  by  a 
single  breeze,  reflected  the  adjoining  banks 
and  distant  mountains  with  a  like  distinct- 
ness. Some  rafts  of  timber  floating  down  had 
run  aground  close  to  the  landing-place  on  one 
side  [of  the  water,  and  about  these  many  of 
the  village  children  clambered,  laughing  in 
the  bright  rays  of  the  sun,  and  taking  their 
seats  noisily,  to  see  the  passage  of  the  cattle. 
The  ferry  itself  was,  like  many  of  ours  in 
England,  a  raft  pulled  across  the  water  by  a 
rope  ;  but  the  banks  being  at  this  point  low 
and  rather  muddy,  there  was  here  provided 
the  convenience  of  a  little  pier  of  timber  logs 
on  either  side.  As  soon  as  the  first  drove 
appeared  in  sight  over  the  hill  immediately 
opposite,  the  ferryman  pushed  over  to  meet 
them,  and  having  received  the  greater  part 
of  the  men  and  the  horses,  and  the  bell  cow — I 
suppose  because  she  was  not  a  good  swimmer 
— returned,  and  landed  them  over  the  way. 
Then  came  chaos.  The  cattle,  not  much  re- 
lishing the  sight  of  the  broad  water  before 
them,  scampered  off  in  all  directions.  Then 
there  was  a  flj'ing  abroad  of  men,  a  shouting 
and  a  fighting  with  sticks  after  escaping  tails, 
until  at  last  somebody  succeeded  in  driving 
some  two  or  three  cows  into  the  stream. 
These  swam  a  few  strokes,  and  then,  per- 
ceiving that  they  were  not  followed,  they 
rushed  back,  dripping  and  bellowing,  and 
throwing  the  whole  herd  into  a  fresh  state  of 
dismay.  Afterwards,  the  forcing  of  the  first 
few  cows  into  the  river,  seemed  at  once  to 
gain  for  the  herdsmen  the  contested  point. 
The  success  would  seem  then  to  be  too  great. 
The  cattle  all  rush  on  towards  the  water,  and 
pressed  one  upon  another  with  so  much  im- 
petuosity that  they  arrived,  quite  unawares, 
at  the  edge  of  the  little  pier  which  overhung 
the  margin  of  the  river.  Then,  of  course, 
suddenly  the  forefeet  missed  their  footing, 
and,  with  an  involuntary  plunge  head  fore- 
most, cow  after  cow  completely  disappeared, 
a  flourish  of  the  tail  being  the  last  thing 
visible.  That  cow  was  happy  who,  upon  re- 
covering her  balance,  was  not  immediately 


tumbled  over  and  again  sent  to  the  bottom. 
Once  fairly  afloat  upon  the  stream  the  whole 
energy  of  the  herd  was  spent  in  making 
haste  to  get  out  on  the  other  side.  The 
swimmers  all  threw  back  their  heads,  and 
struggled  boldly  forward,  bellowing  by  the 
way  for  want  of  thought ;  and,  since  no  part 
was  visible  except  the  top  of  their  heads,  the 
surface  of  the  whole  water  bristled  with 
horns.  The  endeavours  of  the  cattle  to  climb 
the  opposite  bank  on  landing  were  most 
ungainly,  and  contrasted  with  the  grace- 
ful rising  of  the  horses  from  the  water. 
These  being  again  laden,  and  the  cows  having 
shaken,  themselves  to  the  best  of  their 
ability,  the  cavalcade  moved  forward.  The 
men  attendant  on  it  formed  a  picturesque 
part  of  the  whole  scene,  dressed  as  they  were 
in  the  peculiar  costumes  of  their  various  dis- 
tricts, which  is  not  unlike  that  of  the  Tyrolese ; 
but,  in  addition,  they  often  wear  silver  brooches 
of  considerable  value  and  curious  designs,  con- 
nected, now  and  then,  by  silver  chains.  They 
speak  the  real  old  Norsk,  in  contradistinction 
to  the  modem  language  so  called,  which  is  in 
reality  Danish.  They  are  rich  in  legends  and 
historical  traditions  to  pour  out  on  those  who 
speak  with  them,  but  they  mistrust  the 
modern  dialect,  and  are  only  confidential 
when  they  are  talked  with  in  their  mother 
tongue,  and  softened  by  a  friendly  pipe. 

For  a  few  days  droves  passed  the  ferry 
four  or  five  times  in  the  course  of  the  twenty- 
four  hours,  varying  in  numbers  from  a  herd 
of  fifty  to  one  of  nearly  two  hundred  head. 
Afterwards,  there  was  scarcely  a  cow  to  be 
seen  in  all  the  country  round  ;  every  ox  was 
a  stalled  ox,  and  lived  in  the  warmed  cow- 
house in  company  with  sheep,  ducks,  fowls, 
and,  in  short,  the  whole  live  stock  belonging 
to  his  owner.  If  he  was  not  to  see  another 
summer  he  awaited  there  his  fate  at  the 
November  slaughtering. 

Autumn  is  also,  in  Norway,  the  season 
for  sending  timber  down  from  high  land 
forests  to  the  sea-ports  at  the  mouths  of 
rivers,  along  which  it  is  floated.  While 
falls  and  rapids  interrupt  the  river  logs 
are  sent  down  singly,  each  marked  after 
the  owner's  fashion.  When  they  reach  the 
lower  country  and  such  obstacles  have  all 
been  passed,  they  are  collected  into  rafts  of 
tolerable  size,  so  that  they  support  several 
men  and  boys,  who  guide  them  on  their  way, 
and  now  and  then  afford  means  of  conveyance 
to  chance  passengers.  On  their  arrival  at  the 
port  the  rafts  are  broken  up,  and  shipped  for 
foreign  countries.  Holland  receives  from 
Norway  the  chief  portion  of  the  smaller 
timber,  France  being  the  best  customer  for 
timber  of  a  better  quality. 

FROSTY  WEATHKR. 

A  WINTER  in  Norway  is  more  note-worthy 
than  summer,  according  to  the  notions  of  nil 
English  stranger.  In  the  first  place,  the  cold 
is  much  more  thorough  than  we  get  it  at 


Chartea  Dickens.] 


NOTES  FROM  NORWAY. 


257 


home,  though  not  equal  to  that  felt  in  other 
countries  having  the  same  latitude  ;  and  the 
measures  taken  against  it  are  manifold — for 
the  Norwegians  are  as  fond  lovers  of  heat  as 
people  usually  are  of  a  good  thing  whereof 
they  never  have  been  sickened  by  satiety. 
The  large  stoves,  which  are  used  alike  in 
sitting  and  sleeping  rooms,  are  lavishly  sup- 
plied with  wood,  and  produce  a  temperature, 
high  and  dry,  which  bakes  an  Englishman 
alive.  I  used  frequently  to  feel  that  I  was 
beginning  to  be  cooked  about  the  temples, 
particularly  when  I  came  into  a  hot  room 
after  walking  or  driving.  The  cold  is  not 
only  burnt  out,  but  also  shut  out  by  double 
glass  windows,  which,  when  once  put  up, 
remain  immovably  closed  till  they  are  taken 
down  in  spring  ;  so,  very  little  genuine  fresh 
air  can  find  admittance,  during  winter,  into  a 
Norwegian  house. 

The  sledge  takes  the  place  of  the  carriole 
for  travelling — a  very  pleasant  exchange  ;  for 
a  swift  slide  over  the  white  snow,  glittering 
about  one  like  a  diamond  desert  in  the  sun- 
shine, is  very  joyous  exercise.  Sledges  are 
both  single  and  double  :  the  former  is  very 
much  like  the  body  of  a  carriole,  set  upon 
skates  ;  the  whole  carriage  is  not  three  feet 
from  the  ground,  and,  of  course,  light.  The 
double  sledge  —  which  holds  two  persons 
sitting  side  by  side,  with  the  addition  of  a 
perch  behind  for  a  driver,  or  sometimes  a 
double-seat — is  both  a  much  more  consider- 
able and  much  more  comfortable  affair, 
inasmuch  as  one  can  sit  in  it  instead  of  being 
half- reclined.  A  bearskin  kaross  covers  the 
knees,  and  is  strapped  at  the  upper  corners 
to  tire  back  of  the  sledge,  making  an  exceed- 
ingly snug  apron.  A  pair  of  strong  little 
horses  are  set  between  shafts,  which  spring 
from  the  curve  of  the  sledge  or  skate  ;  they 
wear  bells  on  their  collars,  sometimes  six  or 
eight  in  number,  and  these  shall  make  music 
wherever  they  go.  The  use  of  this  music  is 
to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  railway-whistle, 
warning  other  carriages  of  an  approach,  which 
otherwise,  upon  the  noiseless  surface  of  the 
snow,  might  escape  notice  now  and  then,  and 
be  the  cause  of  serious  collisions.  When  the 
snow  is  really  deep,  there  is  a  track  formed 
for  the  sledges,  by  means  of  a  snow-plough, 
Vfhich  is  a  frame  of  wood,  in  shape  something- 
like  the  letter  V.  The  horse  is  harnessed  to 
the  point  of  the  wedge,  and,  being  slowly 
driven  on,  pushes  the  snow  into  a  ridge  on 
each  side  as  he  proceeds. 

The  travelling  dress,  too,  is  curious,  but 
well  adapted  to  the  climate  in  which  it  is 
worn.  A  gentleman's  outer  garment  is  a  wolf- 
skin coat,  made  with  the  fur  outside,  and 
thickly  wadded  within  ;  it  has  a  high  collar, 
which  can  be  raised  to  protect  the  neck  and 
head  ;  all  is  bound  close  to  the  body  by  a 
scarf,  either  knitted  or  woven,  which  is  some 
six  or  seven  yards  long  ;  this  bandage,  after 
acting  as  a  comforter  to  the  throat,  is  passed 
two  or  three  times  round  the  waist,  and  firmly 


tied.  This  is  called  a  travelling  scarf,  and  is 
considered  quite  a  necessary  part  of  human 
trapping.  The  gentleman  wears,  further- 
more, a  fur  cap,  generally  of  otter  or  seal- 
skin— as  these  are  the  skins  most  impervious 
to  wet — which  is  provided  with  a  deep  shade, 
and  has  flaps,  to  be  tied  down  over  the  ears. 
Large  knitted  woollen  gloves,  frequently  made 
like  children's  gloves,  with  one  division  for 
the  fingers  and  another  for  the  thumb  to  cover 
his  hands  ;  such  gloves  being  warmer  than 
those  in  which  the  fingers  are  all  separated. 
Finally,  to  complete  his  equipment,  he  steps 
into  a  pair  of  over-boots,  which  reach  nearly 
to  the  knee,  or  higher,  and  are  generally 
lined  with  sheep-skin.  These  boots  are  made 
large  enough  to  be  drawn  over  those  in 
common  use,  and  are  indispensable  for  walking 
through  deep  snow. 

A  lady's  dress  is  less  remarkable,  although 
the  thickly-wadded  stuff  bonnet  has  an  odd 
appearance.  She  wears  great  boots,  like 
those  just  mentioned,  but  not  quite  so  high, 
nor  so  heavy,  though  quite  massive  enough. 
On  stepping  into  the  sledge,  she  finds  there  a 
large  sack,  lined  either  with  wolf  or  sheep- 
skin ;  it  is  rather  longer  before  than  behind  ; 
into  this  she  gets,  and  being  carefully  tucked 
in  by  the  servant,  sits  down,  and  drawing  the 
long  end  up  as  high  as  she  pleases,  is  thus 
completely  poked  out  of  the  way  of  cold. 

In  strange  contrast  to  the  couple  within 
the  sledge,  the  boy  who  goes  to  drive,  or  take 
care  of  the  horses,  springs  upon  his  airy 
perch  behind,  with  no  extra  wraps  about  him 
beyond  the  boots,  mits,  and  a  comforter  round 
his  neck.  But,  then,  happy  fellow !  he  is 
constantly  in  motion,  either  running  up  the 
hills,  or  giving  his  weight  behind,  to  prevent  the 
sledge  from  sliding  down  too  rapidly.  So  sharp 
is  the  cold,  that  a  very  short  time  covers  the 
coats  of  the  horses  and  the  kaross  with  hoar- 
frost ;  and  the  breach  falls  on  beard,  or  veil, 
or  anything  within  reach,  in  a  white  powder. 

The  winter  scenery  is  grand  and  striking. 
The  snow  hangs  so  magnificently  on  the  tall 
fir-trees,  so  heavily  that  the  strong  thick 
branches  are  borne  down  with  the  weight. 
Generally ,  at  this  season,  the  sun  is  so  low  in 
the  sky  that  it  does  not  rise  so  far  above  the 
overhanging  rocks  as  to  allow  the  narrow 
valleys  a  great  share  of  sunshine.  Then,  when 
emerging  from  a  valley  one  comes  suddenly 
upon  an  opening,  the  effect  is  doubly  beautiful ; 
the  light  falls  so  brilliantly  on  the  sparkling 
snow,  broken  by  the  encumbered  stems  and 
branches,  while  some  distant  rock  casts  a  deep 
shade  over  the  back-gound,  and  provides  a 
foil  for  the  surrounding  glitter.  At  night 
"  the  moon  shines  bright  as  day,"  and  the 
northern  lights,  though  not  very  common, 
now  and  then  come  out  to  play.  They  vary 
in  some  degree  from  such  lights  as  we  see  in 
England,  being  very  seldom  of  that  elegant 
rose-colour  which  we  admire  so  much.  They 
spring  up  faintly  in  the  north,  increasing  in 
brilliancy  as  they  get  gradually  towards  the 


258 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


zenith,  which  becomes  the  centre  from  which 
flickering  beams  radiate,  being  in  form  like 
the  beams  of  a  gigantic  dome.  Across  these 
there  is  a  horizontal  current  of  light  con- 
stantly fluctuating,  now  bright,  now  com- 
pletely vanished,  .sometimes  two  such  current; 
cross  each  other's  path,  producing  rainbow 
tints  ;  but  otherwise  it  is  all  colourless  as 
moonshine.  It  is  a  fact,  with  rare  exceptions, 
that  the  aurora  will  come  out  to  play  only  on 
moonlight  nights  ;  and  it  plays,  a.s  might  be 
supposed,  very  seldom  in  the  southern  quarter 
of  the  heavens.  In  mild  weather  it  is  con- 
sidered by  the  Norwegians  to  foretell  rain, 
and  in  cold  weather  snow. 

Delightful  as  the  exercise  of  sledging  is  in 
Norway,  it  must  be  still  more  so  in  Russia,  or 
any  country  where  one  may  glide  alon 
Avithout  finding  much  inequality  of  hill  an 
dale.  In  Norway  one  may  judge  of  this  in 
some  degree  by  the  ease  and  rapidity  with 
which  the  sledge  flies  over  the  smooth  surface 
of  the  frozen  rivers,  which  in  winter  become 
high-roads.  Fences  are  broken  down,  and 
gates  taken  off  their  hinges,  to  make  a  way  of 
getting  to  the  river,  and  thereby  saving  a  cir- 
cuitous route  up  and  down  hill.  In  places 
where,  from  a  neighbouring  fall  or  other 
causes,  the  ice  is  not  firm  enough  to  be 
trustworthy,  a  winter  bridge  is  thrown  across, 
formed  of  trees  cut  into  equal  lengths,  laid 
horizontally,  while  others  placed  longitudi- 
nally at  each  side  bind  them  together.  So  it 
floats  like  a  bridge  of  boats  till  the  ice  binds 
it  fast  in  its  position. 

Those  who  are  not  driving,  but  making  their 
way  on  foot,  have  also  a  means  of  getting  over 
the  ground  very  speedily  in  the  shape  of  a  mi- 
niature sledge,  called  a  koelke.  A  kcelke  suited 
to  the  use  of  an  adult  is  about  two  feet  long, 
by  about  fifteen  inches  broad.  It  is  merely  a 
fiat  board  placed  on  two  large  wooden  skates 
sheathed  with  iron,  and  is  furnished  with  a 
rope  in  front  by  way  of  a  handle.  These 
little  sledges  are  so  light  as  easily  to  be  pulled 
ii|)  hill  or  along  level  ground  ;  but  as  soon  as 
the  owner  reaches  a  declivity,  he  seats  himself 
on  his  kcelke,  and  darts  down  with  railway 
speed,  pulling  against  the  rope,  and  steering 
with  his  foot.  The  kcelkes  are  in  constant 
requisition ;  children  drag  them  up  the 
steepest  places  for  the  mere  fun  of  flying 
down  again  ;  while  the  man  who  has  a  load 
to  carry  finds  it  convenient  frequently  to 
place  it  on  his  koelke.  In  slippery  weather, 
especially,  whenit  is  impossible  to  descend  the 
hills  with  anything  like  despatch,  they  are 
particularly  handy,  for  the  roads  are  in  the 
best  state  for  them.  Often  after  a  thaw  fol- 
lowed by  a  frost  without  snow,  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  keep  one's  footing,  without  iron 
spikes,  which  are  strapped  over  the  boots 
round  the  instep  and  ankle.  Skates  are  not 
much  used,  for  the  ice  is  not  so  suitable  for 
skating  as  in  England.  It  is  made  rough 
with  traffic,  and  becomes  very  soon  covered 
with  snow. 


A  far  more  useful  and  general  winter 
amusement,  is  provided  by  the  skier  or  snow- 
shoes.  Those  used  in  Norway  are  more 
simple  in  their  construction  than  those  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  see  brought  from  North 
America.  They  consist  merely  of  a  strip  of 
wood,  three  inches  in  breadth,  and  from  four 
to  six  feet  long,  pointed  and  turned,  up  after 
the  fashion  of  a  skate  in  front.  Across  the 
middle  is  a  strap  of  twisted  twigs,  which  fits 
over  the  instep  of  the  wearer,  in  the  same  w.-iy 
as  the  tie  of  a  clog.  The  feet  are  slipped  in, 
a  long  stick  or  pole  gives  the  first  impetus, 
and  afterwards  is  used  for  steering;  then  a\v;iy 
flies  the  traveller,  descending  the  hills  as 
swiftly  as  he  could  descend  them  with  the 
kcelkes,  and  over  level  ground  a  great  d<-al 
better.  One  sees  the  two  little  furrows 
left  by  them  as  their  track,  on  rocks  and 
steeps,  otherwise  inaccessible,  and  along 
the  ice  and  snow  of  rivers,  in  a  straight,  un- 
swerving line,  which  vouches  for  the  speed  at 
which  they  have  been  journeying.  Men 
shooting  down  a  hill,  seen  at  some  little 
distance,  look  much  more  like  birds  than 
human  creatures. 

This  kind  of  exercise  has  not  always  been  a 
pastime  only  ;  there  were,  formerly,  regiments 
who  were  exercised  on  snow  shoes,  both  in 
Norway  and  Sweden,  and  they  were  in  active 
service  during  the  war  between  the  two 
countries  in  the  beginning  of  this  century. 
It  was,  I  believe,  in  the  winter  of  1812-13, 
that  a  detachment  of  this  battalion,  belonging 
to  the  Swedish  service,  crossed  the  frontier, 
and  seizing  on  a  Norwegian  peasant,  compelled 
him,  by  threats  of  violence,  to  be  their  guide 
to  some  outposts  of  his  own  countrymen 
whom  they  were  ordered  to  surprise.  He 
consented,  but  being  a  true  patriot,  and  per- 
ceiving that  they  were  quite  ignorant  of  the 
course  they  ought  to  take,  he  determined  to 
mislead  them.  Seizing  a  torch,  he  desired 
them  to  follow,  and  shot  off  on  his  snow-shoes, 
leading  them  over  rock  and  fell  in  a  contrary 
direction,  while  they,  not  suspecting  treachery, 
implicitly  followed  his  lead. 

Presently,  they  arrived  at  the  brink  of  a 
precipice,  over  which  he  threw  his  torch,  and 
at  the  same  time  dashing  off  his  snow-shoes, 
buried  himself  in  the  snow.  The  soldiers, 
beguiled  by  the  descent  of  the  torch,  their 
leading  star,  concluded  that  they  were  only  at 
the  summit  of  a  declivity,  not  steeper  than 
others  which  they  had  already  passed,  and, 
liindered  by  the  darkness  from  perceiving  the 
manoeuvre  of  their  guide,  did  not  hesitate 
in  their  career.  So  they  were  all  shot  over 
the  precipice,  and  met  their  death  among  the 
rocks  below. 


LAST  HOMES. 


WE  are  all  born,  and  we  all  wish  to  be 
buried — not  quite  at  present — that  point  is 
settled.  But  it  still  remains  an  open  question 
aow  and  where,  we  are  to  be  disposed  of  by- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


LAST  HOMES. 


259 


and-bye.  Shall  we  be  potted  with  quick- 
lime in  a  general  mess — as  at  Naples  ;  shall 
we  be  thrust  into  places  where  we  must 
offend  and  injure  the  survivors  whom  we  now 
profess  to  love  —as  in  most  English  towns  ; 
shall  we  be  horribly  and  indescribably  put 
out  of  the  way,  after  forms  and  appearances 
have  been  complied  with — as  in  London  ;  or, 
shall  we  condescend  to  follow  the  example 
of  any  other  nation  ;  not  hesitating  even  if 
it  be  one  whose  paganism  we  may  depise,  or 
another  whose  superstitious  we  may  at  once 
fear  and  ridicule  ?  Shall  we  take  pattern  by 
any  people  whose  morals  we  slander,  our  own 
being  so  faultless  ?  Shall  we  for  once  be 
humble  enough  to  observe  what  is  done  in 
other  places,  and  then  consent  to  lay  the 
remains  of  our  departed  friends  in  some  spot 
where  they  may  continue  to  prolong  our 
tender  affections,  and  keep  our  hearts  soft  and 
unpetrified,  instead  of  becoming  a  dangerous 
nuisance,  and  a  pest  ? 

The  more  a  town  is  crowded  by  the  living, 
the  less  room  is  left  to  spare  for  the  dead. 
Usually,  when  a  place  is  thrifty,  and  its 
population  increases,  it  spreads  with  them  in 
due  proportion.  The  mass  of  dust  and  ashes 
cannot  be  piled  beyond  a  certain  height, 
without  enlarging  its  circumference.  But 
there  are  many  towns  so  circumstanced  that 
they  cannot  spread. 

"  I  wonder  how  they  manage  here  for 
churchyards,"  said  I  to  myself,  as  I  was  taking 
an  inspective  stroll  about  the  streets  of  a 
strongly  fortified  town  in  no  part  of  the  present 
British  Empire.  Every  spot  was  occupied  ; 
streets,  public  buildings,  and  the  open  spaces 
necessarily  required,  left  not  a  patch  of  ground 
appropriated  for  interments  ;  though  English- 
men might  have  found  room,  had  it  still  been 
subject  to  their  rule.  "  No  sign  of  a  church- 
yard to  be  seen  !  Curious  !  What,  then,  do 
they  do  with  their  dead  ? " 

I  continued  to  search  along  the  principal 
streets  in  vain.  Passing  through  the  gates  of 
the  town,  at  which  young,  blue-coated,  red- 
pantalooned  conscripts  were  apprenticed  as 
sentinels,  and  over  the  bridges,  on  which 
horses  and  asses  are  forbidden  to  toot,  on  pain 
of  a  fine,  I  was  in  the  country,  outside  the 
fortifications.  Not  far  removed  were  ex- 
tensive suburbs,  regularly  built,  with  tall 
chimneys,  and  large  manufactories  established 
by  the  English,  with  timber-yards,  canals,  and 
bakers'  shops,  full  of  great  loaves  a  yard  long, 
and  places  where  one  can  lodge  on  foot  or  on 
horseback,  though  I  prefer  a  night's  lodging  in 
bed.  The  main  street  was  the  one  to  follow.  At 
a  Magazine  full  of  odd  curiosities,  fitted  up  on 
purpose  to  amuse  such  of  the  straggling  English 
as  have  eyes,  I  looked  in  at  the  window, to  watch 
a  lady  in  a  bob-tailed  jacket  suiting  herself 
with  a  smart  pair  of  wooden  shoes  of  the  first 
quality  ;  but  before  she  had  decided,  a  pat- 
tering and  clattering  was  heard,  which  I 
knew  must  come  from  a  large  party  of  those 
females  who  conspire  to  starve  the  carriers 


by  an  Anti  Shoe-leather  League.  Looking 
round,  there  was  the  very  thing  I  wanted — a 
funeral. 

It  was  headed  by  the  priest,  at  a  good  stiff 
pace.  The  mourners  followed,  a  numerous 
assemblage  ;  the  men  by  themselves,  and  the 
women  with  their  shoes  by  themselves,  all 
decently  and  warmly  clad;  earnest  and  serious, 
though  their  step  would  not  have  kept  time 
to  the  Dead  March  in  Saul,  as  we  usually 
hear  it  performed.  Their  rapid  progress 
seemed  odd,  and  I  was  beginning  to  think  it 
disrespectful  to  the  deceased  ;  when  it  came 
to  mind  that  we  now  and  then  despatch  our 
departed  friends  by  Express  Trains ;  and  no 
great  harm  done  either. 

Why  did  they  move  so  quickly  1  Because 
the  distance  of  the  cemetery  from  the  town  is 
so  laudably  great ;  and,  because  time  is  a 
matter  of  measurement  in  which  there  cannot 
be  cheating.  No  day  contains  more  than  a 
certain  number  of  hours  ;  no  life  has  more 
than  a  limited  number  of  days.  The  duty 
of  interment  ought  not  to  set  aside,  but  to 
dove-tail  nicely  with,  the  other  duties  of 
life. 

The  cemetery  was  some  way  beyond  the 
wooden  shoe-shop ;  and,  not  having  pressing 
business  to  transact,  I  reached  it  leisurely. 
Entering,  not  the  funeral  gates,  but  a  little 
side-door  next  to  the  sexton's  cottage,  I  found 
myself  in  a  large  quadrangular  space,  laid  out 
on  a  very  simple  plan,  and  in  great  part  filled 
with  the  little  domains  and  narrow  tenements 
of  those  who  have  ceased  to  require  more 
space  here  below.  The  outer  portion  of  the 
area,  adjoining  the  low  inclosing  wall,  was 
divided  into  narrow  freeholds,  inscribed  with 
words  to  the  effect  that  the  ground  is  to  remain 
for  ever  unbroken,  except  by  the  family  whose 
members  repose  there.  Lasting  monuments 
of  marble  and  stone  are  appropriate  in  these 
permanent  possessions,  especially  as  they  do 
not  exclude  the  further  decorations  of  grow- 
ing flowers,  and  wreaths,  and  bouquets,  as 
tokens  of  friendship,  affection,  and  remem- 
brance. The  central  portion  was  mostly 
filled  by  occupants  not  a  perpetuite,  but  with 
a  reasonable  time  allowed  for  their  dissolution. 
Here,  consequently,  the  memorial  tablets 
were  almost  all  of  wood.  Those  dropping 
nearly  to  decay  would  indicate  that  the  bodies 
beneath  them  had,  likewise,  advanced  in  the 
same  natural  course  of  yielding  up  their 
elements  to  nature.  In  a  sunny  portion  of  a 
further  part  of  the  cemetery,  the  English  lie, 
all  interred  together. 

Even  if  what  we  call  natural  feeling  is  the 
same  all  the  world  over,  (which  some  have 
doubted,)  the  modes  of  expressing  it  certainly 
vary  exceedingly  among  nations.  What  is 
only  conventional  propriety  among  one  people, 
is  thought  almost  ludicrous  by  another.  Here, 
a  heart-shaped  tablet  is  used  to  denote  true 
cordial  love.  Some,  too,  will  allow  opinions 
and  matters  of  faith  to  creep  out,  which 
!  others  would  conceal.  Thus,  after  "  Here 


260 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


reposes  the  body  of  Nainsee  Gleneur,"  a 
strange  apostrophe  to  the  dead  is  added ; 
"  Friendship,  esteem,  and  regrets  follow  thee 
to  the  tomb  in  the  eternal  night  where  thou 
hast  descended.  .Receive,  O  tender  daughter, 
a  confession  of  grief.  Thy  relations,  thy 
friends,  while  watching  over  thy  ashes,  will 
bless  thy  virtues,  and  will  shed  tears." 

Well ;  teai-s,  we  know,  are  a  frequent  accom- 
paniment of  sorrow  :  and,  accordingly,  at  the 
bottom  cf  the  inscription  on  most  of  these 
wooden  gravestones,  are  painted  large  black 
tears,  as  fitting  emblems,  but  looking  more 
like  bulls'  eyes,  or  Prince  Eupert's  crackers, 
made  of  bottle-glass,  than  anything  else  which 
is  usually  seen.  It  must  be  a  peculiarly  con- 
stituted eye  to  weep  such  inky  monsters. 
The  usual  number  depicted  is  three.  Some- 
times, in  profuse  cases,  there  are  five, 
and  even  seven  ;  but,  now  and  then,  grief 
is  economised,  and  the  sad  shower  is  re- 
presented by  a  single  drop.  There  were  but 
few  painted  tears  on  the  English  memorials, 
and  those  might  be  guessed  to  be  not  ordered, 
but  the  spontaneous  work  of  native  artists. 
In  contrast  with  the  epitaph  on  poor  Nainsee 
Gleneur,  some  British  parent  had  placed,  at 
the  head  of  a  small  grave,  a  little  square  board 
bearing  only  two  words — Darling  Child — 
legibly  painted.  If  we  may  judge  from  a 
comparison  of  the  style  of  epitaphs  here,  the 
grief  of  the  old  for  the  young,  of  parents  for 
children,  is  more  acute,  though,  perhaps,  not 
more  sincere,  than  the  regrets  which  the 
young  experience  for  the  elders  who  have 
preceded  them. 

A  "  Pray  for  the  repose  of  his  soul,"  is  a 
natural  address  to  a  Eoman  Catholic  visitor  ; 
but  French  politeness  finds  its  way  even  upon 
gravestones,  when  you  read  there,  "If  you 
please,  pray  for  the  repose  of  his  soul." 
One  can  understand  the  feeling  which,  at 
the  end  of  an  obituary  inscription,  con- 
cludes all  with  a  sigh — "  Alas  !  "  But  the 
repeated  announcements  that  "  our  regrets 
are  eternal,"  just  exemplify  the  folly  of  ex- 
aggerated statements.  Eegrets  may  be 
perennial,  and  even  life-long ;  but  some  of 
the  freehold  burial-places  show,  by  their 
dilapidated  condition,  that  man's  regrets  can- 
not be  eternal.  A  perpetual  purchase  of 
grave-land  can  neither  insure  everlasting 
marks  of  sorrow,  nor  a  successive  generation 
of  those  who  are  to  supply  them. 

It  is  to  be  noticed,  with  admiration,  that 
even  on  those  neglected  tombs,  nothing  is 
displaced  which  the  affectionate  hand  has 
once  arranged.  Ornaments,  which  we  should 
call  childish,  such  as  shells,  painted  medallions 
of  glass,  and  artificial  flowers,  remain  un- 
touched and  uninjured,  as  long  as  wind  and 
•weather  permit.  The  wreaths  of  eternelles 
hang  till  the  flowers  rot  off,  and  their  straw 
foundation  alone  remains ;  still  they  are  not 
tossed  aside  in  scorn  or  mischief.  The  feelings 
of  survivors,  as  well  as  the  memory  of  the 
departed,  are  treated  with  respectful  forbear- 


ance. And,  therefore,  we  ought  not  to  more 
than  smile  on  reading  the  announcement  near 
the  sexton's  door,  that  he  keeps  by  him,  for 
immediate  supply  to  customers,  an  assortment 
of  crowns,  or  wreaths,  made  of  everlastings, 
of  ivory  shavings,  of  feathers  and  everlastings, 
and  of  artificial  flowers,  from  forty  centimes, 
or  a  fourpenny-piece,  as  high  as  two  francs, 
or  one  shilling  and  eightpence  sterling. 

To  linger  a,  little  longer  among  the  tombs  ; 
— some  mystery  is  contained  in  one  inscrip- 
tion :  "Well-beloved  wife,  unfortunate  mother- 
in-law,  .  .  .  &c.  Pray  God  to  watch  over 
your  husband,  up  to  the  moment  when  he 
comes  to  rejoin  you  in  heaven.  Adieu."  This, 
with  a  little  help  as  to  facts,  would  go  some 
way  towards  a  tale.  A  cautiously  worded 
epitaph  records  the  end  of  an  Englishman — 
"  Many  years  a  Medical  Practitioner  in  this 
town,  who  met  his  death  under  peculiar  and 
melancholy  circumstances."  Very  peculiar  ! — 
His  most  intimate  friend  was  the  Commissary 
of  Police.  They  had  been  spending  the  even- 
ing pleasantly  with  other  friends  ;  they  left 
together,  and  had  taken  a  little  stimulant.  It 
is  supposed  tliat  the  Doctor  reminded  the 
Commissary  of  a  debt  due  to  himself,  though 
no  one  can  say  exactly  what  might  have  been 
at  the  bottom  of  all.  They  just  crossed  the 
Market-place,  and  entered  the  official  Bureau, 
from  which  the  Englishman  soon  staggered 
out,  stabbed  to  the  heart  with  a  dagger  which 
the  Commissary  had  kept  in  his  desk.  No 
witness  saw  the  deed  :  the  victim  never  spoke 
after  ;  and  the  culprit,  in  consequence  (through 
the  forbearance  of  French  law),  was  acquitted, 
with  a  very  severe  reprimand  from  his  Judge, 
and  remained  a  long  time  in  Paris  without 
being  allowed  to  resume  any  official  appoint- 
ment in  the  Police. 

A  long  mile  further  into  the  country  is 
another  cemetery  ;  for  this  is  filling,  and 
the  churchyard  of  the  suburb  is  already  full, 
and  therefore  is  closed  for  seven  years.  The 
new  burial-ground  is  a  dry,  sandy,  square 
plot,  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  a  moat,  filled 
with  water,  and  accessible  only  at  the  en- 
trance gates.  Here,  for  some  years  to 
come,  the  dead,  both  from  the  suburbs  and 
the  fortified  town,  may  be  deposited,  without 
affecting  the  health,  or  shocking  the  feelings 
of  either. 

"  But  what  is  all  that  to  us  ? "  a.sks  the 
reader.  "  We  do  not  live  in  fovtined  towns, 
hemmed  in  by  rampart  and  ditch,  like  a 
beetle  caught  in  the  middle  of  a  Chinese  nest 
of  tea-cups.  We  do  not  want  any  French 
fashions  here." 

Very  well,  sir  or  madam,  have  your  own 
way.  'Shut  your  eyes  to  what  is  good,  as  well 
as  to  what  seems  to  you  absurd.  But  it' 
London,  and  scores  of  other  towns  in  England, 
are  not  fortified  towns,  as  far  as  room  lor  in- 
terments is  concerned,  I  will  consent  to  pitch 
my  tent — and  dwell  in  it  too — in  the  midst 
of  one  of  your  cemeteries,  for  the  remrJumg 
portion  of  my  life. 


I'uhiished  at  the  Office,  No  16.  VlVllinsrt'.u  frreft  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BKABB'JBT  £  ETANS.  Whitefrinri,  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"— SHAKESPEARE. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOUENAL; 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  JUNE  5,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id. 


VOLUNTEEE  APOSTLES. 


ONE  of  the  most  astonishing  features  of  the 
present  age,  is  the  immense  amount  of  cre- 
dulity which  exists  amongst  the  people  of 
countries  the  most  educated,  amidst  all  the 
light  and  knowledge  that  we  boast  of  over  our 
ancestors.  It  matters  little  that  the  prog- 
nostications and  promises  of  one  pretended 
prophet  after  another  drop  into  nothing  ;  the 
very  potsherds  of  their  fallacies  are  picked 
up  and  kept  as  precious  and  complete  vessels, 
sound  and  without  crack  or  flaw.  It  matters 
nothing  that  the  most  complete  exposures  of 
fanatics  and  impostors  are  frequently  made  ; 
most  frequently  by  themselves.  Fresh  gudgeons 
are  ever  ready  to  bite  at  the  barest  hook. 
The  same  principle  which  gives  success  to 
Francis  Moore,  gentleman,  and  to  Zadkiel,  in 
Almanacs,  sends  shoals  of  believers  after  any 
man  who  chooses  to  play  the  founder  of  a 
new  sect.  The  same  weakness  of  the  human 
mind  which  enriches  the  quack  in  physic, 
gives  an  easy  triumph  to  the  quack  in 
faith. 

There  is  scarcely  a  country  in  Europe 
which  has  not,  even  in  modem  times,  had 
a  number  of  religious  quack-adventurers  to 
show  j  but  the  singularity  is,  that  their 
success  is  always  in  proportion  to  the  free- 
dom of  inquiry,  and  to  the  abundant  means 
of  hearing  and  examining  the  truth.  In 
Italy,  Matheo  di  Casale,  who,  in  the  present 
century,  gave  himself  out  as  the  Messiah ; 
and  ;  in  1805,  managed  with  much  ingenuity 
to  crucify  himself,  and  to  hang  himself  out  of 
his  chamber  window  on  a  cross,  in  the  public 
street,  attracted  no  followers.  But,  in  Sweden, 
the  singular  outbreak  of  what  was  called  the 
Preaching  Epidemic,  in  1842,  notwithstand- 
ing the  existence  of  Protestantism,  produced 
the  strangest  vagaries  amongst  the  pea- 
santry of  Smoland,  and  was  with  difficulty 
put  down.  In  Lutheran  Germany,  the  most 
marvellous  demonstrations  of  religious  im- 
posture have  appeared,  and  been  attended 
with  incredible  success.  In  Jollenbeck, 
towards  the  close  of  the  last  century,  there 
were  two  shoemaker-families  who  gave  them- 
selves out  as  the  families  who  were  to  pro- 
duce the  true  Messiah  ;  and  they  found  a  con- 
siderable number  of  disciples,  who  were  by  no 
means  daunted  though  the  promised  Sluloh, 


like  that  of  our  own  Johanna  Southcott,  never 
appeared.  But  the  most  extraordinary  in- 
fatuation was  that  which  the  notorious  Eosen- 
feld  contrived  to  excite  and  maintain,  for 
many  years,  in  Prussia,  in  the  very  capital 
itself,  and  in  the  country  contiguous  to  it. 
As  this  is  comparatively  unknown  here,  we 
may  take  a  brief  glance  at  it,  before  directing 
the  reader's  attention  to  certain  persons  and 
things  which  are  flourishing  in  London  and  in 
the  country  near  it,  at  the  present  moment. 

In  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century 
there  might  have  been  seen  in  the  Ackermark, 
in  Priegnitz,  and  also  in  the  neighbouring 
country  of  Mecklenburg,  a  wandering  man, 
who,  in  dress  and  appearance,  was  not  much 
removed  from  a  beggar.  He  never,  however, 
begged,  except  for  a  single  glass  of  water, 
or  for  a  night's  lodging.  He  appeared  to 
accept  this  hospitality  chiefly  that  he  might 
enter  into  conversation  with  those  whose 
guest  he  was  ;  and  who  were,  for  the  most 
part,  shepherds,  whom  he  met  with  in  the 
fields,  or  day-labourers,  or  weavers  who  lived 
in  remote  and  solitary  places. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  his  career  he  wore  o, 
green  gamekeeper's  coat ;  which,  being  much 
worn  and  torn,  gave  him  more  of  the  beggar's 
look.  His  appearance  had  something  in  it 
suspicious,  and  even  fearful.  His  counte- 
nance was  pale,  and  of  an  earthy  hue  ;  his 
eyes  were  set  deep  in  his  head,  and  his  whole 
body  had  a  loose  and  flabby  appearance. 
People,  however,  were  not  afraid  of  him  as  of 
a  thief  who  sought  a  lodging  in  order  to  dis- 
appear in  the  morning  with  booty.  His 
keeper's  coat  was  the  relic  of  a  former  service 
with  the  Markgraf  of  Schwedt. 

He  carried  no  money  and  wore  a  long  beard 
on  his  chin,  which  proclaimed  him  a  prophet. 
He  would  suddenly  step  into  the  hut  of  a 
herdsman  with  a  biblical  greeting  ;  cast  his 
eyes  towards  Heaven  as  he  received  an 
answer,  turn  his  back,  and  sigh.  The  herds- 
man would  probably  not  see  him  again  for 
a  year.  But  he  did  not  depart  in  such 
haste,  where  his  salutation  was  received  as 
he  wished.  Where  he  found  the  right 
ground  for  the  seed,  tinder  for  the  sparks, 
which  he  wished  to  shed,  he  entered  into 
long  conversations  on  religion.  He  was 
not,  however,  such  a  fanatic  as  to  rush 
rashly  into  a  revelation  of  his  extraordinary 


vot.  v. 


115 


262 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


schemes.  He  waited  the  proper  time  and 
opportunity  for  these,  and  knew  how  to  pre- 
serve a  discreet  silence  when  he  perceived 
that  the  faith  of  his  hearers  was  weak. 

In  1765  he  appeared  in  the  country  of 
Prenzlow,  in  the  undisguised  fervour  of  fana- 
ticism. His  appearance  was  still  more 
wretched  than  before ;  his  eye  more  wild. 
He  was  now  the  prophet,  who,  through  long 
meditation,  had  arrived  at  the  gift  for  which 
his  soul  thirsted.  He  entered  the  cottage  of 
a  shepherd  in  Dedelow,  asked  for  a  draught 
of  water ;  and,  holding  aloft  the  cup,  exclaimed 
to  the  man  and  his  wife  in  an  impressive  tone, 
"  Children !  if  you  only  knew  who  I  am  !  " 
When  they  asked  who  he  might  be,  he 
replied,  "  I  am  the  messenger  of  God,  sent 
forth  to  seek  his  sheep,  and  gather  them  into 
the  fold.  The  prophet,  Micah,  iv.  8,  has  duly 
announced  me  : — '  O,  Tower  of  Eder  !  thou 
stronghold  of  the  daughter  of  Zion,  unto  thee 
the  Golden  Rose  shall  come,  even  the  former 
dominion,  the  kingdom  of  the  daughter  of 
Jerusalem.' "  The  simple  creatures  believed 
him ;  they  became  his  firm  disciples,  and 
continued  unshaken  in  their  faith,  even  after 
his  bold  prophecy  of  wonders  to  come  in  the 
year  1770  had  totally  failed. 

Eosenfeld  was  no  longer  the  wandering 
vagabond  whom  some  ridiculed,  and  whom 
others  received  and  assisted  out  of  compas- 
sion. His  name  flew  far  and  wide  over  the 
Prussian  plains  ;  he  had  very  soon  a  large 
community  of  believers,  who  took  care  that 
he  needed  for  nothing.  He  denounced  the 
Avickedness  of  the  world — a  safe  and  perpetual 
theme.  He  proceeded  then  to  anathematise 
Frederick  the  Great,  as  the  Great  Dragon  of 
the  Apocalypse,  and  the  clergy  as  impostors, 
because  they  preached  death,  which  he  denied 
to  exist  for  the  faithful.  He  promised  his 
believers  immortality,  and  they  believed  him, 
although  they  saw  his  disciples  dying  every 
day.  At  last  he  proclaimed  himself  to  be  the 
true  Messiah,  and  blasphemously  asserted 
that  Our  Saviour  was  only  an  impostor.  His 
followers  believed  everything.  In  Berlin 
there  were  numbers  of  these  ;  but  the  chief 
scene  of  his  success  was  at  Biesenthal,  about 
eighteen  miles  from  Berlin,  a  place  at  that 
time  as  completely  removed  from  the  notice  of 
the  capital  as  if  it  had  been  distant  a  hundred 
leagues.  Here  he  acted  the  part  of  a  German 
Mahomet.  He  kept  up  a  determined  warfare 
with  the  clergy  ;  ruled  his  flock  of  shepherds, 
shoemakers,  and  weavers,  with  arbitrary 
power,  and  lived  in  the  luxury  of  never- 
failing  offerings  of  the  good  things  of  this 
world.  He  demanded  seven  maidens — daugh- 
ters of  his  chief  adherents — to  be  given 
up  to  him,  declaring  that  they  had  been 
chosen  in  connection  with  the  seven  seals 
of  t\ie  Book  of  Life,  from  the  foundations 
of  the  world.  They  were  at  once  brought 
to  him.  He  treated  them  with  the  most  atro- 
cious cruelty,  compelling  them  with  stripes 
and  indignity  to  perform  menial  services 


for  him.  Some  of  them  ran  away  to  their 
parents ;  but  the  infatuated  people  drove 
them  back  again  to  their  tyrant,  and  he  de- 
clared them  doomed  to  utter  perdition  if 
they  again  attempted  to  abscond.  Govern- 
ment eventually  was  compelled  to  interfere, 
and  Rosenfeld  was  imprisoned.  But  here  he 
assumed  so  mild  a  bearing,  and  conducted 
himself  with  so  much  propriety,  that  he  won 
over  not  only  the  jailer,  but  one  of  the  city 
magistrates,  who  interfered  and  got  him  set 
at  liberty.  Once  abroad  again,  he  retiu-ned  to 
all  his  extravagances  with  redoubled  wild- 
ness,  and  was  again  shut  up.  But  this  wily 
augmented  the  zeal  of  his  followers ;  and  it 
was  long  after  his  death  before  the  delusion 
died  away. 

If  these  things  are  wonderful  in  other 
countries,  how  much  more  wonderful  are  they 
in  our  own  and  in  America,  where  the  people 
are  accustomed  to  read,  talk,  and  discuss 
every  subject  with  an  unconstrained  freedom, 
which  we  might  naturally  expect  would  leave 
few  lurking-places  for  ignorance  and  super- 
stition. Yet  how  marvellous  have  been,  of 
late  years,  the  displays  of  popular  credulity 
in  the  British  race  on  both  sides  of  the 
Atlantic  !  Johanna  Southcott,  Mad  Thorn  of 
Kent,  Miller,  and  Joe  Smith,  have  all  shown 
how  multitudinous  are  the  people  who  will 
still  believe  in  anything  or  anybody.  The 
Millerites  sold  their  effects,  closed  their  shops ; 
the  young  women  clothed  themselves  in 
white,  and  sat  upon  their  trunks,  confidently 
expecting  to  float  up  to  heaven  with  all  their 
luggage,  on  the  day  when  Miller  declared  that 
the  world  would  end.  It  did  not  end  on  that 
day — but  no  matter  ;  it  was  only  because 
there  was  an  error  in  the  calendar. 

Mormonism  is  a  grand  triumph  of  credulity. 
Little  did  Solomon  Spalding  dream  that  his 
romance  of  The  Manuscript  found,  would, 
under  the  unblushing  rascality  of  SmitJi  and 
Bigdon,  erect  a  church  of  tens  of  thousands, 
and  establish  a  second  Turkey  at  the  Great 
Salt  Lake.  The  prodigies  of  Mormonism, 
however,  have  had  their  historians  as  well 
as  their  prophets :  let  us  now  devote  a  few 
strokes  of  the  pen  to  an  apostle  and  his  flock 
a  little  nearer  home. 

There  is  a  neat  little  watering-place  which 
may  be  found  by  descending  the  Thames,  and 
which  Londoners  find  convenient  for  a  few 
days'  visit  in  summer.  We  may  as  well  call 
this  spot  Periwinkle  Port  as  give  it  any  other 
name.  In  this  little  place — which  looks  like 
half  a  town,  the  other  half  of  which  has  been 
swallowed  up  by  the  sea  ;  and  where  all  the 
remaining  houses  seem  to  be  looking  in  asto- 
nishment after  the  missing  ones, — there  may 
be  seen,  on  fine  summer  Sundays,  a  man  with 
a  large  umbrella,  slowly  stalking  along  the 
street,  which  is  bounded  on  one  side  by  the 
houses,  and  on  the  other  by  the  sea.  His 
attention  is  fixed  successively  on  every  house 
as  he  passes,  as  if  he  were  on  the  look-out  for 
lodgings  ;  but  not  so  ;  he  is  in  quest  of  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


VOLUNTEER  APOSTLES. 


263 


lodgers.  If  he  finds  a  window  open  (and  in 
fine  weather  they  are  all  open),  he  stops,  and 
in  a  low,  solemn  voice,  announces  to  those 
inside,  that  brother  Goosetrap  Witness  is 
going  to  preach  at  three  o'clock  on  the  green. 

"  Who  is  brother  Goosetrap  Witness  1 " 
ask  the  visitors,  who  are  drinking  in  floods  of 
sea-air,  watching  the  distant  steamers  through 
telescopes,  and  thinking  much  more  of  the 
health  of  the  body  than  of  the  health  of  the 
soul.  "Who  is  brother  Goosetrap  Witness, 
and  what  has  he  got  to  say  worth  walking 
out  in  the  heat  for  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  dangerous  man,  sir  !  a  dangerous 
man,"  says  the  landlady,  who  is  just  come  in 
to  tell  them  when  the  church  service  begins. 
''•  Oh,  a  very  dangerous,  audacious  man ! 
Turns  all  the  poor  people's  heads  here ; 
frightens  the  servant  girls  till  they  can't 
sleep  of  nights ;  says  all  the  clergy  are 
wicked  impostors  ;  won't  have  any  doctors 
to  his  silly  disciples,  and  says  nobody  is  a 
Christian  but  himself  and  his  dupes." 

"  And  do  the  people  believe  him  ?  " 

"  Ay,  that  they  do,  by  hundreds ;  they 
swear  by  him;  he  goes  all  round  the  country, 
and  the  silly  geese  come  from  all  round  the 
country  to  hear  him." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  say  the  visitors,  "  it  is 
worth  while  to  hear  him  for  once  ;"  and  away 
they  go. 

Mounted  on  a  chair  on  the  green,  with  the 
sea  rolling  its  fresh  billows  just  by,  they  find 
a  short,  somewhat  broadset  man,  of  a  lean  and 
swarthy  aspect,  standing  with  his  hymn-book 
in  his  hand,  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  people, 
mostly  of  the  labouring  classes.  The  outer 
circle  appears  a  miscellaneous  collection  of 
fishermen  and  mechanics.  The  inner  one  of 
the  more  especial  Goosetrappists,  bearing  un- 
mistakable evidence  of  being  chiefly  agricul- 
tural labourers,  and  their  wives  and  daughters 
and  sisters.  These  are  part  of  the  perambu- 
latory  church  that  accompany  their  head  on 
these  excursions,  and  enliven  his  appearances 
with  their  hymns.  They  appear  very  modest 
in  their  demeanour,  and  some  of  them  very 
good-looking  ;  all,  undoubtedly,  perfectly  sin- 
cere in  their  faith  in  what  brother  WTitness 
tells  them,  and  perform  their  vocal  duty  with 
sufficient  skill. 

Directing  your  chief  attention  to  brother 
Goosetrap  Witness,  you  behold  a  man  of, 
perhaps,  fifty  years  of  age,  as  we  have  said, 
with  a  whalebony,  wiry,  swarthy  visage,  and 
black  hair,  worn  somewhat  thin  by  time. 
His  small,  dark  eyes  peer  forth  with  a  keen 
but  composed  inquiry  from  beneath  a  pair 
of  strong,  dark,  shaggy  eyebrows,  and  one  of 
those  large,  coarse  mouths,  which  are  equally 
common  to  great  eaters  and  great  talkers, 
bespeaks  a  possessor  of  what  is  called  "  the 
gift  of  the  gab."  Altogether,  the  countenance 
and  the  man  are  strongly  expressive  of  a 
domineering  and  pertinacious  will,  of  a  coarse, 
strong  sense,  rather  than  prominent  talent; 
but  of  a  close,  scheming,  and  onward-boring 


character.  There  is  that  assumed  look  of 
sanctity  which  such  men  commonly  wear, 
but  under  it  you  can  readily  detect  an 
amount  of  self-esteem,  that  would  make  its 
owner  insensible  to  any  degree  of  contempt. 

His  dress  and  air  are  those  of  a  shoemaker, 
— as,  in  fact,  he  is ;  and  it  is  a  singular 
circumstance  that  no  craft  has  furnished  so 
many  field-preachers  and  religious  enthusiasts 
as  that  of  St.  Crispin.  George  Fox  was  a 
shoemaker  ;  Jacob  Behmen  was  a  shoemaker ; 
the  two  families  of  Jollenbeck,  which  were  so 
conspicuous  there  in  the  strange  heresy,  were 
shoemakers  ;  Matheo  di  Casale  was  a  shoe- 
maker ;  and,  amongst  the  religious  ferment- 
ations, some  of  them  of  an  extraordinary 
character,  of  late  years,  in  Prussia  and  Saxony, 
and  especially  in  Pomerania,  the  Mark,  and 
Lower  Silesia,  the  chief  actors  have  been 
shoemakers,  weavers,  and  tailors — all  people 
of  sedentary  trades.  The  agricultural  la- 
bourers, smiths,  bricklayers,  carpenters,  and 
all  the  followers  of  pursuits  of  greater  physical 
activity,  have  stood  aloof.  The  only  exceptions 
being  shepherds,  whose  solitary  life  is  calcu- 
lated to  affect  the  imagination,  and  whose 
employment  is  almost  as  inactive  as  that  of 
the  sitting  trades. 

The  sort  of  discourse  which  our  visitors 
would  hear  from  brother  Witness,  we  shall 
anon  make  the  reader  acquainted  with,  from 
our  own  experience  ;  for,  hearing  his  fame  on 
all  hands,  during  a  few  days'  sojourn  in  the 
little  half-town  of  Periwinkle  Port,  we  de- 
termined to  pay  him  a  visit  at  his  proper 
domicile  and  work-a-day  tabernacle,  which 
is  found  in  the  little  quiet  market-town  of 
Gudgeon-Brook.  A  pleasant  walk  over  plea- 
sant fields  brought  us — that  is,  a  party  of  some 
four  or  five  ladies  and  gentlemen — to  Gudgeon- 
Brook.  Advancing  up  its  clean  and  very 
quiet  streets,  we  made  due  inquiries  for  the 
whereabouts  of  brother  Goosetrap  Witness ; 
an  inquiry  which  produced  a  sensation.  We 
were  directed  onward  and  onward,  and 
behind  us  we  could  perceive  groups  issuing 
from  the  houses,  and  looking  after  us  with 
much  curiosity,  and  at  the  same  time  engaged 
in  earnest  conversation.  No  doubt,  they  set 
us  down  for  brethren  and  sisters  of  the 
faith,  and  concluded  that  the  influence  and 
renown  of  brother  Goosetrap  Witness  were 
spreading  farther  and  farther. 

We  soon  found  brother  Witness's  locale, 
house,  chapel,  workshop,  all  congregated  in  a 
little  court.  A  rent  in  a  boot  was  the  osten- 
sible object  of  the  visit,  but  this  did  not  de- 
ceive the  shrewd  perception  of  brother  Wit- 
ness. He  evidently  attributed  our  arrival  to 
.the  spread  of  his  fame.  ~£  was  soon  accom- 
modated with  a  seat,  and  a  disciple  of  a  most 
taciturn  and  mysterious  manner  began  to 
operate  on  the  .boot.  Brother  Witness  devoted 
his  exclusive  attention  to  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, who  were  furnished  with  chairs  in  the 
court,  and  was  soon  afloat  in  an  ocean  of  doc- 
trine and  declamation.  From  my  taciturn 


£64 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Codductc.i  by 


operator,  who  bore  a  most  laughable  likeness 
to  an  old  acquaintance  of  ours,  little  was  to  be 
extracted  but  sighs  and  nods  of  the  head  of 
deep  meaning  ;  but  another  disciple,  while  he 
gave  hearty  thumps  to  the  leather  on  his  knee, 
and  vigorous  twitches  of  his  taching-end, 
afforded  me  considerable  insight  into  the 
Goosetrap  creed.  He  blessed  the  Lord  that 
nothing  on  earth  could  hurt  him,  while  he 
was  faithful.  Neither  fire,  nor  robbers,  nor 
sickness,  nor  poverty,  nor  any  evil  could  come 
near  him  ;  for  he  was  the  Lord's  ;  he  had  his 
promises,  and  they  could  not  fail.  Neither 
flames  could  burn  him,  nor  gun  shoot  him,  nor 
water  drown  him,  nor  rope  hang  him,  nor 
knife  pierce  him — "  bless  the  Lord  for  it  !  " 

Brother  Witness  also  declared  that  he  had 
lately  run  a  nail  an  inch  long  into  his  foot : 
that  to  other  people  not  in  the  faith  it  might 
have  been  fatal,  and  have  most  likely  produced 
lock-jaw  ;  but  as  for  himself,  he  had  never 
looked  at  the  wound  ;  it  might  have  bled  ;  he 
could  not  say — he  knew  that  it  could  not 
hurt  him. 

I  remarked  that  they  could  not  in  their 
community  require  much  service  from  the 
doctors. 

"  Doctors  !  said  the  man ;  no,  bless  the 
Lord  !  and  praised  be  his  name  !  never  a 
doctor  had  ever  come  within  the  doors  of  any 
of  brother  Witness's  friends  !  None  but  un- 
believers ever  wanted  doctors!  Christ  had 
commanded  his  disc'ples  to  lay  their  hands 
on  the  sick,  and  pray  for  them  ;  anointing 
them  with  oil ;  and  they  were  healed.  It 
was  only  wickedness  and  unbelief  that  kept 
such  things  as  doctors  in  the  world  :  if  men 
had  been  faithful,  doctors  would  long  ago 
have  ceased  to  be  heard  of." 

But,  did  he  believe  in  miracles  taking 
place  uow-a-days  ? 

Miracles !  Bless  the  Lord  !  there  are  no 
miracles  with  him.  His  word  was  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever ;  unbelieving 
men  only  called  those  miracles  that  were  the 
works  of  God  for  his  elect.  Christians  have 
everything  that  was  promised  them  of  old. 

"  But  where  are  the  Christians,"  I  asked, 
"that  now-a-days  find  themselves  cured  by 
laying  on  of  hands  1 " 

"  Where  ? "  said  the  man,  raising  his  head 
to  its  full  height,  stretching  up  his  neck  like 
a  giraffe,  and  with  a  swelling  chest  and  ex- 
panding nostrils,  breathing  forth  his  words  in 
a  loud,  singing,  and  inflated  tone  ;  "  where 
are  they  ?  where  are  they,  indeed  ?  The 
world  calls  itself  Christian ;  but  it  lies  in 
darkness  ;  it  believes  not,  neither  doth  it  the 
works  of  faith  ;  and  therefore  it  flies  for  help 
to  doctors,  clergymen,  magistrates,  soldiers 
and  the  like — all  empty  pitchers  that  can 
carry  no  water — all  broken  reeds  and  stubble, 
to  be  burnt  up  with  unquenchable  fire.  The 
real  Christians  need  no  doctors  ;  they  have 
the  promises  given  of  old  to  the  saints,  and 
that  is  enough  for  them ;  they  are  for  ever 
redeemed  out  of  the  power  of  drugs,  and 


pestles  and  mortars.  Nothing  can  hurt  them, 
and  that  is  the  mark  of  the  true  believers; 
that  is  the  difference  between  them  and  the 
empty  professors,  who  are  left  to  suffer  many 
things  from  many  physicians." 

"  What  do  you  call  yourselves,  then  ? 
Witnesses  1 " 

"  Yes,  bless  the  Lord  !  we  are  witnesses  for 
the  faith  on  the  earth  ;  but  we  take  no  name 
but  Christians — that  is  our  name,  and  none 
else." 

"  In  fact,  I  suppose  you  are  the  men,  and 
that  wisdom  will  die  with  you." 

"  We  are  the  Lord's,  praised  be  his  name ! 
but  wisdom  will  not  die  with  us  ;  he  will 
preserve  a  remnant  in  the  earth  for  his 
name's  sake." 

"But  suppose  you  broke  your  leg,  would 
not  you  send  for  a  doctor  ?  " 

"  Break  my  leg  !  bless  the  Lord  !  he  will 
never  suffer  a  bone  of  me  to  be  broken,  while 
I  am  faithful ;  he  will  keep  me  as  the  apple 
of  his  eye.  That  is  his  promise ;  I  have  it, 
and  it  cannot  fail." 

In  a  word,  here  we  had  the  nucleus  of 
brother  Witness's  doctrine.  He  teaches  his 
adherents  that  all  the  world  is  still  heathen, 
in  spite  of  its  professions,  except  himself  and 
his  disciples ;  that  the  test  of  being  real 
Christians  is  the  power  of  working  all  the 
miracles  that  were  wrought  by  the  Apostles- 
themselves.  But  the  reader  will  ask,  "  Does 
he  do  these  miracles  V  No.  "  And  yet 
do  the  people  believe  him?"  Yes.  This 
man,  in  a  county  bordering  on  the  Metropolis 
of  England — we  are  talking  of  a  real  man, 
and  no  shadow ;  of  his  real  doctrines  and 
practice,  and  no  fictions — this  man  has  taught 
his  doctrine  far  and  wide,  and  has  found  so 
many  followers,  that  we  were  assured  they 
have  now  about  thirty  chapels  in  different 
places,  and  one  or  more  in  London  itself.  He 
professes  to  cure  all  illnesses  by  the  laying  on 
of  hands,  and  by  anointing  the  patient  with  oil. 
But  does  he  cure  them,  you  ask  1  He  says 
he  does  ;  and  the  people,  when  appealed  to, 
say  he  does.  They  die,  it  is  true  ;  but  nobody 
lives  for  ever. 

And  it  is  a  fact  that,  not  far  from  this 
metropolis,  there  is  an  extensive  sect  who 
never  call  in  medical  aid  to  assist  their  women 
in  childbirth  ;  who  never  have  their  children 
vaccinated  ;  who,  through  all  the  perils  of 
the  distempers  incident  to  infancy  and  child- 
hood, never  seek  or  use  the  aid  of  medical 
science  ;  who,  in  any  case  where  a  surgical 
operation — nay,  even  amputation — might  re- 
lieve suffering,  or  preserve  life,  refuse  such 
aid  as  sinful  and  superfluous ;  who,  in  the 
most  violent  acute  diseases,  or  the  most  con- 
tagious fevers,  do  nothing  more,  and  put  faith 
in  nothing  more,  than  the  laying  on  of  hands, 
praying,  and  anointing  with  oil.  If  the  suf- 
ferer die,  "  It  is  the  Lord's  will ; "  and  that 
is  the  all-sufficing  phrase  ! 

There  is  something  alarming  in  the 
spread  of  this  fanaticism.  Some  day  there 


Charles  Dickens.] 


VOLUNTEER  APOSTLES. 


265 


what  I  thought  of  his '  preaching.  I  declined 
to  enter  into  any  explanation,  further  than 
recommending  him,  if  he  really  believed  in  his 
power  of  resisting  poisons,  to  try  the  effect  of 
a  few  drops  of  Prosaic  acid,  and  if  he  really 
was  persuaded  that  he  could  restore  all  insane 
persons,  to  make  a  visit  to  Hanwell  or  St. 
Luke's,  and  put  to  flight  all  the  demons  that 
afflicted  the  patients  there.  If  he  really  pos- 
sessed such  miraculous  powers,  (I  ventured 
to  observe)  a  glorious  work  of  humanity  was 
open  to  him.  But  brother  Witness  very 
modestly  declined  both  these  tests,  under  the 
plea  that  such  experiments  would  be  pre- 
sumptuous ; — a  sentiment  in  which  I  perfectly 
concurred. 

There  is  an  anecdote  told  which  shows  how 
brother  Witness  has  an  eye  to  the  main  chance. 
Witness's  church  holds  meetings  on  a  week- 
day evening,  in  which  every  one  delivers 
his  sentiment  on  some  subject  concerning 


the    welfare 
occasion,   in 


of   the    association, 
returning    from    one 


On    one 
of   their 


may  come  small-pox  of  a  peculiarly  virulent 
type,  or  a  contagious  fever,  and  sweep  off  a 
whole  population.  But  when  you  tell  them 
so,  they  only  smile  at  your  unbelieving 
heathenism.  They  have  already  been  in 
danger  of  a  severe  legal  sentence  for  the 
neglect  of  medical  means  where  death  has 
taken  place  ;  but  they  are  ready  for  the  mar- 
tyrdom of  legal  or  any  other  persecution,  and 
•would  flourish  under  it. 

We  heard  brother  Witness  deliver  one  of 
his  open-air  Sunday  harangues.  It  was  pre- 
cisely of  the  same  style  as  his  joiirneyman 
disciple's  discourse.  All  the  world  was  still 
pagan  but  Goosetrap  Witness  ariH  his  friends. 
Brother  Witness  did  not  parade  much  human 
learning  or  education.  It  was  all  miracle 
and  grace,  and  very  bad  grammar. 

He  declared  that  the  ordinary  teachers 
of  Christianity  deceived  the  people  by  telling 
them  to  trust  in  God,  walk  orderly,  and 
hope  for  salvation.  "  Ah,  my  brethren  ! " 
he  added,  "  there  is  no  hoping  and  trusting  in 
this  thing.  Every  man  knows  whether  he  be 
in  a  state  of  salvation  or  not.  He  knows  the 
day  and  the  hour  to  a  minute  when  salvation 
was  vouchsafed  to  him  ;  I  know,  my  brethren, 
the  blessed  day,  to  an  hour  and  a  minute, 
•when  salvation  came  to  me.  I  was  at  brother 
Melksom's,  in  London,  ten  years  ago.  Brother 
Melksom  was  always  full  of  rejoicings,  sing- 
ing at  heart  like  a  pilgrim  that  has  cast  off 
his  burden,  and  already  sees  the  golden  gates 
afore  him.  I  found  that  he  had  got  some- 
thing that  I  had  not ;  and  I  prayed,  and 
prayed,  night,  and  morning,  and  noon,  and 
morning,  and  noon,  and  night ;  and  one  morn- 
ing, at  fifty-three  minutes  and  seven  and  a 
half  seconds  past  seven  o'clock,  salvation  fell 
upon  me  like  a  cloud  of  fire.  I  felt  that  if  I 
had  wings  I  could  have  flown  at  once  to 
Gudgeon-Brook,  to  tell  my  friends  ;  but  not 
having  them,  I  hastened  down  stairs,  and 
said,  '  Brother  Melksom  !  we  will  have  some 
breakfast  ! '  " 

The  wonderful  climax,  "  Brother  Melksom, 
we  will  have  some  breakfast !  "  seemed  to 
produce  an  astounding  sensation  on  the 
auditory.  The  silent  man  who  had  mended 
the  boot,  with  his  ludicrous  likeness  to  an  old 
acquaintance,  cast  a  triumphant  look  at  me 
across  the  crowd,  saying  as  plainly  as  possible,  |  subscription  in  silence,  arose  with  great  solem- 
— "  There  !  there  is  no  getting  over  that !  "  j  nity,  and  said,  "  Bless  the  Lord,  and  praised 
Unfortunately,  at  this  moment,  the  other  dis- 1  be  his  name,  I  will  make  brother  Strougback 


distant  field-preachings,  the  Goosetrappists 
found  a  little  foot-bridge  carried  away  by 
a  flood,  and  their  progress  homewards  thus 
cut  off  by  the  swollen  brook.  A  new  disciple, 
however,  brother  Strongback,  in  his  zeal 
carried  the  whole  company  over.  It  was  a 
fine  opportunity  for  trying  how  far  they 
could  walk  on  the  water,  in  imitation  of 
the  Divine  example,  which  they  have  the 
audacity  to  preteud  they  have  the  power 
to  imitate  ;  but  on  this  occasion  brother 
Witness  very  properly  deemed  the  attempt 
presumptuous.  Brother  Strongback  carried 
all  safely  over,  and  in  gratitude,  at  the  next 
meeting,  one  of  the  faithful  stood  up  and 
said,  "  Bless  the  Lord,  and  praised  be  his 
name  !  brother  Strongback  has  got  no  shoes." 
The  above  introductory  phrase,  in  which  the 
sacred  name  is  so  freely  used,  is  a  regular 
formula,  with  which  every  one  commences 
his  observations.  We  need  not  repeat  it,  but 
simply  say,  that  a  second  brother  or  sister 
added,  "I  will  give  twopence  for  a  pair  of 
shoes  for  brother  Strongback."  Another 
would  give  threepence ;  and  so  it  went  the 
round  of  the  meeting.  When  the  necessary 
sum  was  subscribed,  brother  Goosetrap  Wit- 


eiple  who  had  declared  that  nothing  could 
hurt  him  while  he  was  faithful — was  seized 


with   a   violent   fit   of 
Witness  called  it,  the 


ague, 
ajmr ' 


or   as   brother 
and  had  to  be 


carried  off  to  a  neighbouring  fisherman's 
house,  where  he  was  in  a  while  somewhat 
relieved  by  the  laying  on  of  hands — and  a 
potent  glass  of  brandy. 

Meantime,  brother  Witness,  at  the  head  of 
his  church,  marched  off  towards  a  distant 
village,  where  he  was  again,  in  the  evening,  to 
hold  a  meeting.  On  the  way  from  the  green 
he  recognised  me,  and  triumphantly  demanded 


a  pair  of  shoes  for  the  money  !  " 

Again,  we  ask,  will  it  be  believed  that  at 
the  present  moment  there  is  in  the  vicinity 
of  London,  and  extending  into  London  itself, 
a  sect  whose  pretensions  are  of  this  prepos- 
terous and  daring  kind  1 

The  lamentable  fact,  however,  is  strictly  so. 
Brother  Witness  of  course  denounces  all 
books  and  all  reading  except  of  the  Bible  and 
the  Hymn-book.  He  and  his  sect  read  no 
books,  nor  magazines,  nor  newspapers.  Louis 
Napoleon  is  not  a  more  rigid  enemy  of  the 
press  than  brother  Witness. 


266 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Surely  thei-e  is  need  (and  surely  brother 
Witness  knows  it)  of  a  little  more  diffusion 
of  education  among  the  clods  of  the  valley 
in  this  country.  We  want  either  a  national 
or  a  rational  education  :  something  which 
shall  reach  the  dark  corners  of  the  land  rather 
more  effectually  than  the  occasional  bull's-eye 
of  the  policeman.  Either  education  or  brother 
Witness  must  rule,  and  the  choice  lies  between 
them.  We  must  commit  the  people  to  the 
care  and  sympathies  of  the  educated  teacher 
and  the  enlightened  physician,__or  they  will 

Joe 
wild 


commit  themselves  to  brother  Witness. 
Smith   and   brother  Witness  are    the 


growth  of  uncultivated  intellect,  and  if  we 
are  not  for  general  education,  we  are  for — 
them. 


THE 


WILD-FLOWER 
DANUBE. 


OF    THE 


FOR  months  before  the  election  of  a  repre- 
sentative to  the  Hungarian  legislature,  all 
classes,  high  and  low,  -wore  the  chosen  badge 
of  their  party,  consisting,  generally,  of  a 
feather,  a  ribbon  of  one  of  the  national 
colours,  or  of  a  fresh  sprig,  or  flower.  It  was, 
thus,  easy  to  recognise,  at  the  first  glance,  to 
which  party  a  man  belonged. 

In  the  county  of  Nesgrad  (that  smiling 
region,  which  may  well  be  called  the  garden 
of  Hungary),  during  the  election  which  im- 
mediately preceded  our  king's  last  breach  of 
faith,  a  badge  was  chosen,  which,  from  the 
poetry  of  its  name,  and  the  beauty  of  its 
form,  excited  in  me  a  lively  curiosity.  It  was 
a  plant  found  in  Lower  Hungary,  more  espe- 
cially on  the  banks  of  the  Danube  and  the 
Theiss.  On  a  slender  green  stem,  scantily 
decked  with  leaves,  waves  a  delicately-divided 


brown,  spikes  of  freshly-gathered  Turkish 
maize  on  long  pieces  of  strong  twine,  in  order 
to  hang  them  in  festoons  from  the  low  straw 
roof  to  dry.  In  the  hat  of  one  of  the  fine 
active  lads  waved  a  most  beautiful  "  Arva, 
leany  haf  "  (Orphan  Maiden  Hair),  at  least 
eighteen  inches  long.  The  black-eyed  Erzsi 
(Elizabeth)  observed,  with  some  pride,  when 
she  saw  how  I  admired  it,  that  this  flower 
was  not  to  be  found  in  our  stony  Nesgrad  ; 
and,  perhaps,  nowhere  in  such  perfection  as 
just  here,  on  the  neighbouring  banks  of  the 
river.  My  former  curiosity  returned,  and  I 
inquired  int$>  the  origin  of  its  extraordinary 
name. 

It  was  only  after  repeated  entreaties  that  my 
hosts,  who,  at  my  question,  had  assumed  quite 
a  solemn  air,  determined  to  impart  to  me  the 
legend  that  prevails  along  the  shoi'es  of  the 
Danube  concerning  this  flower.  According 
to  ancient  custom,  it  might  only  be  related 
by  the  grandmother,  on  the  long  festive 
evenings  of  the  Christmas  week.  As  she, 
however,  was  now  ill,  the  blooming  Erzsi, 
after  assuring  us  she  remembered  every 
syllable  of  it,  was  allowed  to  take  her  place. 
The  full  moon,  just  rising,  quivered  on  the 
calm  waves  of  the  Danube,  and  the  whole 
scene  gave  a  half-saddened  tone  to  my  mind, 
that  well  adapted  it  for  the  coming  legend. 

Erzsi  began,  in  a  low  voice,  to  relate  as 
follows : 

Not  far  from  here  is  a  large  market-town, 
which,  with  other  estates  in  the  country,  be- 
came the  property  of  a  German  Count,  on 
his  marriage  with  the  only  daughter  of  a 
rich  magnate.  After  the  death  of  this  lady 
— who  held  some  office  about  the  person 
of  the  Empress — her  husband  came  from 


feathery  flower,  which,  for  softness  and  flexi-  Vienna  to  live  on  the  estates,  which  he  ad- 


bility,  can  only  be  compared  with  ostrich  or 
marabout  plumes.  The  soft  filaments,  which 
nestle  so  gently,  and  the  colour  of  which  can 
only  be  described  as  flaxen,  will  partly  explain 
the  peculiar  name  that  the  flower  bears  in 
Hungary,  namely, "  The  Orphan  Maiden  Hair." 
Count  Joseph  Zichy,  a  young  and  ardent 
member  of  the  Left,  had  brought  great  quan- 
tities of  this  plant  (which  continues  for  years 
unchanged)  from  his  estates  in  Lower  Hungary 
to  our  upland  district,  where  it  will  not  grow  : 
he  distributed  it  as  the  opposition  badge  at  the 
election  of.  deputies  for  the  momentous  diet  of 
1847-1848.  The  flower  was  so  becoming  an 
ornament,  that  many  ladies  whose  husbands 
or  fathers  belonged  to  that  party,  adorned  their 
riding-hats  with  it;  a  circumstance  which, 
doubtless,  brought  over  many  a  youthful 
proselyte. 

One  warm  autumn  evening,  I  sat  with  a 


true-hearted 
cottage-door. 


peasant    family,    before    their 
I  was   to   remain   with   them 


until  the  following  morning,  when  I  expected 
to  receive  a  letter  which  should  regulate  my 


ministered  during  tLe  minority  of  his  two 
sons,  as  their  guardian.  Great  alterations  were 
now  introduced.  The  old  officials  and  ser- 
vants— most  of  whom  had  inherited  their 
situations  from  father  to  son  for  generations — 
were  replaced  by  Austrians.  Before  long,  not 
a  word  of  Hungarian  was  to  be  heard  in  the 
Castle  ;  the  family  itself  did  not  understand  a 
syllable  of  the  language.  All  judicial  pro- 
ceedings were  transacted  in  German  ;  none 
of  the  officials  had  the  slightest  acquaintance 
with  our  mother-tongue ;  and,  if  the  poor 
peasant  brought  forward  a  complaint  or  a 
petition,  he  was  not  only  unable  to  make 
himself  understood,  but  was  even  mocked 
and  insulted  on  that  account.  When,  thus 
wounded  in  his  tenderest  feeling  (his  pride 
in  our  noble  language),  he  appealed  to  the 
Count  himself,  he  gained  but  a  repetition  of 
the  same  treatment,  only  accompanied  with 
increased  scorn.  The  sole  results  of  every 
such  attempt  was  approbation  for  the  officials, 
and  harsh  words,  or  blows,  for  the  peasant. 
Despair  fell  gradually  on  the  people,  like  an 


movements.     Father,   mother,  and  children,  endless  night,  and  wore  deep  furrows  in  their 
were   stringing  the  dark  golden,  or  purple  1  haggard  faces. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  WIKD-FLOWEB  OF  THE  DANUBE. 


267 


Janos  was  a  gamekeeper,  and  had  until 
now  led  a  life  of  domestic  happiness  with 
his  wife  and  child.  He  was  replaced  by  au 
•  ignorant  upstart,  better  skilled  in  the  arts  of 
fawning  and  flattery  than  in  those  of  hunting 
and  woodcraft. 

Driven  from  house  and  home,  Jdnos  re- 
moved, with  his  family,  to  a  clay  hut,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Danube,  not  far  from  the  Castle. 
He  tried  in  many  ways  to  provide  for  their 
support :  but,  like  his  father  and  his  grand- 
father, he  was  only  a  huntsman.  His  skill, 
therefore,  was  limited  to  the  green  forest, 
and  his  unerring  ball.  His  utmost  efforts 
in  field-work  and  fishing,  brought  small  gain 
and  great  vexation. 

His  child  fell  ill,  and  the  blooming  cheek 
of  his  young  wife  grew  pale  from  want  and 
anxiety.  Jauos  knew  not  where  to  turn. 
The  village  doctor  had  declared  meat  and 
nourishing  food  to  be  the  only  medicine  for 
mother  and  child.  The  prescription  was 
received  in  silence ;  it  was  given  with  the 
coldness  and  indifference  of  one  who,  grown 
dull  to  such  sad  scenes  by  their  frequent 
repetition,  cares  little  whether  the  advice  he 
gives  can  be  followed  or  not. 

For  many  hours  after  the  departure  of  the 
doctor,  they  remained  brooding  gloomily  over 
his  words.  The  young  wife  had  at  last, 
through  sheer  weariness,  fallen  asleep,  with 
her  little  one  on  her  arm.  The  huntsman 
gazed  on  the  mother  and  child,  and  two 
large  tears — strange  visitants  to  his  proud 
face — fell  down  his  cheeks  on  to  his  dark 
beard.  Suddenly  his  eye  flashed.  A  resolve 
seemed  to  burst,  struggling,  from  him ;  his 
lips  grew  pale.  Stealthily  he  arose ;  and, 
groping  in  the  straw  that  formed  his  bed, 
drew  forth  a  double-barrelled  gun  from  its 
concealment;*  he  threw  over  his  shoulder  his 
large  lunck;^  and,  hiding  beneath  it  gun, 
pouch,  and  powder-flask,  he  hastened  through 
the  doorway. 

It  was  already  dusk,  when  the  crying  of  her 
child  for  food  awoke  Terka  from  a  feverish 
sleep.  She  raised  herself  with  difficulty, 
looked  around,  and  saw  she  was  alone. 
Where  was  Janos  1  She  knew  that,  for  a 
week,  he  had  been  without  work  ;  what 
could  have  induced  him  to  forsake  his  sick 
wife  ?  A  horrible  foreboding,  which  she 
could  not  define,  seized  her.  She  rushed  out, 
and  called  him  with  a  loud  voice.  There  was 
no  answer.  She  returned  to  the  hut,  took 
the  wailing  child  in  her  arms,  and  darted 
from  house  to  house  in  the  village,  asking 
for  her  husband.  Some  had  not  seen  him ; 
others  answered  with  embarrassment,  and 
sought  to  persuade  her  to  return  to  the  hut. 
This  only  rendered  the  dark  image  of  coming 
evil  more  distinct.  Onward  and  onward,  a 
nameless  presentiment  seemed  to  impel  Terka 
towards  one  fixed  spot.  Meanwhile,  night  had 

*  According  to  the  law,  none  but  the  nobles  are  allowed 
to  keep  fire-arms,  without  express  permission. 
•  t  Hungarian  sheepskin. 


completely  closed  in.  The  starving  child  shud- 
dered on  the  breast  of  its  mother ;  who,  though 
only  half-clothed,  neither  felt  the  raw  night- 
wind,  nor  heeded  her  infant's  cry.  She  had 
now  arrived  in  front  of  the  Castle ;  the  gates 
were  wide  open,  but  the  entrance  was  filled 
with  a  crowd  of  people.  Terka  stopped  for  a 
moment,  and  turned  her  large  black  eye  on 
the  bystanders,  who,  motionless  with  terror, 
were  gazing  towards  the  interior  of  the  castle- 
yard. 

Silence  reigned  for  a  moment  ;  a  loud, 
horrible  cry  then  pierced  the  air — one  that 
seemed  rather  forced  from  a  sense  of  power- 
less rage  than  from  pain.  A  cold  shudder 
ran  through  all  present ;  Terka  had  sunk  on 
her  knees,  but  rose  at  once  ;  and,  with  the 
strength  of  madness,  pushing  aside  her  neigh- 
bours who  sought  to  detain  her,  reached  the 
space  within. 

It  was  lighted  by  the  ruddy  glare  of  torches, 
held  by  a  number  of  servants  who  were 
ranged  around.  The  husband  lay,  bound  with 
cords,  on  the  ground ;  and  the  hissing  scourges 
fell,  with  fearful  rapidity,  upon  him.  A  few 
paces  distant  stood  the  grey-headed  Count, 
with  his  two  beardless  sons.  All  three 
appeared  to  look  upon  the  scene  as  on  an 
unexpected  excitement.  If  a  groan  or  cry 
from  the  poacher  (he  had  been  caught  in 
the  act)  caused  the  executioner,  who  had 
been  created  for  the  occasion,  to  pause  in- 
voluntarily, a  heavy  blow  on  his  own  shoulder, 
dealt  by  the  high  hand  of  his  gracious  lord, 
taught  him  to  do  his  duty  better  ;  and,  urged 
by  a  feeling  of  revenge,  he  visited  this  insult 
to  himself  with  threefold  force  on  his  victim. 

Terka  gazed  with  vacant  eyes ;  no  cry 
escaped  her  lips.  The  storm  had  loosened  her 
long  black  hair,  which  she  thrust  from  her 
pallid  brow  as  though  she  wished  to  see  more 
clearly.  Mechanically  she  drew  nearer  to  her 
husband — and  now,  he  sees  her !  A  fresh 
scream  of  rage  bursts  from  him — it  was  like 
no  human  sound ! 

"Away ! "  he  cried,  in  the  Hungarian  tongue, 
"  what  would  an  angel  do  among  demons  1 " 

The  young  wife  made  no  reply  ;  uncon- 
sciously, she  opened  her  arms — the  child  fell 
on  the  stones  of  the  court-yard,  and  she  sank 
fainting  by  its  side. 

Silently,  as  at  the  funeral  procession  of  a 
murdered  man,  did  the  neighbours  carry  the 
father,  mother,  and  child,  all  three  covered 
with  blood,  back  to  their  hut.  The  savage 
humour  of  the  great  lord  was  for  a  time  at  rest. 
The  streets  were  empty  ;  no  one  dared  to 
appear  at  his  door  while  the  mournful  train 
passed.  Even  those  whom  humanity  had  ren- 
dered bold  enough  to  take  the  huntsman  to 
his  home,  withdrew,  in  anxious  haste,  fearful 
of  exciting  anew  the  rage  awakened  in  their 
tyrants. 

The  injuries  which  the  mother  and  child 
had  received  in  their  fall  to  the  pavement 
were,  fortunately,  slight ;  but  Jdnb's  lay  in  a 
burning  fever,  occasioned  by  his  wounds. 


268 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Wild  fancies,  full  of  the  terrible  events  of  the 
evening,  and  mingled  with  the  ardent  desire 
for  revenge,  agitated  the  brain  of  the  sick 
man.  From  time  to  time,  Terka  laid  cooling 
herbs  on  the  deep,  bloody  wounds  with  which 
his  back  and  shoulders  were  covered,  and 
then  seated  herself  quietly  at  the  head  of 
his  bed. 

Day  broke  at  last.  The  huntsman  knew 
once  more  the  loving  hand  that  so  gently 
touched  his  brow,  and  found  a  smile  for  the 
child  to  which  Terka  sadly  pointed  as  their 
consolation.  The  little  one  sat  on  the  floor, 
not  far  from  them,  playing  with  the  bright 
hair  that  fell  in  light  ringlets  on  her  neck, 
and  the  rich  abundance  of  which  was  the 
joy  and  pride  of  her  parents. 

Towards  noon,  the  trampling  of  many 
horses  was  heard.  The  door  was  flung  open, 
and  the  forester,  who  had  on  the  previous 
day  arrested  his  predecessor,  and  brought  him 
to  the  Castle,  now  entered,  accompanied  by 
several  youths. 

"  Your  lord  commands  you,"  he  cried,  in  a 
tone  of  peremptory  insolence,  "instantly  to 
give  up  the  fire-arms  which  you  no  doubt  still 
have  in  the  house.  The  Count  himself  waits 
without  to  be  witness  of  your  submission." 

The  huntsman,  unable  to  speak,  cast  a  look 
of  deep  meaning  on  Terka. 

"  Janos  had  but  the  one  gun,"  she  said,  with 
downward  look. 

"  Wretches,  beware  !  A  lie  plunges  you  but 
deeper  in  disgrace.  Deliver  the  arms  that 
you  persist  iuxoncealing." 

The  huntsman  himself  now  made  a  sign  of 
denial. 

"  We  have  hidden  nothing,"  murmured  the 
young  wife,  almost  inaudibly. 

The  Count  had  overheard  this  conversation 
through  the  open  door.  "  Drag  him  forth  !  " 
he  cried,  his  voice  trembling  with  rage,  "  that 
the  hoof  of  my  horse  may  trample  this  lying 
Magyar's  soul  out  of  its  body.  Do  you  hear? 
Out  with  him,  or  his  punishment  shall  fall 
on  those  who  hesitate.  Let  the  house  be 
searched,"  continued  he,  "  and  if  there  be 
found  what  he  so  obstinately  denies,  he  shall 
pay  for  it  with  his  life  !  " 

The  youths  seized  the  sick  man,  and 
dragged  him  to  the  burning  sand,  which,  at 
this  place,  covers  the  shore.  Terka  followed. 

"  Hold  !  "  she  cried,  as  she  saw  the  raised 
whip  of  the  furious  Count  suspended  over  the 
head  of  her  husband,  "  Hold  !  one  moment — 
I  will  fetch  what  you  desire." 

She  went  back  into  the  house.  In  a  few 
seconds  she  returned,  with  a  rifle  in  her  hand. 

"  Here,"  said  she,  "  is  the  weapon — and 
the  ball  with  it  !  "  and,  before  they  were 
aware,  she  had  taken  a  sure  aim,  and  tired. 

The  Count,  shot  through  the  heart,  fell  from 
his  horse.  Jauos  sprang  to  his  feet ;  his  frantic 
wife,  clasping  him  in  her  arms,  whispered  a  few 
words  in  his  ear.  In  an  instant,  they  threw 
themselves  together  from  the  bank  into  the 
stream. 


Their  bodies  were  never  found. 

After  these  terrible  events,  the  deserted 
child  (then  five  years  old)  became  an  object 
of  the  tenderest  care  to  the  whole  village. 
The  inhabitants  were  incited  to  this,  partly 
by  a  natural  feeling  of  compassion  ;  partly  by 
a  dim,  unuttered  sympathy,  which  impelled 
them  to  take  charge  of  the  child  whose  un- 
happy mother  had  avenged  them  all.  Several 
times  kind-hearted  mothers  tried  to  take 
the  child  to  their  homes,  intending  to  re- 
gard it  as  one  of  their  own ;  but  she 
always  returned  to  the  hut  of  her  pa- 
rents. Neither  kind  nor  harsh  treatment 
could  induce  her  to  stay  ;  she  always  seized 
the  first  opportunity  to  slip  away  unobserved. 
When  hungry,  she  went  into  the  village  and 
asked  for  bread  ;  if  this  were  offered  to  her 
on  condition  of  her  not  returning  to  the  hut, 
she  sadly  bent  her  head,  so  beauteously 
adorned  with  sunny  curls,  and  went  home — 
her  hunger  unappeased.  They  asked  her 
often  if  she  did  not  fear  being  alone  in  the 
solitary  hut :  she  then  would  smile,  and, 
lifting  her  dark-blue  eyes  in  wonderment  to 
the  face  of  the  questioner,  answer,  "  Father 
and  mother  are  with  me — you  forget  ;  they 
watch  all  night  that  no  harm  befall  me."  At 
last  they  were  obliged  to  let  the  strange  child 
have  her  way  ;  but  supplied  her  regularly  and 
abundantly  with  food  and  clothes. 

By  degrees  a  kind  of  awe  made  the  country 
people  shun  her.  Her  strange,  reserved 
nature — the  gentle  sadness  that  was  spread 
over  her  features — the  ever-repeated  assur- 
ance that  her  parents  spent  every  night  with 
her,  gave  occasion  to  rumours  of  all  sorts 
among  the  superstitious.  It  was  said  that 
their  restless  spirits  actually  rose  from  their 
watery  grave,  to  protect  the  darling  they 
had  forsaken.  This  belief  at  last  prevailed 
so  far  that  the  people  gradually  avoided 
speaking  to  the  girl,  or  having  her  in  their 
homes ;  but  everything  she  required  was 
conveyed  to  a  place,  whence  she,  as  if  by  a 
tacit  agreement,  came  to  fetch  it.  This  es- 
trangement coincided  entirely  with  her  own 
inclinations  ;  she  did  not  like  the  society  of 
human  beings,  and  had  no  knowledge  of  their 
ways.  Thus,  solitary  and  companionlesS;  she 
ripened  into  a  lovely  maiden. 

From  sunrise  until  evening  she  was  to  be 
seen  on  the  same  spot,  sitting  on  the  shore, 
either  in  a  musing,  dreamy  attitude,  softly 
murmuring  to  the  waves,  and  bending  over 
them,  as  it  listening  for  a  reply  ;  or  comb- 
ing with  careful  pride  her  lustrous  golden 
hair,  which  dipped  in  the  moving  mirror  of 
the  water,  and  enveloped  her  in  the  sunshine, 
like  a  mantle  of  rays. 

Eleven  years  had  elapsed  since  the  day  on 
which  the  parents  of  the  orphan  had  met 
their  death.  The  old  Count's  oppression,  far 
from  being  diminished,  was  redoubled,  under 
the  united  sway  of  the  two  brothers  ;  who 
•vied  with  each  other  in  inflicting  pain  and 
misery.  While  Franz  was  the  terror  of  all 


Charlee  Dickens.] 


THE  WILD-FLOWER  OF  THE  DANUBE. 


269 


the  poor  who  were  unable  to  render  their 
lord  the  exact  amount  of  money  and  labour 
due  to  him,  Wilfred,  the  younger  brother, 
was  a  libertine  of  the  most  licentious  nature  ; 
who,  in  his  wild  passion  for  the  banquet,  and 
the  chase,  spared  neither  the  goods  nor  the 
lands,  neither  the  fields  nor  the  fruits  of  his 
vassals.  Every  holy  feeling  of  humanity 
seemed  to  be  dried  up  in  these  two  hearts. 
The  father  of  a  family  trembled  when  Franz 
ordered  him  up  to  the  castle,  for  this  was  the 
sure  omen  of  approaching  misfortune.  The 
mother  murmured  a  short  prayer,  and  has- 
tened to  conceal  herself  and  her  children  in 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  house,  when  the 
snorting  of  Wilfred's  black  horse  was  heard 
on  the  castle  hill. 

One  warm  Sunday  morning,  during  harvest 
time,  Wilfred  had  ridden  out  with  a  dozen 
fleet  greyhounds,  to  course  the  hare,  little 
caring  in  his  wild  mood  for  the  horror  with 
which  he  filled  the  pious  villagers  by  this  un- 
holy disturbance  of  the  Sabbath.  The  sport 
did  not  prove  successful ;  the  dogs  had  been 
at  fault — the  horse  had  failed  in  speed — the 
game  had  escaped  the  hiinter.  He  relieved 
his  ill-temper  by  pulling  at  the  mouth  of  his 
Arabian  horse  till  it  bled ;  and  giving  the 
dogs,  that,  aware  of  their  crime,  were  slinking 
fearfully  away,  a  taste  of  the  whip.  In  his 
obstinate  determination  to  reach  his  prey,  he 
had  ridden  farther  than  usual :  now,  hungry 
and  vexed,  he  sought  to  shorten  the  way  back 
to  the  castle  by  leaping  over  every  obstacle. 
After  proceeding  madly  in  this  way  for  half- 
an-hour,  a  cool,  refreshing  breeze  suddenly 
roused  the  heated  rider  from  his  sullen  brood- 
ing. He  looked  up  and  found  himself  on  a 
sandy  road,  by  the  bank  of  the  Danube.  He 
was  about  to  slacken  his  pace,  both  for  his 
own  and  his  horse's  sake,  when  the  animal, 
shying  and  starting  aside,  stopped  short.  Sur- 
prised at  this  unusual  movement,  he  looked 
around  for  the  cause  of  the  horse's  fear. 

The  sight  that  met  his  eyes,  although  far 
from  exciting  a  similar  feeling  in  him,  held 
him  for  some  moments  motionless.  A  few 
paces  from  him,  on  a  grassy  hillock,  lay  the 
orphan  (her  head  resting  on  her  arm),  uncon- 
scious of  the  rider's  approach. 

A  magical  loveliness  gleamed  from  her 
countenance,  which  was  bent  towards  the 
stream  with  an  arch  smile,  such  as  petted 
children  wear  when  they  venture  to  play 
tricks  on  grave  people.  Meanwhile,  she  cast 
into  the  waters  bunches  and  garlands  of  wild 
flowers,  which  lay  heaped  in  her  lap.  Her 
long  bright  hair,  gently  borne  on  the  wind, 
now  floated  in  sunny  filaments  around  her, 
and  now  enveloped  in  rich  shining  folds 
her  slender  form.  The  whole  apparition 
was  one  of  entrancing  beauty,  rare  and 
captivating. 

Much  less  would  have  sufficed  to  enflame 
the  excitable  heart  of  the  Austrian  ;  he 
alighted  from  his  horse,  and  approached  the 
maiden,  fearing  all  the  while  lest  some 


illusion  might  be  dazzling  his  senses,  and  the 
whole  enchantment  dissolve  into  air  before 
he  reached  it.  She  did  not  look  up ;  but 
continued  playing  with  the  flowers. 

"  Who  art  thou  ?  "  he  at  length  exclaimed, 
almost  trembling  with  emotion.  "  Say,  art 
thou  woman,  or  immortal  ? " 

There  was  no  answer. 

The  Count  drew  nearer,  and  sat  down  at 
her  feet.  "  Listen  !  "  he  resumed,  "  I  feel,  by 
the  passionate  beating  of  my  heart,  that  thou 
art  mortal,  like  myself.  I  know  not  whence 
thou  comest,  nor  what  thy  name.  It  matters 
not.  Woman  reigns  but  by  beauty's  power. 
Reign  over  all  that  is  mine,  and  over  me  !" 
With  these  words  he  tried  to  seize  her  hand. 
The  maiden  now  looked  up  for  the  first  time  ; 
and  on  her  countenance  was  depicted  only 
childish  vexation  atthe  interruption.  "Hush !" 
she  said  ;  "  you  speak  so  loud  that  I  cannot 
hear  what  they  are  telling  me." 

"  Leave  thy  childish  play,"  said  the 
knight,  caressingly.  "  Dost  thou  not  hear  ? 
Dost  thou  not  understand  what  I  offer  thee  ? 
I,  Count  Wilfred,  lord  of  this  wide  domain, 
implore  thy  love.  Follow  me  to  my  castle  j 
and,  let  the  world  say  what  it  will,  thou  shalt 
be  Lord  Wilfred's  wife." 

The  maiden  listened  thoughtfully  to  his 
words  ;  a  sad  foreboding  flitted  unconsciously 
like  a  shadow  over  her  clear  brow.  "  I  do 
not  understand — I  know  not  what  you  would 
with  me — I  feel  only  that  your  presence 
alarms  and  disturbs  me."  With  these  words 
she  turned  from  him,  as  though  in  anger. 

The  Count  stood  up,  he  felt  a  gush  of  that 
impatience  which  always  seized  him  on  the 
slightest  contradiction  ;  but  a  glance  at  the 
fascinating  creature  before  him  subdued  it. 

"  Thou  art  a  child,  yet  a  charming,  a 
wondrous  child.  Understand,  then,  oh  sweet 
wild  maiden  !  Thou  shalt  become  my  wife — 
shalt  go  with  me  to  my  castle — shalt  leave 
this  place  never  to  return." 

Of  all  Wilfred  had  said,  the  orphan  under- 
stood only  that  he  purposed  to  remove  her 
from  her  home. 

In  anxious  fear  she  sprang  up.  "  Leave 
this  place  ! — Depart !  "  she  cried.  "  Stranger, 
why  torment  me  with  such  words  1  Know 
you  not  that  I  am  the  orphan  1  Leave  me  !  " 
she  continued,  and  clasped  her  hands  im- 
ploringly, "  leave  me  to  myself !  Do  you  not 
hear  ? "  and  she  bent,  in  a  listening  attitude, 
over  the  Danube — "They  murmur.  I  fear 
they  are  displeased  with  me." — She  threw 
herself  weeping  on  her  knees  :  "  Be  not  angry 
with  me,  loved  ones  !  N  ever  will  the  orphan 
leave  this  place  !  " 

A  shudder  ran  through  the  Knight.  A  dint 
recollection  began  to  dawn  on  his  mind. 
Involuntarily,  his  thoughts  reverted  to  his 
father,  who  had  been  murdered  on  these  banks. 
The  details  of  the  awful  event  had  always,  so 
far  as  was  possible,  been  concealed  from  him  and 
his  brother.  Why  did  the  shade  of  his  father 
now  rise  to  his  imagination,  dark  and  bloody  ? 


270 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


fConducted  by 


"Thou  little  fool,"  lie  exclaimed,  "thou 
little  frantic  fool !  Art  thou  really  so  un- 
acquainted with  men  and  the  world  as  not 
to  know  that  each  of  my  words  is  a  thun- 
derbolt, before  which  every  will  trembles 
and  is  silent  ?  I  tell  thee  thou  must  follow 
me." 

With  these  words  he  clasped  the  maiden  in 
his  arms,  and  sought  to  draw  her  away. 

The  orphan  sprang  up.  The  anger  of  out- 
raged modesty  glowed  on  her  cheek  ;  her 
dark-blue  eye  flashed  as  if  it  would  annihilate 
the  insolent  intruder. 

"  Help  !  "  she  cried ;  "  help  !  Am  I  quite 
forsaken  !  " 

On  the  surrounding  heights  appeared  groups 
of  country  people  on  their  way  to  the  neigh- 
bouring church,  who,  anxious  spectators  of 
the  unequal  contest,  ventured  not  to  stay 
their  dreaded  master. 

"  Thou  strugglest  in  vain,  mischievous  little 
witch  !  "  exclaimed  Wilfred,  as  he  strove  to 
lift  her  on  his  horse. 

"  Help  !  "  cried  the  maiden  again. 

The  groups  on  the  hills  crowded  together. 
The  bells  of  the  village  church  began  to 
sound  the  summons  to  the  holy  service. 

With  a  violent  movement  of  despair,  the 
orphan  had  succeeded  in  disengaging  herself, 
and  had  gained  the  brink  of  the  stream. 

"  I  understand  thee  !  "  shouted  the  Count ; 
"but  thou  art  too  beautiful  to  become  the 
prey  of  fishes  :  thou  shalt  not  escape  me  so  !  " 

He  roughly  grasped  her  lang,  silken  hair, 
and  wound  it  several  times  round  his  right 
hand.  "Now  fly ! "  he  triumphantly  exclaimed, 
"  call  thy  spirits  to  thy  aid  !  " 

The  maiden  trembled  in  every  limb.  "  My 
parents  !  my  parents  !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  help 
your  child  !  " 

And  suddenly — as  when  a  huge  caldron,  on 
the  point  of  boiling,  sends  to  the  surface  foam 
and  bubbles — the  stream  began  to  seethe  and 
heave ;  its  colour  changing  to  a  dull  grey  ; 
a  hollow  plashing  sound  was  heard  ;  and  an 
odour  of  decay  rose  from  the  waters.  The 
orphan  uttered  a  cry  of  joy  ;  stretched  her 
arms  as  towards  a  visible  object,  and  sank 
into  the  stream. 

A  shriek  of  horror  burst  from  the  tyrant ; 
the  luxuriant  tresses  remained  in  his  hand  ! 
Pale  as  death,  he  paces 

backward.  "  Lord,  be  merciful  to  me  !  "  he 
stammered,  with  halting  tongue,  and  fell  to 
the  ground  in  a  swoon.  His  hand  relaxed 
its  hold  ;  and  the  delicate  fair  hair,  carried 
by  the  wind,  flew  along  the  shore,  and  rested 
on  hill  and  bush. 

The  bells  were  still  calling  to  church  ;  but 
the  people,  excited  and  trembling  at  the 
miracle  they  had  witnessed,  knelt  down  and 
implored  from  Heaven  forgiveness  for  the 
wretched  culprit. 

Count  Wilfred  soon  after  made  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  from  which  he  never 
returned.  A  few  years  more,  and  his  elder 
brother  breathed  his  last,  after  a  long  illness, 


surrounded  in  his  dying  moments  only  by 
unsympathising  men,  whom  he  had  taught 
to  feel  towards  him  nothing  but  hatred,  and 
a  longing  for  revenge.  The  property  reverted 
to  the  State. 

But,  maidens,  ever  since  this  wondrous 
event,  have  found  along  the  shores  of  the 
Danube  a  new  flower,  the  long,  flaxen  filaments 
of  which  so  closely  resemble  The  Orphan 
Maiden's  Hair  that  they  have  given  it  that 


Erzsi  ceased.  Meanwhile,  the  moon  had 
fully  risen,  and  softly  illumined  the  stream 
and  its  green  shores.  Here  and  there,  between 
the  reeds,  were  seen  the  delicate,  light  flowers, 
the  history  of  which  she  had  related ;  and 
which,  gently  stirred  by  the  evening  wind, 
bore  testimony  to  the  truth  of  the  Hungarian 
legend. 

It  was  late — my  hosts  retired  to  rest ;  but 
I  remained  long  on  my  seat  before  the  house, 
and  let  the  rushing  current  of  the  Danube, 
and  the  sighing  of  the  reeds,  repeat  to  me  the 
legend  I  had  heard, 

THE  TEEATMENT  OF  THE  INSANE. 


UNDER  this  head  we  spoke  in  our  third 
volume,  at  page  572,  of  the  extent  to  which 
insanity  prevails  hi  this  kingdom,  and  pointed 
out  the  insufficiency  of  the  accommodation 
provided  for  the  care  and  cure  of  Lunatics. 
Our  comments  were,  on  that  occasion,  by  no 
means  exhausted. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  left  to  us  some- 
thing to  say  of  the  arrangements  now  existing 
on  behalf  of  private  patients  in  the  County 
Asylums,  in  the  public  '  Hospitals,'  and  lastly, 
in  the  Licensed  Houses. 

According  to  a  return  made  by  the  Com- 
missioners of  Lunacy  to  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
there  were  in  January,  1850,  nine  county 
asylums  which  admitted  private  as  well  as 
pauper  lunatics.  The  entire  number  of  pri- 
vate patients  living  at  that  time  in  the 
asylums,  was  two  hundred  and  thirty-two. 
When  county  asylums  were  first  established, 
they  were  mainly  for  the  benefit  of  pauper 
lunatics  ;  and,  although  in  several  instances 
part  of  their  accommodation  has  been  applied 
to  the  use  of  private  patients,  it  would 
have  been  better  had  they  all  remained 
devoted  wholly  to  the  sei'vice  of  the  poor. 
When  such  necessary  parts  of  an  asylum  as 
its  courts  and  grounds  are  subdivided  for  the 
sake  of  separating  patients  between  whom 
there  is  no  other  difference  than  rank,  the 
pauper  loses,  and  the  private  patient  only 
gets  a  part  of  the  accommodation  furnished, 
not  for  men  divided  by  the  barriers  of  social 
rank,  but  for  men  united  by  a  common  malady 
under  a  common  system  of  relief.  Moreover, 
there  arises  a  great  deal  of  practical  incon- 
venience from  the  endeavour  to  maintain  two 
scales  of  housekeeping  under  a  single  roof, 
and  what  is  a  great  deal  worse,  much  moral 


Charlee  Dickens.] 


THE  TREATMENT  OF  THE  INSANE. 


271 


injury  is  done,  by  suggesting  to  patients  with 
unhealthy  minds  contrasts  at  which  the 
healthiest  would  be  disposed  to  grumble. 

Among  the  more  experienced  directors 
of  these  institutions,  the  desire  to  dispense 
with  the  reception  of  private  patients  is 
increasing.  Among  county  asylums  recently 
erected,  we  can  call  to  mind  but  one  in 
which  the  establishment  of  a  provision  for 
two  classes  of  patients  has  been  seriously 
attempted.  If  other  accommodation  can  be 
found  for  private  cases,  we  shall  desire  much 
to  see  their  removal  from  all  county  asylums. 
Considerations  of  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence, 
might  still  in  some  cases  forbid  a  change, 
but  on  all  other  grounds  it  is  in  all  cases 
desirable. 

It  is  inconsistent  with  our  present  know- 
ledge of  the  accommodation  needed  for 
due  care  of  the  insane,  to  scoop  a  corner 
from  a  county  lunatic  asylum  for  the  use  of 
private  patients.  We  are  by  no  means 
blind  to  the  energy  and  skill  which  have 
been  manifested  in  the  management  of  some 
of  those  asylums  which  contain  two  classes  of 
the  insane.  In  many  of  the  directors,  and 
almost  all  the  superintendents  of  such  insti- 
tutions, there  has  appeared  a  steady  disposi- 
tion to  move  on  in  advance  of  worn-out  usages, 
to  drop  mere  routine  methods,  and  to  act  in 
accordance  with  the  philosophic  principles  of 
treatment  which  have  been,  and  are  being, 
developed  in  the  present  day.  The  asylums 
have  indeed  served  as  schools,  out  of  whose 
teaching  almost  all  that  deserves  the  name 
of  improvement  in  the  care  and  treatment  of 
mental  disease  in  our  own  country  has  been 
produced  ;  but  we  must  express  a  firm  con- 
viction, that  with  the  best  skill  and  the  best 
care,  serious  inconvenience  must  result  from 
the  attempt  to  quarter  private  cases  on  asy- 
lums which  are  properly  intended  only  for 
the  use  of  pauper  lunatics. 

Many  county  lunatic  asylums  have  in  the 
first  instance  been  established  in  a  form,  or  on 
a  scale,  extremely  ill-suited  to  the  requirements 
of  their  respective  districts.  As  the  world 
now  runs,  it  is  in  every  man's  power  to  ascer- 
tain with  exactness  the  number  of  pauper 
lunatics  in  every  district  of  the  kingdom,  and 
the  exact  amount  of  accommodation  that  has 
been  provided  for  them  in  each  district.  The 
difference,  therefore,  that  has  in  each  case  to 
be  made  good,  in  order  to  establish  the  pro- 
vision for  such  sufferers  ia  a  fit  way  through- 
out the  country,  is  a  plain  sum  in  subtraction. 
Why  is  it  not  worked  out  ?  Why  are  not 
mistakes  of  construction  rectified  ?  Why  are 
not  inadequate  grounds  enlarged  1  In  the  way 
of  blundering,  for  example,  we  have  heard  of 
one  asylum  built  within  the  last  seven  years 
to  accommodate  one  hundred  and  twenty 
patients.  Its  dormitories  were  able  to  hold 
fifty  men,  that  is  to  say,  tranquil  patients  ; 
but  there  were  at  first  no  more  than  twelve 
single  chambers  for  patients  whose  company 
at  night  would  disturb  others  in  their  rest. 


Yet  it  is  well  known  that  at  least  one  lunatic 
patient  in  three  requires  a  distinct  sleeping 
apartment,  while  the  rest  ought  to  be  lodged 
in  what  are  called  Associated  Dormitories, 
containing  six,  or  at  the  most,  eight  beds.  In 
other  details  of  the  construction  of  the  asylum 
to  which  we  are  referring,  the  same  want  of 
practical  intelligence  was  manifested.  A 
brief  trial  proved  that  the  building  was 
unable  to  fulfil  the  purpose  for  which  it  had 
been  designed.  All  the  arrangements  had 
to  be  revised,  and  a  large  additional  outlay 
was  of  course  incurred.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  large  supplementary  asylum  for  the 
county  of  Middlesex,  which  has  been  opened 
recently  at  Colney  Hatch,  is  not  more  re- 
markable for  its  extent  than  for  the  com- 
pleteness of  its  arrangements. 

The  arrangements  now  being  carried 
out  by  the  visiting  justices  of  the  asylum 
for  the  county  of  Stafford,  are  among  the 
best  of  the  kind  existing  in  the  country. 
That  asylum  had  united  its  resources  in 
1814  with  a  charitable  fund,  and  undertook 
to  receive  three  classes  of  patients — those 
who  could  pay  for  their  maintenance,  those 
who  could  partly  pay,  and  those  who  could 
not  pay  at  all.  After  some  time  the  dropping 
in  of  funds  enabled  the  justices  to  sever  their 
connection  with  the  trustees  of  the  charitable 
fund,  and  confine  their  asylum  to  the  use  of 
paupers  only,  making  room  for  four  or  five 
hundred  of  them.  The  trustees  of  the 
charity,  from  the  share  of  funds  withdrawn 
by  them  at  the  partition,  were  at  the  same 
time  able  to  erect  a  separate  institution  for 
the  benefit  of  private  patients  only. 

When  the  provisions  of  the  act  8  &  9  Viet. 
cap.  126,  shall  be  entirely  fulfilled,  under  the 
efficient  supervision  of  the  Commissioners  in 
Lunacy,  the  care  of  the  insane  poor  will  be 
placed  on  a  safe  footing.  They  will  be  better 
provided  for  than  the  afflicted  members  of  a 
higher  class.  So  notoriously  deficient  are  the 
provisions  for  the  care  and  cure  of  lunatics 
belonging  to  the  middle  classes,  that  many 
people  who  have  worldly  substance,  do  not 
hesitate,  by  a  verbal  fiction,  to  apply  on  be- 
half of  an  insane  friend,  as  on  behalf  of  a  pauper, 
for  admission  into  the  county  lunatic  asylum. 
Such  a  friend  is  of  course  described  as  a 
pauper,  by  the  sanction  of  the  authorities, 
who  obtain  a  bond  for  the  re-imbursement 
of  all  expense  incurred  for  the  patient.  In. 
one  county  lunatic  asylum  with  which  we 
are  acquainted,  the  gross  number  of  patients 
admitted  during  the  year  1850  was  one 
hundred  and  three,  out  of  which  there  were 
as  many  as  twenty-three  fictitious  paupers, 
for  whose  maintenance  their  parishes  were 
duly  indemnified. 

Passing  from  the  subject  of  county  asylums, 
we  come  now  to  speak  of  lunatic  hospitals; 
institutions  for  the  reception  of  the  insane, 
which  have  been  established  chiefly  by  volun- 
tary contributions,  and  are  governed  by  com- 
mittees after  the  manner  of  other  charitable 


272 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


trusts.  Their  character  was  thus  defined  in 
one  of  the  reports  of  the  Metropolitan  Com- 
missioners in  Lunacy : — "These  hospitals  differ 
materially  from  other  hospitals  for  the  sick 
in  this  respect,  that  although  most  of  them 
derive  some  portion  of  their  income  from  a 
charitable  foundation,  the  patients  admitted 
into  them  invariably  pay  the  greater  part, 
and  sometimes  the  whole  of  the  expense  oi 
their  own  maintenance,  and  medical  attend- 
ance." Out  of  the  same  reports  we  learn  that 
there  are  thirteen  institutions  of  this  nature. 
Bethlehem  hospital,  and  one  or  two  asylums 
for  insane  soldiers  and  sailors,  not  being 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Commissioners 
in  Lunacy,  are  not  included  in  this  estimate. 

On  the  first  of  January,  1850,  these  thirteen 
institutions  afforded  accommodation  for  eight 
hundred  and  sixty-five  private  patients,  some 
little  space  being  reserved  for  pauper  cases. 
There  were  also  three  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  seventy-four  private  patients  under 
"  appropriate  superintendence ;"  out  of  which 
number  seventy  per  cent,  were  under  the  care 
of  persons  who  look  upon  their  reception  as  a 
means  of  livelihood. 

Possibly  they  may  be  better  cared  for  in 
some  of  these  licensed  houses  than  in  the 
lunatic  hospitals  themselves.  The  hospitals 
are  not  all  in  a  satisfactory  condition.  Of 
the  thirteen  institutions  named  in  the  report 
we  have  cited,  five  admitted  paupers  among 
other  patients  ;  six  or  seven  were  not  able  to 
find  room  for  more  than  fifty  private  cases. 
"We  doubt  much  whether  any  hospital  on  a 
small  scale,  containing  fewer  than  about  a 
hundred  inmates,  could  possess  the  finances 
requisite  for  maintaining  grounds  and  other 
requirements  of  a  lunatic  community  on  a 
sufficient  scale.  Again,  while  some  of  these 
hospitals  have  admirable  sites,  there  are  other3 
situated  in  the  midst  of  towns,  where  the 
patients  are  either  to  be  screened  from  ob- 
servation by  high  prison-like  walls,  or  to  be 
overlooked  from  the  windows  of  adjacent 
houses.  No  natural  sky-line  can  cheat  the 
disturbed  imagination  with  a  sense  of  liberty, 
and  still  less  is  there  the  solace  to  the  mind 
of  an  extensive  or  a  cheerful  prospect.  Fur- 
thermore, we  feel  by  no  means  convinced 
of  the  wisdom  with  which  funds  are  ma- 
naged in  some  of  these  hospitals.  In  walk- 
ing over  one  of  them  we  asked  why  the 
walls  of  the  galleries,  and  of  some  of  the 
day-rooms  were  so  dingy,  when  a  very  trifling 
outlay  upon  paper-hanging,  paint,  or  even 
simple  whitewash,  would  have  converted  the 
gloom  into  comfort.  We  then  learnt  that 
the  money  paid  on  account  of  lunatic  patients 
in  that  institution  was  not  all  spent  in  pro- 
viding for  their  maintenance  ;  but  that  every 
shilling  that  could  be  saved  out  of  its  ex- 
penses was  paid  over  to  the  Treasurer  of  an 
adjacent  General  Infirmary,  for  the  support 
of  which  institution  the  lunatics  were  de- 
prived of  a  considerable  portion  of  their 
dues. 


The  public  has,  of  late  years,  ceased  to 
regard  a  lunatic  hospital  as  a  scene 

"  Of  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks  and  sights  unholy." 

The  governors  of  Bethlehem  represent  the 
improved  knowledge  and  feeling  of  society 
when  they  draw  a  veil  over  the  hideous 
sculptures  of  Gibber,  which  used  to  keep 
watch  over  their  gate,  caricaturing  madness. 
Too  many  of  us  in  this  country  have  to  watch 
with  affectionate  solicitude  the  wanderings  of 
a  mind  that  has  been  one  with  ours  in  love— 
the  anxious  search  for  a  fit  place  of  repose 
and  cure  occurs  at  times  within  the  sphere  of 
every  man's  acquaintance.  The  search  is  now 
too  difficult. 

We  have  seen  that,  on  the  1st  of  January, 
1850,  there  were  three  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred and  seventy-four  members  of  families 
who  could  afford  to  pay  for  due  assistance 
placed  under  appropriate  superintendence. 
Of  this  number,  not  more  than  thirty  per 
cent. — in  exact  numbers  one  thousand  and 
ninety  seven — were  residing  in  county  asylums 
and  lunatic  hospitals.  The  remaining  two 
thousand  six  hundred  and  seventy-seven 
were,  therefore,  being  lodged  in  licensed 
houses.  Of  these  licensed  houses,  therefore, 
it  remains  for  us  to  speak. 

Places  of  safe  custody  for  lunatics  being 
quite  indispensable,  and  such  places  not  being 
provided  otherwise  for  seventy  per  cent,  of 
the  whole  number,  it  has  become  a  matter  of 
necessity  that  private  houses  should  be  open 
for  their  reception,  and  that  private  persons, 
physicians  or  others,  should  endeavour  to 
meet  the  demand  that  exists  for  people 
competent  to  watch  over  the  insane.  If  the 
keeping  of  such  licensed  houses  has  become 
one  of  the  private  modes  of  earning  a  liveli- 
hood in  England,  we  must  by  no  means  say 
that,  as  a  mode  of  earning  bread,  it  is  an 
improper  trading  in  affliction.  Like  most 
other  occupations,  it  supplies  a  pressing  want, 
in  the  only  way  and  the  best  way  that  is  at 
present  practicable.  The  better  the  men  who 
ngage  in  it,  the  more  efficiently  will  the 
want  of  the  public  be  supplied  ;  and  among 
the  keepers  of  these  licensed  houses,  there 
are  most  certainly  persons  of  high  principle 
and  noble  purpose,  who  devote  themselves  to 
their  charge  in  the  true  spirit  of  men  who 
labour  in  their  sphere  to  increase  the  well- 
being  of  society.  The  system,  however,  of 
licensing  private  houses  for  the  care  of  the 
insane,  is  but  an  inefficient  substitute  for  that 
which  alone  can  ensure  a  due  provision  for 
.heir  wants.  We  quote  the  opinion  of  the 
aighest  living  authority  upon  these  matters, 
when  we  say,  "  that  all  persons  of  unsound 
mind  should  become  the  care  of  the  state  ; 
and  should  continue  so  until  recovery."  And 
'  that  every  lunatic  asylum  should  be  the 
property  of  the  state,  and  be  controlled  by 
aublic  officers."  We  quote  these  suggestions 
'rom  Doctor  Couolly's  work  on  "  The  Indica- 
ions  of  Insanity,"  published  in  1830.  Since 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  WONDEES  OF  MINCING  LANE. 


273 


that  period,  the  number  of  insane  persons  in 
England  and  Wales  has  more  than  doubled, 
and  the  urgency  of  suggestion  for  their  proper 
care  has  increased  in  the  same  proportion. 

The  Acts  8th  &  9th  Viet.  (cap.  100  &  126), 
by  augmenting  the  powers  and  extending  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Commissioners  of  Lunacy, 
making  a  "wholesome  step  towards  the  full 
and  efficient  superintendence  of  the  State, 
have  done  much  good.  "Houses"  have,  to 
some  extent,  been  set  in  order,  and  their 
arrangements  and  regulations  have  been  com- 
pelled into  accordance  with  the  requirements 
of  visitors,  more  scrupulous  and  intelligent 
than  those  to  which  they  had  been  previously 
accustomed.  The  evils  of  a  bad  system  have 
been  mitigated  ;  but  the  bad  system  exists. 

The  complete  equipment  of  a  lunatic  asylum, 
in  accordance  with  the  demands  of  modern 
science,  requires  space,  and  involves  outlay 
that  can  only  be  afforded  where  the  payments 
received  from  a  large  number  of  patients 
warrant  the  establishment  of  the  asylum  on 
an  ample  scale.  Now,  at  the  period  which 
we  have  taken  for  illustration,  on  New  Year's 
Day,  1850,  the  two  thousand  six  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  patients,  for  whose  care  pay- 
ment was  made  by  their  friends,  and  for 
whose  reception  only  private  houses  were 
provided,  were  distributed  in  one  hundred 
and  thirty-six  of  these  houses  :  forty-five  of 
the  number  being  situated,  in  metropolitan 
districts,  and  ninety-one  scattered  about  the 
country.  It  appears,  therefore,  that  there 
was  an  average  of  not  more  than  nineteen  or 
twenty  patients  in  each  licensed  house.  Of 
these  licensed  houses,  again,  forty- one  also 
admitted  paupers.  It  requires  the  co-ope- 
ration, not  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  but  of  at 
least  a  hundred  patients  to  obtain  for  the 
good  of  each  the  full  accommodation  which 
the  care  and  cure  of  lunacy  require.  It  is 
only  by  the  establishment  of  ample  and  well- 
constituted  asylums  controlled  by  the  State, 
that  such  accommodation  can  be  furnished 
to  all  those  by  whom  it  is  required. 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last  year,  it  was 
stated  by  the  Chairman  of  our  Commissioners 
in  Lunacy,  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  that 
"  Some  private  asylums  had  undoubtedly  men 
of  experience  at  their  head,  and  he  laid  an 
emphasis  on  'some,'  because  he  found  the 
vast  number  of  private  lunatic  asylums  to  be 
such,  that  he  should  be  glad  indeed  if  some 
arrangement  or  other  could  be  made,  so  that 
no  such  thing  as  a  private  asylum  was  per- 
mitted in  this  country." 

We  have  endeavoured  to  show,  that  without 
imputing  to  a  single  person  engaged  in  the 
care  of  lunatics  throughout  the  country  any 
but  the  most  disinterested  benevolence  and 
patient  energy — assuming  that  there  is  not  to 
be  found  one  instance  of  culpable  mismanage- 
ment— yet  still  the  provision  that  exists  in 
England  for  the  care  and  cure  of  the  insane 
is  lamentably  insufficient.  We  need  not  add 
to  the  account  any  allowance  for  incompetence, 


neglect,  and  other  evils  which  must  come  to 
be  added  in  a  large  number  of  instances.  The 
existing  system  being  in  itself  so  obviously 
inadequate,  we  have  courage  to  hope  that 
before  many  years  are  over,  we  may  live  to 
see  "  an  enlightened  and  humane  system  of 
treating  the  Insane  adopted  throughout  the 
country." 


THE  WONDEES  OF   MINCING   LANE. 


THERE  are  few  persons  who  have  not  in 
the  course  of  their  lives  swallowed  certain 
nauseous  doses  of  bark,  colocynth,  aloes, 
or  castor-oil ;  who  have  not  indulged  in  the 
luxury  of  otto  of  rose,  or  musk  ;  who  have  not 
had  some  dealings  with  the  colourman,  or  the 
dyer ;  and  yet  I  feel  tolerably  certain  that 
not  one-hundredth  portion  of  those  same 
readers  know  anything  of  where  such  articles 
come  from,  how  they  arrive  here,  and  through 
what  channel  they  are  finally  distributed.  It 
will  not  occur  to  them  that  those  costly  drugs, 
and  dyes,  and  perfumes  arrive  in  this  country 
from  all  parts  of  the  world  in  huge  packages  ; 
that,  in  fact,  ship-loads  of  them  come  at  a 
time  ;  that  the  bales  and  cases  which  contain 
them  fill  enormous  piles  of  warehouses  in 
three  or  four  of  our  docks  ;  that  several 
hundred  merchants  and  brokers  obtain  a 
handsome  living,  many  realising  fortunes,  by 
their  sale  ;  and  that  some  millions  sterling  are 
embarked  in  the  trade. 

.  These  things  form  a  little-known  world  of 
their  own.  They  thrive  mostly  in  Mincing 
Lane,  London.  Even  the  omniscient  Times 
knows  nothing  about  them.  The  Thunderer  is 
powerless  within  the  drug  circle.  Search  its 
acres  of  advertisements,  but  it  will  be  in  vain  ; 
nothing  is  to  be  found  there  of  the  dye  and  drug- 
sales  which  are  to  be  held  on  Thursday  next 
at  Garra way's.  These  mysteries  are  only  to  be 
learnt  at  the  "  Jerusalem,"  in  Mincing  Lane, 
London,  at  the  "  Baltic,"  or  from  the  columns 
of  the  Public  Ledger,  a  daily  periodical 
devoted  to  all  such  matters,  and  known  only 
to  the  initiated.  In  its  columns  you  will 
find  a  motley  list  of  all  the  vile  materials 
of  the  Pharmacopoeia  ;  and  in  such  quantities 
as  to  justify  a  belief  in  the  existence  of  some 
enormous  conspiracy  to  poison  all  living 
creatures. 

Mincing  Lane  is  like  no  other  lane,  and 
Mincing  Lane  men  are  like  no  other  men. 
Any  Thursday  morning,  between  +^f  hours 
of  ten  and  eleven,  and  at  every  uuernate 
doorway,  may  be  observed  catalogues  of 
various  drugs  and  dyes  that  are  to  be  on  sale 
at  noon,  gibbetted  against  the  door-posls. 
Mincing  Lane  men  will  be  seen  rushing 
madly  along  the  pavement,  as  if  a  fire  had  just 
broken  out,  and  they  were  in  quest  of  the 
engines,  jamming  innocent  lookers-on  against 
gateways,  and  waggon-wheels,  and  lamp- 
posts. 

It  was  into  one  of  these  obscure  passages 
that  I  turned  with  a  companion,  groping  our 


274 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


slow  way  up  a  narrow  staircase,  at  the 
risk  of  constant  concussions  with  frantic 
Mincing  Lane  men.  "We  found  ourselves  in 
a  broker's  office,  and  thence  in  his  sample- 
room.  This  was  a  large  square  apart- 
ment, with  wide  counters  extending  round 
the  four  sides,  and  several  tables  and  stands 
across  the  centre.  On  these  lay  papers  con- 
taining various  odd-looking,  unpleasant-smell- 
ing substances.  My  attention  was  chiefly 
attracted  by  a  number  of  rows  of  pretty- 
looking  bottles,  containing  some  pale  bright 
liquid,  which  several  of  the  "  Lane  men " 
•were  busily  sipping,  smacking  their  lips  after 
each  taste,  with  uncommon  relish.  I  inquired 
if  the  thin-looking  bottles  contained  Johan- 
nesberg  or  Tokay  1  "  No,"  I  was  answered, 
"  castor-oil !  "  After  that,  I  was  prepared  to 
find  the  "Lane  men"  hob-an-nobbing  in  lauda- 
num, or  nibbling  lumps  of  jalap  or  aloes. 

The  time  appointed  for  the  sale  approached  ; 
and,  leaving  the  dark  brokers'  offices,  we  did 
our  best  to  reach  Garraway's,  where  the 
auction  of  these  articles  takes  place.  Scores 
of  clerks  and  principals  were  proceeding 
from  the  Lane  towards  the  same  spot. 
We  hurried  along  Fenchurch  Street,  across 
Gracechurch  Street,  and  up  a  part  of  Lom- 
bard Street,  following  close  in  the  rear  of  a 
rather  portly  broker,  who  cleared  a  way  for 
us  in  quite  an  easy  off-hand  manner,  that  was 
very  pleasant  to  us  ;  but  not  so  agreeable  to 
the  six  men  who  were  offering  toasting-forks 
and  wash-leather  bags  for  sale  at  the  corner  of 
Birchin  Lane.  I  never  could  account  for  the 
extraordinary  demand  existing  for  those  two 
articles  in  that  neighbourhood  ;  unless  it  be 
that  bankers'  clerks  indulge  freely  in  toast- 
and-water,  and  carry  their  dinners  to  office 
in  the  leather  bags. 

Out  of  Birchin  Lane,  down  one  narrow 
passage  to  the  left,  and  round  another  straight 
forward,  and  there  was  Garraway's.  We 
soon  lost  sight  of  the  pictures  in  frames  for 
sale  outside,  and  turned  to  study  the  pictures 
out  of  frames  inside.  In  the  dark,  heavy- 
looking  coffee-room,  there  were  assembled 
some  of  the  mightiest  City  potentates, — the 
Alexanders,  Nimrods,  and  Caesars  of  the 
drug  and  dye  world.  I  drew  in  my  breath 
as  I  viewed  that  knot  of  stout,  well-favoured 
persons,  congregated  at  the  foot  of  the  old- 
fashioned  staircase  leading  to  the  public 
sale-room  above.  I  trod  those  stairs  lightly, 
half  in  veneration,  and  laid  my  hand  gently 
and  respectfully  on  the  banisters  that  I  knew 
must  have  been  pressed  of  old  by  mighty  men 
of  commerce.  Down  those  wide  sweeping  stairs 
many  had  oftentimes  tripped  lightly  home- 
wards, after  a  day  of  golden  labour,  laden 
with  the  fruit  of  the  fabled  garden  :  some- 
times, too,  with  gloomy  brows,  and  feverish, 
flushed  faces. 

What  a  strange  scene  presented  itself  in 
the  sale-room,  when,  by  dint  of  scuffling  and 
squeezing,  we  managed  to  force  our  way  in. 
There  could  not  have  been  a  man  left  in  all 


Mincing  Lane,  to  say  nothing  of  Fenchurch 
Street.  The  fog  had  come  up  the  stairs  and 
choked  up  the  gas-lights,  as  effectually  as 
though  all  the  Lane  men  had  been  smoking 
like  double  Dutchmen.  The  queer  little 
pulpit  was  shrouded  in  a  yellow  haze.  The 
windows  were  completely  curtained,  half 
with  cobwebs,  half  with  fog.  The  sale  was 
about  to  commence,  and  the  din  and  war 
of-  words  got  to  be  bewildering  ;  whilst  hun- 
dreds of  pens  were  plunging  madly  into 
invisible  inkstands,  and  scratching  imaginary 
sentences  and  figures  upon  myriads  of  cata- 
logues. 

Suddenly  a  cry  burst  upon  my  ear  so  dole- 
fully and  shrilly,  that  I  fancied  somebody  had 
fallen  down  the  old-fashioned  staircase.  It 
Avas  only  the  "  house-crier,"  proclaiming  in  a 
painful,  distracted  sort  of  voice,  that  the  sales 
were  "  on."  Every  man  to  his  place,  if  he  can 
find  one  !  Old  musty  brokers,  of  the  last  cen- 
tury, with  large  watch  seals,  white  cravats,  and 
double  chins,  grouped  together  in  one  dark 
corner :  youthful  brokers,  with  very  new 
hats,  zephyr  ties,  and  well -trained  whiskers, 
hovered  about  the  front  of  the  auctioneer's 
pulpit  :  rising  brokers,  with  inky  hands,  up- 
turned sleeves  of  dusty  coats,  and  an  infinity 
of  papers  protruding  from  every  pocket,  were 
in  all  parts  of  the  room  ready  to  bid  for  any- 
thing. Ranged  against  the  walls  on  either 
side  were  scores  of  incipient  brokers — the  lads 
of  the  Lane.  Hundreds  of  pens  began  to 
scratch  upon  catalogues  ;  hundreds  of  voices 
were  hushed  to  a  low  grumbling  whisper.  The 
first  seller  (every  vendor  is  an  auctioneer  at 
Garraway's)  mounted  the  tribune,  and  the 
curious  work  began.  My  former  experience 
had  shown  salesmen  to  be  anxious  to  make 
the  most  of  everything,  and  strive,  and  puff, 
and  coax,  and  dally,  until  they  felt  con- 
vinced the  utmost  farthing  had  been  bid  ;  and 
then,  and  not  until  then,  did  the  "going, 
going,"  merge  into  the  "  gone,"  and  the 
coquetting  hammer  fell.  But  those  were 
evidently  old-fashioned,  disreputable  sales. 
They  don't  stand  any  nonsense  at  Garraway's. 
There  is  no  time  to  consider.  The  biddings 
fly  about  like  lightning.  Buying  and  selling 
at  Garraway's  is  done  like  conjuring — the 
lots  are  disposed  of  by  hocus-pocus.  So  rapidly 
does  the  little  nubbly  hammer  fall  on  the 
desk,  that  one  might  well  imagine  himself 
near  an  undertaker's  shop  with  a  very  lively 
business. 

I  said  that  the  first  "  seller "  was  one  of 
the  rising  men,  with  dark  bushy  whiskers,  a 
sharp  twinkling  eye  that  was  everywhere  at 
once,  and  a  strong  piercing  voice.  He  let  off  his 
words  in  sharp  cracks  like  detonating  balls. 
Byway  of  starting  pleasantly,  he  flung  himself 
into  an  attitude  that  looked  like  one  of  stark 
defiance,  scowling  with  his  dark  eyes  on  the 
assembled  buyers,  as  though  they  were 
plotting  together  to  poison  him  with  his  own 
drugs.  Up  went  the  first  lots  :  a  pleasant 
assortment  of  nine  hundred  cases  of  castor- 


Charles  Dickens.J 


THE  WONDERS  OF  MINCING  LANE. 


275 


oil,  two  hundred  chests  of  rhubarb,  and  three 
hundred  and  fifty  "  serous  "  of  yellow  bark. 
The  rising  broker  stormed  and  raved,  as  bid 
followed  bid,  piercing  the  murmuring  din 
with  sharp  expletives.  One,  two,  three,  four 
— the  nine  hundred  cases  were  disposed  of  in 
no  time  by  some  miraculous  process  of  short- 
hand-auctioneering known  only  at  Garra- 
way's.  I  thought  the  broker  would  have 
gone  absolutely  mad,  as  the  bids  went  rapidly 
on  :  some  slow  man  of  inferior  intellect  would 
have  given  the  buyers  time  to  overbid  each 
other :  he  seemed  to  take  delight  in  per- 
plexing the  whole  room,  and  as  quickly  as  a 
voice  cried  out  "  Hep  ! "  (the  bidding  inter- 
jection of  Garra way's)  so  instantaneously  fell 
the  everlasting  little  hammer  ;  and  as  surely 
did  the  seller  scowl  harder  than  ever,  as  much 
as  to  say,  "I  should  just  like  to  catch  anybody 
else  in  time  for  that  lot."  In  this  fashion 
above  three  hundred  lots  were  sold  in  less 
time  than  many  people  in  the  last  century 
would  have  taken  to  count  them  up. 

The  "  rising "  broker  was  followed  by  one 
of  the  old  school,  a  pleasant-looking,  easy- 
going man,  the  very  reverse  of  his  prede- 
cessor. He  consumed  as  much  time  in  wiping 
and  adjusting  his  spectacles,  as  had  sufficed 
just  before  to  knock  down  a  score  of  lots. 
He  couldn't  find  a  pen  that  didn't  splutter, 
and  he  couldn't  make  his  catalogue  lie  flat  on 
the  desk  ;  and  at  last  the  impatience  of  the 
"rising"  men,  and  the  Lane  lads — Young 
Mincing  Lane — was  manifested  by  a  sharp 
rapping  of  boot-heels  on  the  floor,  which  soon 
swelled  to  a  storm.  The  quiet  broker  was 
not  to  be  hurried ;  he  looked  mildly  around 
over  his  glasses,  and  rebuked  rebellion  with 
"  Boys,  boys  !  no  nonsense."  The  bids  went 
smoothly  along  ;  potent  drugs,  rich  dyes,  and 
costly  spices  fell  before  the  calculating  ham- 
mer ;  but,  each  time,  ere  it  descended,  the 
bland  seller  gazed  inquiringly,  and  I  almost 
fancied  imploringly,  at  the  bidder,  lest  he 
had  made  a  mistake,  and  might  wish  to  re- 
ti'act  his  rash  "  Hep  !  " 

The  broker  who  followed,  dealt  largely  in 
flowing  language,  as  well  as  drugs  and  dyes. 
He  assured  the  company  present — and  looked 
very  hard  at  me,  as  though  I  was  perfectly 
aware  of  the  fact,  and  was  ready  to  back 
him — that  he  intended  to  give  all  his  lots 
away  ;  he  was  determined  to  get  rid  of  them, 
and  he  really  would  not  allow  his  friends  to 
leave  the  room  without  distributing  his  goods 
among  them.  Considering  his  liberal  spirit, 
I  thought  his  friends  evinced  very  little  thank- 
fulness ;  for  the  lots  moved  as  slowly  as  presents 
could  be  supposed  to  do.  There  was  one 
nice  little  parcel — about  twenty  cases  of 
aloes — that  he  was  determined  on  giving 
away  to  a  very  musty  old  dealer,  who,  how- 
ever, shook  his  ancient  head,  and  declined  the 
bitter  bargain. 

There  were  a  few  score  tons  of  some 
mysterious  article,  with  an  unintelligible 
name,  that  hung  somewhat  heavily  at  two- 


pence three  farthings  per  pound.  It  was 
amusing  to  see  how  politely  anxious  the 
broker  was  to  work  the  figure  up  to 
threepence  ;  not  that  he  wanted  the  extra 
farthing ;  he  'd  rather  have  flung  it  all  into 
the  sea  than  have  felt  such  a  paltry  desire  ; 
but  he  just  wanted  to  see  the  thing  go 
at  even  money ;  it  would  look  so  much 
better  in  the  Price  Current,  and  would 
make  the  total  so  much  more  easy  to  cast  in 
the  account  sales.  His  winning  eloquence 
was  fruitless  ;  the  unpronounceable  drug  was 
knocked  down  at  twopence  three  farthings. 
When  I  expressed  my  astonishment  that  men 
of  such  undoubted  substance  as  I  saw  there, 
should  condescend  to  haggle,  like  any 
hucksters,  at  an  odd  farthing.  I  was  told  that 
trifling  as  the  difference  appeared  by  the 
single  pound  weight,  the  aggregate  of  the  extra 
farthing  upon  the  quantity  offered  for  sale 
that  day,  would  amount  to  some  thousands  of 
pounds  sterling  ;  and  that,  at  certain  seasons, 
some  paltry  odd  farthing  had  realised  or  lost 
fortunes.  There  were  a  few  more  unintelligible 
things — Mincing  Lane  jargon — that  required 
interpretation.  What  "  overtakers "  could 
mean,  I  was  at  a  loss  to  know ;  but  I  learnt 
that  they  were  certain  extra  packages  re- 
quired to  re-pack  goods,  after  they  had  been 
opened  out  in  the  dock  warehouses.  One 
smart-looking  seller  astonished  me  by  putting 
up  what  he  tei-med  a  lot  of  "good  handy 
sweeps  !  " — not  climbing-boys,  but  the  sweep- 
ings of  the  warehouses. 

When  the  day's  work  was  over ;  when  the 
last  lot  of  "  sweeps "  was  disposed  of,  and 
buyers  and  sellers,  Lane  men  and  Lane  lads, 
once  more  mingled  in  Babel  discord;  the 
dense  green  fog  in  the  narrow  alley  peeped  in 
at  the  sooty  windows  ;  the  hazy  gas-light  over 
the  pulpit,  winked  at  the  mui'ky  fog  through 
the  glass,  flickered,  struggled,  waned,  and 
went  out;  we  turned  towards  the  old  stair- 
case, slowly  merging  into  the  general  crowd, 
and  I  again  heard  the  names  of  strange  che- 
micals, and  gums,  and  substances,  spoken  of 
in  kindly  sympathising  brotherhood.  Cream 
of  tartar  had,  no  doubt,  felt  rather  poorly  a 
short  time  since,  for  it  was  said  to  be  "  deci- 
dedly improving."  Opium  must  have  been  in 
an  undecided  and  vacillating  mood  during  a 
long  period,  as  I  heard  it  reported  to  be 
"  showing  a  little  firmness  at  last."  Scam- 
mony  was  said  to  be  "  drooping  ; "  and  as  for 
castor-oil,  there  was  not  the  slightest  hope  of 
its  "  recovering."  It  was  curious  to  hear  those 
articles  destined  for  the  cure  of  human 
maladies,  or  ease  of  human  sufferings,  thus 
intimately  linked  in  their  own  capacities  with 
worldly  ailings  and  earthly  infirmities.  I 
almost  expected  to  hear  that  some  of  the 
dyes  had  got  the  measles,  or  that  hooping- 
cough  had  made  its  appearance  in  the  younger 
branches  of  the  drug  family. 

A  better  estimate  of  the  actual  amount  of 
potent  medicine  which  the  human  family, 
somehow  or  other,  contrives  to  imbibe,  can. 


276 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


scarcely  be  arrived  at  than  by  an  attendance 
or  two  at  these  sales.  Twice  in  every  month 
— on  each  alternate  Thursday — whole  fleet- 
loads  of  deadly  narcotics,  drastic  aperients, 
and  nauseous  tonics  and  febrifuge,  are  dis- 
posed of  as  sheer  matter  of  course.  At  each 
of  these  auctions,  as  much  castor-oil  is  sold 
as  would  suffice  to  float  a  first-rate  frigate. 
In  the  course  of  about  three  hours,  what 
with  drugs,  dyes,  and  perfumery,  fully  fifty 
thousand  pounds  worth  of  property  is  dis- 
posed of,  and  that,  too,  of  articles  which 
the  world  at  large  have  no  conception  of, 
save  as  distributed  by  chemists  and  others  in 
twopenny  packets  or  sixpenny  phials.  Vast, 
indeed,  must  be  the  amount  of  mortal  suffer- 
ing and  affluent  luxury  that  can  thus  absorb, 
week  by  week,  these  gigantic  cargoes  of  physic 
and  fragrance.  From  east  and  west  the 
freighted  ships  arrive.  Every  nook 
corner,  every  mountain  and  desert  place,  is 
scoured  for  contributions  to  our  Pharmaco- 
'  poeia.  Let  any  new  disease  make  its  appear- 
ance among  us,  and  immediately  the  busy 
hand  of  science  is  at  work,  and  in  some  remote 
corner  of  this  wondrous  world,  some  root,  or 
seed,  or  oozing  gum,  is  found,  to  battle  with 
the  newly-found  enemy.  Cost  is  of  little 
moment,  so  that  the  remedy  be  efficacious. 
It  was  not  very  many  months  since  "  Koussa," 
a  new  and  valuable  vegetable  medicine  from 
Abyssinia,  was  introduced  ;  it  was  immedi- 
ately bought  up  at  a  guinea  an  ounce,  and 
that  price  drew  such  abundant  supplies  to 
this  country,  that  the  same  article  is  now 
selling  at  two  shillings  the  ounce. 

It  may  be  truly  observed  that  every  nation 
under  the  sun  is  busily  occupied  in  collecting 
products  for  our  dispensaries  and  hospitals. 
In  China,  Tartary,  Egypt,  America,  in  the 
most  southern  isle  of  the  South  Pacific,  on 
the  loftiest  peak  of  the  mighty  Andes,  in  the 
hottest  deserts  of  Arabia  or  Africa,  in  the 
most  pestilential  bunds  of  India,  men  are 
toiling  for  the  inmates  of  the  sick-room,  to  aid 
that  high  and  holy  art  whose  noble  aim  is  to 
win  our  bodies  from  the  penalty  of  pain. 


and  the  folio 


AMONG  THE  MOOES. 

ARRIVED  in  Cadiz  in  1847,  after  a  ramble 
through  Spain,  we  felt  an  irresistible  desire 
to  take  a  peep  at  Morocco.  "We  strongly 
desired  to  see  what  Mauritania's  children 
were  like ;  whether  they  had  black  or  cop- 
per-coloured faces ;  whether  they  wore  tur- 
bans or  caps,  sandals  or  hose,  mantles  or 
jerkins  ;  whether  they  resembled  our  play- 
going  recollections  of  Othello.  Exactly  at 
ten  o'clock  one  night  late  in  October,  this 
desire  pressed  so  strongly  upon  us  that  we 
decided  that  existence  could  not  be  tolerated 
an  hour  longer  without  an  instant  departure 
for  Morocco.  The  beautiful  blue  Mediterranean 
was  scarcely  rippled  by  a  wave  ;  the  moon 
shed  a  glorious  light  over  its  glassy  surface, 
while  its  bed  seemed  formed  of  the  myriads 


of  stars  which  the  deep  still  waters  reflected. 
A  lazy  felucca  lay  motionless  on  the  shore  ; 
and,  in  her,  a  lazy  boatman  was  stretched 
at  full  length.  We  questioned  him  as  to 
the  practicability  of  our  instant  embarkation 
for  Morocco.  He  turned  up  his  head,  eyed 
us  inquisitively,  as  if  to  satisfy  himself  how 
mad  we  were,  told  us  to  "  Go  with  God," 
coiled  himself  up  and  disposed  his  limbs 
in  that  posture  of  utter  uncompromising 
idleness,  of  which  only  the  limbs  of  Spanish 
boatmen  and  Italian  lazzaroni  are  capable. 
The  master  of  a  sailing-vessel  had,  however, 
more  confidence  in  our  sanity  and  in  his  own 
barque,  and  we  struck  a  bargain  with  him. 

The  terms  of  this  treaty  were  strictly  ful- 
filled ;  for,  aided  by  a  light  fresh  breeze,  which 
sprung  up  soon  after  we  had  embarked,  we 
dashed  into  the  pretty  bay  of  Tangiers  early  on 
wing  morning.  Our  colours  were  soon 
hoisted  ;  and,  in  obedience  to*- conventional 
laws,  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  ask 
permission  for  us  to  land.  Meanwhile,  we 
lay  there  at  anchor  under  a  heavy  fire  of 
telescopes.  Although  sailing  under  the 
Spanish  flag,  our  English  faces  were  soon 
recognised,  and  the  British  consul  politely 
came  out  in  a  small  boat  to  receive  and  to 
conduct  us  on  shore.  Landing  in  these  part* 
is  a  sort  of  national  amusement,  in  which 
lookers-on  take  especial  delight.  It  is  a 
practical  joke,  performed  by  a  party  of  Moors, 
who  play  with  every  gentleman  who  desires 
to  land,  a  game  of  pickaback  through  the 
shallow  water  of  the  shore.  Ladies  are 
carried,  more  solemnly,  in  chairs  upon  a 
pair  of  swarthy  Moslem  shoulders.  The 
Moors  are  a  handsome  race  of  men ;  not 
nearly  so  black  as  the  Othello  of  the  stage,  not 
generally  tall,  but  the  turban  and  hiack  add 
greatly  to  their  apparent  height.  They 
also  make  the  most  of  themselves  by  an 
upright  and  dignified  carriage.  Their  black 
eyes  are  full  of  fire  and  intelligence.  Their 
bronze  complexions  and  long  swarthy  beards 
contrast  strongly  with  their  snow-white 
costume. 

The  circumstance  of  arriving  on  a  Sunday 
was  favourable  to  our  first  impression  of  a 
Moorish  town.  English,  French,  Spanish, 
and  American  flags  were  gaily  floating  from 
various  buildings,  with  the  colours  of  all 
nations  who  are  civilised  enough  to  afford  a 
Tangerene  consulate.  The  natives  did  their 
part  to  make  the  appearance  of  things  cheerful ; 
for  it  happened  to  be  market-day,  and  the 
market-place  presented  a  busy  and  sparkling 
picture.  Moors  gravely  discussing  matters  of 
commerce,  and  totally  indifferent  to  the  ap- 
pearance of  foreigners  :  Arabs  displaying  their 
rich  merchandise  to  the  best  advantage :  Jews 
scrutinising  some  curious  relique  on  which 
they  were  asked  to  lend  money,  (the  rate  of 
interest  paid  for  cash  so  advanced  is  three- 
pence per  month  on  the  dollar)  :  women, 
sheeted  up  in  their  hiacks,  with  only  one  eye 
visible,  hurrying  through  the  crowd,  neither 


Charles  Dickens.] 


AMONG  THE  MOOES. 


277 


looking  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left,  fearful  of  en- 
countering with  their  one  eye  the  rude  glance 
of  man  :  laden  camels  instinctively  bending  to 
be  disburdened  of  their  load  of  fruit,  grain, 
or  other  load  :  bands  of  wild-looking  negroes, 
with  scarcely  any  covering,  hooting  in  tones 
most  dissonant  to  civilised  ears.  To  all  these 
discords  was  added  a  constant  din  of  Moorish 
music,  which  appeared  to  give  ecstatic  delight 
to  the  negroes,  whose  wild  gestures  were 
marvellous  to  behold. 

Our  attention  was,  by  this  time,  attracted  to 
the  houses  which,  from  their  peculiar  construc- 
tion, offer  a  complete  contrast  to  anything 
European  ;  the  rooms  are  built  so  as  to  form 
a  square  court,  which  is  open  to  the  sky  ;  the 
exquisite  climate  precluding  the  necessity 
of  using  their  painted  oil-skin  canopy  except 
as  a  protection  against  the  heavy  rains  by 
which  they  are  occasionally  visited.  This 
court  is  covered  with  a  carpet  or  matting, 
according  to  the  season ;  and  in  the  centre 
there  ia  a  fountain,  which,  continually  playing, 
produces  a  delicious  freshness  ;  the  windows, 
instead  of  looking  on  to  the  streets,  open 
generally  into,  and  receive  light  and  air  from, 
this  court.  By  this  arrangement  the  sun  is  en- 
tirely excluded,  and  the  houses  are  frequently 
found  cooler  and  more  comfortable,  notwith- 
standing the  heat  of  the  climate,  than  Euro- 
pean dwellings.  The  roofs  are  quite  flat,  and 
form  terraces,  on  which  people  walk  in  the 
evening,  or  whenever  the  sun  is  sufficiently 
temperate.  Looking  down  from  this  prome- 
nade, the  town  has  a  singular  appearance ;  the 
minarets  of  the  mosques  alone  standing  out  in 
relief  from  the  flat,  low,  white  roofs,  give  it  the 
appearance  of  a  large  churchyard  ;  and  this 
impression  is  somewhat  strengthened  by  the 
repeated  call  to  prayer  from  the  mosques. 
It  begins  at  daybreak,  and  is  continued  at 
intervals  all  day ;  the  Moslem  priest  ad- 
dressing himself  alternately  to  the  four  winds. 

A  considerable  part  of  the  population  of 
most  Moorish  towns  is  Jewish,  and  they 
form  (it  need  scarcely  be  said)  a  separate 
and  distinct  class,  being  wholly  different 
in  habits,  manners,  and  dress  from  the  Ma- 
hometans. The  male  costume  is  prescribed 
by  law  ;  it  consists  of  a  tunic  or  gaberdine 
of  dark-blue  cloth,  fitting  close  to  the  throat, 
and  descending  to  the  ankles,  slashed  at  the 
sides,  and  trimmed  with  braid ;  a  row 
of  small  buttons  are  ranged  down  the  front, 
and  the  slashed  sleeves  are  ornamented  to 
correspond  ;  there  is  an  under  vest  of  white 
cotton  buttoned  to  the  throat,  which  one 
sees  by  the  upper  part  of  the  blue  dress  being 
left  open ;  the  white  sleeves  are  also  seen 
tinder  the  open  sleeves  of  cloth  ;  the  waist  is 
encircled  by  a  handsome  Moorish  scarf,  of 
satin,  with  stripes  of  all  the  brightest  colours 
worked  in  with  gold  thread  ;  yellow  slippers, 
and  a  little  black  cloth  cap,  resembling  that 
worn  by  the  modern  Greeks,  complete  the 
Jewish  dress  worn  throughout  Morocco.  It 
is  a  classic  costume  ;  the  sombre  tint  of  the 


tunic  contrasting  not  unpleasingly  with  the 
white  Moorish  dresses  on  which  the  eye  is 
onstantly  dwelling. 

It  is  said  that  many  of  the  frail  daughters 
of  Israel  offending  against  their  own  strict 
laws  become  followers  of  the  Prophet,  to 
avoid  celibacy,  which  is  the  penalty  of  iudis- 
Tetion  inflicted  on  Jewish  maidens  ;  but  one 
never  hears  this  charge  of  heresy  brought 
against  the  men,  who,  having  no  indulgence 
to  crave  from  Mahometanism,  are  proverbial 
for  a  scrupulous  observance  of  their  religious 
feasts  and  fasts. 

We  had  not  remained  long  in  the  city 
before  I  was  afforded  the  rare  privilege  of 
being  present  at  a  Jewish  wedding.  The 
solemnisation  of  the  marriage  rite  is  pre- 
:eded  by  seven  days'  feasting  and  rejoicing 
at  the  house  of  the  betrothed.  Open  house  is 
indeed  kept,  where  the  friends  and  relations 
of  the  affianced  couple  meet  every  day  to  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry.  The  guests  usually  as- 
semble before  noon.  On  my  arrival  at  twelve 
o'clock  the  rooms  were  already  filled  Avith 
visitors.  I  was  conducted  first  to  a  chamber 
where  the  bride,  prettily  attired  and  veiled, 
was  seated  on  a  bed  to  be  looked  at ;  Moorish 
modesty  forbidding  that  she  should  take  any 
other  part  in  the  merry-making  than  that  of 
silently  looking  on.  Passing  through  the  ad- 
joining room — where  cakes,  wine  and  fruit  of 
every  description  were  spread  in  abundance, 
I  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  family 
group  and  their  large  circle  of  friends,  all  of  the 
gentler  sex  ;  male  visitors  being  rigidly  pro- 
hibited. I  have  rarely  seen  anything  more 
classically  beautiful  than  the  faces  of  those 
Jewish  women.  One  more  beautiful  and 
pensive-looking  than  the  rest  appeared  to  take 
a  prominent  part  in  the  affair.  She  was 
magnificently  dressed  in  amber-coloured  and 
crimson  silk  damask  embroidered  with  gold, 
white  silk  with  satin  stripes ;  spangles ;  a 
jacket  of  pale  blue  velvet  embroidered  with 
gold  and  trimmed  with  gold  buttons  ;  sleeves 
of  white  gauze,  curiously  pinned  together 
behind  the  back,  leaving  the  arms  exposed, 
the  rounded  form  of  which  was  set  off  by 
costly  bracelets,  in  keeping  with  a  profusion 
of  jewellery  in  the  shape  of  brooches,  ear- 
rings, and  necklace.  A  handkerchief  was  tied 
over  the  head,  and  red  slippers  embroidered 
in  silver  completed  the  dress. 

Dancing  appeared  to  form  the  chief  enter- 
tainment, and  was  kept  up  with  great  spirit 
to  the  discordant  sounds  of  sundry  tom- 
toms and  a  fiddle.  The  want  of  harmony 
was,  however,  amply  compensated  by  the  sin- 
gularity of  their  national  dances.  They  are 
intended  to  represent  the  human  passions. 
They  were  generally  performed  singly,  though 
sometimes  two  persons  stood  up  together, 
each  holding  a  gay-coloured  handkerchief 
coquettishly  over  the  head.  They  seldom 
moved  from  one  spot,  and  their  movements 
were  nearly  all  with  the  body  ;  not  with  the 
legs.  Their  figures  were  enth-ely  unconfined 


278 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


by  stays.  The  Terpsiehorean  part  of  the  re- 
joicing terminated  about  six  o'clock,  and  a 
sumptuous  banquet  followed,  of  which  about 
thirty  of  the  guests  partook.  The  table  was 
decorated  with  massive  candelabra,  and  a 
costly  service  of  plate,  which  is  generally  an 
heir-loom  in  the  families  of  these  rich  Jewish 
merchants. 

As  a  looker-on,  I  was  not  asked  to  join  in 
the  feast ;  but  I  am  not  unacquainted  with 
the  mysteries  of  the  Jewish  cuisine,  and  can 
pronounce  them  capable  of  satisfying  even 
Epicurean  tastes.  We  had  already  seen  some 
portion  of  the  viands  which  now  smoked  upon 
the  board ;  for,  according  to  the  ancient 
Jewish  custom,  the  animal  part  of  their  food 
undergoes  a  process  of  sprinkling  with  salt 
and  water ;  and  during  this  operation  it  is 
placed  in  the  open  court,  and  is,  therefore, 
seen  by  all  who  may  enter  the  house  ;  indeed, 
the  first  thing  which  attracted  our  attention 
on  arriving,  was  the  goodly  array  of  some  two 
or  three  dozen  head  of  poultry  arranged  in 
rows  upon  a  wooden  machine,  resembling  a 
common  garden  flower-stand,  where  they  were 
put  to  drain  out  every  drop  of  blood.  The 
betrothed  had,  like  myself,  nothing  to  eat, 
being  condemned  to  remain  daily  on  her 
show-bed,  until  the  departure  of  the  guests. 

I  felt  curious  to  know  at  what  time  a 
Moorish  bride  eats  and  drinks  during  the 
eight  days  of  purgatory  to  which  she  is  sub- 
ject, for  at  whatever  hour  you  enter  you  find 
her  always  in  the  same  position.  On  the  eve 
of  the  eighth  day  she  is  exhibited  until  an 
unusually  late  hour,  in  consequence  of  the 
customary  display  of  her  marriage  gifts,  all 
of  which  are  spread  out  upon  the  bed  where 
she  is  sitting,  to  be  curiously  examined  by 
the  visitors.  Amongst  the  gaudy  display  of 
silk  and  gauze  dresses,  scarfs,  &c. — for  the 
Jews  are  remarkable  for  their  love  of  gay 
colours — may  be  seen  the  long  glossy  tresses, 
of  which  the  intended  bride  is,  according  to 
the  Jewish  custom,  always  despoiled  before 
marriage  ;  being,  as  wives,  strictly  forbidden 
to  wear  their  own  hair.  They  feel  no  regret  at 
losing  what  is  said  to  be  a  "  woman's  glory,"  as 
it  is  certainly  one  of  her  greatest  ornaments. 

On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  the 
friends  and  relations  who  are  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  ceremony,  arrive  as  early  as  seven 
o'clock,  to  assist  the  bride  in  the  last  duties 
of  her  toilet ;  which  are  somewhat  onerous, 
for  a  Moorish  woman  indulges  freely  in  the 
use  of  rouge,  white  lead,  and  powder.  Her 
eyebrows  and  eyelashes  axe  darkened,  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  are  painted  pink,  and  her  nails 
are  dyed  with  henna.  These  operations  over, 
scarf,  head-dress  and  veil,  are  put  on  by  the 
woman  of  the  highest  rank  present.  The 
bridal  head-dress  is  formed  of  paste-board 
worked  over  with  silk,  and  profusely  orna- 
mented with  jewels:  it  is  very  high,  and 
resembles  in  shape  the  papal  crown.  The 
toilet  fairly  achieved,  the  damsel  is  conducted 
to  the  principal  apartment,  and  placed  in  an 


arm-chair,  raised  on  a  kind  of  dais  about 
three  feet  from  the  floor ;  a  bride's-woman 
standing  on  each  side,  holding  in  her  right 
hand  a  long  wax  caudle,  such  as  those  seen 
on  the  altars  in  Catholic  churches.  There 
are  no  bride's-maids  ;  their  office  being  always 
performed  by  married  women  :  virgin  eyes 
not  being  allowed  to  gaze  on  a  marriage 
feast.  The  important  moment  was  now  at 
hand,  the  moment  which  was  to  decide  the 
happiness  or  misery  of  the  fair  timid  child, 
whose  youth  and  beauty  it  seemed  a  sin  to 
sacrifice.  She  was  only  thirteen  years  of  age. 

In  proportion  as  the  preceding  seven  days 
had  been  joyous  the  eighth  appeared  solemn. 
The  scene  seemed  to  awaken  sad  memories  in 
the  minds  of  some  of  those  present.  In  the  ex- 
pression of  one  woman  I  fancied  I  could  read 
a  mother's  grief  for  her  dishonoured  child  ; 
in  another,  imagination  conjured  up  a  wife 
weeping  over  her  childless  state,  and  in  the 
latter  I  was  not  mistaken,  for  I  was  after- 
wards informed  that  the  beautiful,  pensive- 
looking  woman  whose  dress  we  admired,  had 
just  been  divorced  from  her  husband,  having 
been  wedded  two  years  without  presenting 
him  with  a  representative  of  his  name.  This 
alone  was  ground  for  divorce. 

All  eyes  were  now  turned  towards  the  door ; 
the  betrothed  peered  through  her  veil,  as 
anxious  to  behold  the  ceremony  as  we  were  ; 
and,  as  eight  o'clock  struck,  the  Rabbi  entered, 
followed  by  the  bridegroom.  Taking  his 
place  in  front  of  the  bride's  chair,  the  bride- 
groom standing  on  his  right,  and  the  guests  iu 
a  circle  round  him,  the  guest  read  aloud  from 
the  Hebraic  ritual  the  moral  and  social  duties 
to  be  observed  by  the  man  and  wife.  The 
greater  part  of  the  service  is  chanted  —  all 
present  lending  their  voices.  A  massive 
gold  ring,  of  a  strange  form,  was  given,  to  bo 
worn  on  the  forefinger  of  the  right  hand.  The 
service  ended,  the  bride  was  carried  in  her 
chair  of  state  to  the  chamber  where  she  had 
been  exhibited  during  the  preceding  week, 
and,  halting  on  the  threshold,  a  piece  of sugar 
was  given  to  her  by  the  Rabbi,  who,  taking  a 
full  glass  of  water,  at  the  same  time  broke  the 
glass  over  her  head.  The  sugar  is  typical  of 
the  sweets  of  Hymen  ;  the  water  of  its  purity; 
and  the  broken  glass  of  the  irrevocable 
character  of  the  ceremony.  The  bride  was 
then  placed  again  upon  the  bed,  and  her 
mother  took  her  place  beside  her,  as  if  to 
guard  the  precious  treasure  until  called  upon 
to  resign  her  to  her  husband. 

The  ceremony  of  the  sugar  and  broken  glass 
only  appertains  to  Jewish  weddings.  The 
cutting  off  the  betrothed's  hair  is  also  peculiar 
to  them ;  but  many  of  the  Moorish  and 
ancient  Jewish  rites  have  become  identical. 
The  eight  days'  feasting  and  the  exclusion  of 
male  visitors  are  alike  common  to  both.  A 
pair  of  female's  slippers  placed  on  the  thresh- 
old of  the  door,  is  a  sign  that  no  male  visitor 
above  the  age  of  twelve  may  cross  it.  The 
abuse  of  this  privilege  amongst  the  women  is 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CHANGE  FOE  A  SOVEREIGN. 


279 


a  favourite  bit  of  Moslem  scandal.  The  cos- 
tume of  the  Moorish  and  Jewish  bride  is  also 
the  same,  exoept  that  women  of  the  Shreefian 
family,  or  those  descended  from  the  Prophet, 
wear  green.  In  rich  families,  the  wedding  is 
always  followed  by  horse-races  and  fireworks. 
The  women  look  on  closely  veiled,  or,  more 
correctly,  sheeted.  The  bride  is  carried 
through  the  streets  in  procession,  to  the 
sound  of  music,  in  a  sort  of  Punch-theatre, 
placed  on  the  back  of  a  horse.  If  the  proces- 
sion pass  a  mosque,  all  the  persons  composing 
it  are  obliged  to  take  off  their  shoes  and 
walk  barefooted.  Lastly,  the  Moorish  bride, 
on  arriving  at  her  husband's  house,  is  lifted 
over  the  threshold  of  the  door,  lest  she  should 
stumble  while  entering,  which  would  be  a 
fearful  omen. 


C  PI  I  P  S. 


CHANGE  FOR  A  SOVEREIGN. 

IT  is  quite  time,  when  gold  is  pouring  in 
upon  iis  from  South  America  and  Austral- 
asia, for  all  men  to  begin  to  put  their  hands 
into  their  pockets,  and  think  over  the  matter 
of  gold  supply  with  the  keen  relish  that  is 
lent  by  private  personal  concern.  The  whole 
subject  must  take  a  prominent  place  during 
the  next  year  or  two  among  the  social  problems 
of  the  day. 

I  have,  Mrs.  Easiday  declares,  a  settled 
income  ;  let  me  draw  my  dividends  in  peace, 
and  don't  tease  me  with  troublesome  calcula- 
tions.— Certainly,  Mrs.  Easiday ;  but  what  if 
there  should  come  a  day  when,  having  drawn 
your  dividends,  you  find  your  house-rent, 
wages,  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  all  raised  to  what 
you  think  a  famine  price ;  while  your  work- 
ing-men tell  you  calmly  that  the  sovereign  has 
changed  its  value  1 

Ah  !  Mr.  Credit  mutters,  poor  old  woman, 
she  is  to  be  pitied.  It  will  be  hard  for  the 
fundholders  ;  but,  if  the  alteration  in  the 
value  of  the  sovereign  is  to  chop  the  National 
Debt  into  halves,  and  throw  one  half  of  it 
away,  why,  I  say,  never  mind  a  little  tempo- 
rary inconvenience. — But,  Mr.  Credit,  you  are 
such  a  respectable  man,  and  owe  nobody  more 
than  a  week's  account,  while  my  Lord  Eyrope, 
my  Lady  Stilt,  and  many  more  good  customers 
of  yours,  are  in  your  debt,  take  them  together, 
for  a  good  round  sum — Would  you  like  to 
have  each  pound  of  it  paid  with  a  half- 
sovereign  ? 

Will  it  be  desirable,  in  fact,  to  maintain 
strict  adherence  to  the  current  definition  of  a 
piece  of  money,  after  the  main  part  of  the 
definition  has  been  falsified  1  Will  it  be  de- 
sirable to  do  this  for  the  sake  of  giving  in- 
direct, unearned  advantage  to  all  debtors  at 
the  expense  of  all  creditors,  national  or  private  ? 
and,  is  the  English  nation  likely  to  think  that 
it  will  be  desirable,  because  Great  Britain  is 
a  debtor  on  the  largest  scale  ?  Plainly,  it 
will  be  necessary,  if  men  would  be  honest, 


that,  whenever  the  increased  supply  of  gold 
begins  to  tell  upon  the  currency,  the  states  of 
Europe  should  find  some  method  of  adapting 
altered  symbols  to  xinaltered  truths.  The 
obligations  entered  upon  ledgers  are  so  many 
facts  ;  and  £  s.  d.  are  symbols  representing 
them.  If  the  symbols  fall  into  confusion,  they 
must  be  restored  to  order  ;  we  must  not 
confuse  the  facts  also,  to  bring  about  a  state  of 
harmony.  If  a  man  has  his  portrait  painted, 
to  be  hung  up  in  his  dining-room,  and  a 
malicious  mouse  bites  through  the  canvas  and 
destroys  an  eye,  the  gentleman  would  not  be 
wise  in  causing  one  of  his  own  eyes  to  be  put 
out  in  order  that  the  painting  might  not 
cease  to  be  a  likeness.  Let  us  adapt  our 
forms  and  methods  to  our  duties  in  the  world, 
and  not  accommodate  our  duties  to  our  forms. 

But  who  knows  that  the  sovereign,  which 
represents  to-day  one  amount  of  assistance 
furnished  in  return  for  help  received,  will  re- 
present, after  some  time,  a  very  much  decreased 
amount  of  temporal  advantage  1  Let  us  calcu- 
late. At  the  beginning  of  the  present  century, 
Europe,  America,  and  every  portion  of  Africa 
and  Asia  with  which  we  have  regular  com- 
munication, taken  together,  could  not  produce 
more  than  about  a  cubic  yard  of  gold.  Most 
of  the  old  gold-producing  countries  continue 
to  go  on  at  the  old  rate.  Change  began  in 
Siberia.  In  the  year  1830,  Siberia,  with 
which  we  include  the  chain  of  the  Ural 
Mountains,  began  to  yield  more  than  the 
average  amount  of  gold  ;  new  fields  of  wealth 
have  been  discovered,  and  Eussia  now  releases, 
yearly  from  the  earth,  and  supplies  to  the 
use  of  man,  more  gold  than  was  obtained  in 
a  year  by  the  whole  civilised  world,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  present  century. 

To  this  increase  there  next  came  to  be 
added  the  discovery  of  gold  in  California,  in 
the  year  1848.  During  the  year  just  passed, 
gold  has  been  taken  from  the  soil  of  California, 
to  the  value  of  about  one  million  eight  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds  ;  and  that  equals  a 
thirtieth  part  of  all  the  gold  that  had  been 
got  from  the  whole  soil  of  America,  between 
its  discovery  by  Columbus  in  1492,  and  the 
year  of  Californian  gold-finding,  1848. 

All  this  increase,  however,  in  the  quan- 
tity of  gold  put  into  circulation  in  the  world, 
had  scarcely  touched  the  value  of  gold  coin- 
age. Gold  is  an  article  of  merchandise,  as  much 
as  silk  or  oil,  and  it  as  certainly  must  fall 
in  price  when  the  supply  of  it  grows  faster 
than  the  demand.  Increase  of  population,  by 
which  nations  double  themselves  at  no  very 
distant  intervals  of  time,  must  form  always 
an  important  element  in  calculations  about 
social  progress.  Increase  of  population  has 
produced  an  increased  number  of  palms 
itching  for  gold,  and  the  vast  increase  of 
commerce  and  peaceful  enterprise  during  the 
last  twenty  years,  by  which  the  symbol- 
money  has  been  scattered  more  than  he.reto- 
fore  about  the  world,  have  easily  absorbed 
the  yearly  fresh  supplies  of  gold.  Had  large 


280 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


yearly  additions  to  the  entire  stock  of  the 
metal  not  been  made,  gold  would  have 
become  ere  this  as  precious  as  the  ruby. 
When  more  people  come  to  sit  down  at  the 
table  for  a  wholesome  game  at  speculation, 
Mother  Earth,  the  hostess,  has  to  bring  out 
for  their  use  more  counters. 

Let  us  have  gold  in  round  counters  and  silver 
fish.  Our  hostess  has  provided  liberally  gold 
and  silver ;  but  in  such  proportion  that  we  find 
it  suitable  to  calculate  that  twenty  fishes  shall 
be  represented  by  a  single  counter.  Then  if,  as 
more  people  sit  down  to  play,  it  suits  the  fancy 
of  the  hostess  to  supply  round  counters  by  the 
handful,  instead  of  by  the  dozen,  without  pro- 
portionate increase  in  the  supply  of  fishes,  it 
will  become  necessary  for  the  players  to 
reduce  the  value  of  the  gold  counter  to  fifteen 
silver  fishes,  or  ten.  So  in  our  game  of 
commerce,  if  the  gold  continues  to  pour  in 
•with  disproportionate  rapidity,  a  piece  of  it 
will  come  to  represent  the  value  of  a  smaller 
quantity  of  silver  than  it  now  is  worth. 

It  is  a  pure  matter  of  commerce.  Gold 
and  silver  might  be  silk  and  calico.  Each 
bale  of  a  certain  kind  of  silk  might  be 
worth,  say  in  the  year  1800,  twenty  bales 
of  a  certain  kind  of  calico.  The  law,  adopt- 
ing silk  and  calico  as  money,  might,  in  the 
year  1800,  fix  their  relative  value  accord- 
ing to  the  estimate  then  true.  After  some 
years  increased  facilities  of  silk-manufacture 
might  cause  the  same  silk  to  be  produced  in 
larger  quantity  at  little  cost,  calico  remaining 
stationary  in  its  value.  So  long  as  people 
remained  eager  to  exchange  calico  for  silk  at 
the  old  rate,  the  silk-producers  would  of 
course  have  no  objection.  This  could  not  last 
for  many  years  ;  rapid  supply  and  competi- 
tion would  cause  silk  to  fall  in  value  with 
regard  to  calico  and  other  articles  of  com- 
merce. At  the  same  time  it  must  fall  also  as 
a  representative  of  wealth — as  money.  So  it 
is  with  gold.  A  piece  of  gold,  or  a  piece  of 
silver,  when  coined,  must  very  nearly  repre- 
sent in  value  as  crude  metal  the  price  of  that 
for  which  we  pay.  They  may  pass  current,  per- 
haps, by  common  consent  in  one  community 
•with  a  fictitious  value  ;  but  they  never  could 
pass  out  of  that  community  ;  they  never  could 
be  used  in  foreign  trade.  The  merchant 
from  abroad  has  to  take  home  not  bags  of 
make-believe,  but  actual  equivalents  for  what 
he  brings,  available  for  instant  use  all  the 
world  over.  Gold  and  silver  would  be  of  no 
use  as  money  if  they  did  not  put  real  value 
into  small  compass,  and  put  wealth  into  a 
convenient,  portable,  and  sufficiently  imperish- 
able form.  The  chief  use  of  a  mint  stamp  is, 
that  it  guarantees  upon  the  faith  of  a  nation 
a  certain  known  degree  of  purity  in  each 
piece  of  the  metal  ;  while  by  the  manufac- 
ture of  variety  of  coins,  the  Mint  is  only 
anxious  to  cut  up  its  metal  into  pieces  of  con- 
venient size. 

So  long,  then,  as  the  demand  for  gold  con- 
tinues undiminished  in  the  world,  the  price  of 


it  will  continue  undepressed.  Besides  increase 
in  commerce  and  in  population,  it  is  said  that 
of  late  years,  masses  of  treasure  have  been 
hoarded  by  certain  potentates,  and  that  this 
gold,  like  all  hoarded  property,  passing  out  of 
circulation,  and  being  in  effect  destroyed  so 
long  as  it  continues  thus  locked  up,  another 
fact  helps  to  account  for  the  continuance  of 
gold  at  its  old  value,  in  spite  of  the  Californian 
and  Australian  supplies  ;  but  how  long  can 
this  value  be  maintained  ? 


PRESERVATION  IN  DESTRUCTION. 


THE  reader  may  chance  to  recollect  that 
a  few  weeks  ago  we  were  rambling  together 
through  the  ruins  of  Pompeii,  with  its 
silent  and  grass-grown  streets,  like  those 
of  an  English  country  town  returning  one 
member.  A  few  words  on  the  subject  of  the 
Museo  Borbonico  seem  to  follow  as  a  natural 
supplement  to  a  morning  spent  amongst  those 
venerable  remains.  In  this  Museum  are  pre- 
served all  the  objects  of  antiquity  that  have 
been  turned  up  in  the  course  of  the  excava- 
tions ;  and  without  a  visit  to  its  treasures,  it 
would  be  all  but  impossible  to  form  a  correct 
idea  of  a  Roman  town. 

The  stranger  who  emerges  from  his  hotel, 
as  I  did,  on  a  fine  January  morning,  and 
turns  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  Museum, 
will  find  in  the  streets  many  new  and  curious 
things  to  arrest  his  attention.  First  and 
foremost  must  be  enumerated  the  beggars,  a 
class  of  society  sufficiently  powerful  to  form 
an  absolute  Institution  at  Naples.  Before 
he  has  reached  a  distance  of  ten  yards  from 
his  hotel,  the  foreigner,  but  especially  the 
Briton,  is  watched,  pursued,  and  captured. 
A  blind  beggar  in  the  distance  catches  sight 
of  him,  while  an  individual,  possibly  with  no 
legs,  comes  up  behind  with  the  velocity  of  a 
hawk  sweeping  to  his  prey.  He  finds  him- 
self surrounded  by  flower-girls  who  thrust 
nosegays  into  his  indignant  button- holes  ;  one 
succeeds  in  getting  a  full-blown  rose  into  his 
waistcoat-pocket.  The  cheerful  circle  is  soon 
joined  by  a  poor  wretch  whose  face  appears 
to  have  been  eaten  away  in  bits  ;  the  boy 
who  accompanies  him  is  delivering  an  ani- 
mated speech  on  the  face  of  the  poor  creature. 
Like  a  snow-ball,  he  gathers  as  he  goes  on. 
If  he  gets  rid  of  his  tormentors  by  distributing 
c/rani  all  round,  the  charitable  feeling  which 
dictated  the  gift  is  to  be  admired,  but  the 
prudence  of  the  donor  must  be  questioned ; 
henceforth  he  is  a  marked  man.  The  fat 
Inglese,  with  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons,  is 
a  charitable  man.  Good !  the  Inglese  must 
not  be  surprised,  on  opening  his  window  of  a 
morning,  to  perceive  a  crowd  of  ragged  fellows 
outside,  waiting  to  testify  their  gratitude. 
They  will  follow  him  for  half-a-mile,  sooner 
than  that  he  should  think  them  oblivious  of 
past  favours;  they  will  dodge  him  into 
sequestered  alleys,  and  burst  upon  him  round 


Charles  Dickens.] 


PEESERVATION  IN  DESTRUCTION. 


281 


unexpected  angles  of  walls.  The  poor  victim 
almost  envies  the  lot  of  the  political  martyrs, 
who  taste  in  their  dungeons  that  solitude 
which  he  sighs  for  in  vain  ;  and  he  registers 
a  tremendous  vow  against  promiscuous 
charity,  which  will  re-act,  on  his  return,  with 
terrible  force,  against  the  street-sweepers  and 
organ-grinders  of  our  sea-girt  isle. 

As  he  passes  along  the  Strada  dellaChiaja, 
the  stranger  will  most  likely  not  be  struck 
with  awe  at  the  appearance  of  that  street. 
He  will  object  that  it  is  narrow  and  without 
a  foot-pavement,  so  that  to  avoid  the  throng 
of  vehicles  lie  has  continually  to  flatten 
himself  up  against  walls,  and  to  burst,  in  an 
undignified  manner,  into  shops. 

Perhaps  his  attention  will  be  riveted,  as 
mine  was,  by  a  party  of  wretches  coming 
towards  him,  dressed,  some  in  red,  some  in 
yellow  jackets,  and  closely  chained  together, 
while  sentinels  with  loaded  muskets  accom- 
pany them  on  either  side.  They  are  convicts ; 
those  distinguished  by  the  red  dress  are  mur- 
derers. I  believe  that  under  this  humane 
government,  executions  for  murder  seldom,  if 
ever,  take  place — the  penalty  of  death  being 
reserved  for  criminals  of  a  deeper  dye  ;  such 
as  partisans  of  a  constitutional  monarchy, 
patriots,  and  malefactors  of  that  class.  Here 
— in  no  Chamber  of  Horrors,  but  in  the 
broad  light  of  day — not  in  the  similitude 
of  wax,  but  in  all  the  horrid  reality  of  flesh 
and  blood — are  to  be  seen  the  Thurtells,  the 
Courvoisiers,  the  Burkes,  the  Rushes,  the 
Mannings,  of  Naples  !  What  a  study  for  the 
physiognomist — from  the  decrepit  wretch  of 
fourscore,  to  the  younger  ruffian  of  twenty, 
glaring  from  under  his  shaggy  brows !  one 
positively  breathes  more  freely  when  they  are 
out  of  sight.  In  my  younger  and  more 
thoughtless  days,  I  have  been  less  moved  at 
seeing  life  taken  away  by  the  gleaming  axe, 
or  the  dismal  fall  of  the  drop,  than  I  have 
been  at  witnessing  it  prolonged  at  such  a 
price — unblessed,  uncheered  by  friendship, 
and  unsolaced  by  hope. 

Happily,  there  are  other  and  less  gloomy 
objects  to  arrest  attention,  as  one  turns  up  the 
Toledo,  the  principal  street  of  the  city — 
narrow,  dirty,  and  trottoirless  (may  I  coin  this 
word  1)  though  it  be.  A  magnificently  gilt 
sedan-chair,  like  a  small  Lord  Mayor's  coach, 
is  borne  along  gingerly  by  two  men.  Who 
in  the  world  can  have  chosen  such  a  mode 
of  conveyance  ?  It  is  a  woman,  as  richly 
decorated  as  the  vehicle  which  contains  her, 
and  bearing  a  new-born  infant  in  her  arms. 
She  is  a  nurse  carrying  her  little  charge 
to  be  christened.  The  soldiers  in  red  coats, 
who  might  be  taken  for  a  party  of  British 
troops,  if  they  only  looked  a  little  more 
uncomfortable  and  pinched-up  in  their  clothes, 
form  a  portion  of  the  Swiss  Guards — the 
best  paid,  the  best  fed,  and  the  most 
martial-looking  division  of  the  Neapolitan 
army.  Every  year,  from  the  mountains  of 
Berne,  the  plains  of  Vaud,  and  the  fastnesses 


of  Uri  and  Appenzel,  crowds  of  volunteers 
are  attracted  to  the  standard  of  his  most 
religious  and  gracious  Majesty.  Three  hun- 
dred of  them  came  in  the  steamer  with  us  from 
Leghorn ;  and  a  pretty  noise  they  made 
during  the  night,  what  with  singing  the 
Ranz  des  Vaches,  and  dancing  the  national 
dances  over  our  heads. 

The  noise  dinned  into  the  ears  by  the 
shouts  of  the  open-air  tradespeople  and  the 
clattering  of  vehicles,  and  the  clang  of 
hai-ness,  would  pass  the  comprehension  of 
any  one  but  a  resident  within  sound  of  Bow 
bells.  I  believe  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
inhabitants  of  Naples  actually  live  in  vehicles 
of  various  kinds ;  so  great  is  the  passion  for 
driving  about,  and  for  driving  at  a  rate  which 
must,  I  think,  form  a  serious  item  in  the 
calculations  of  a  Neapolitan  Life  Assurance 
Company,  supposing  such  a  blessing  ta 
exist. 

I  can  scarcely  hear  myself  speak.  Stop  .f 
An  additional  bustle  behind,  and  a  subdued 
murmur,  indicates  the  approach  of  the  King, 
out,  on  one  of  his  morning  drives — the  ex- 
cellent King  Bomba,  whom  we  have  read  of 
in  Gladstone,  and  in  the  Times. 

See  how  he  whisks  past  in  his  mail-phaeton, 
driving  a  pair  of  blood-horses,  which  I  should 
say  were  of  English  breed.  On  either  side  of 
him  ride  his  aides-de-camp — young  men  of 
noble  family — conspicuous  by  their  blue  uni- 
forms and  cocked  hats.  As  far  as  one  can 
judge  of  the  king  himself,  in  his  sitting  pos- 
ture, he  appears  to  be  a  man  above  the 
average  height,  and  with  something  more 
than  an  inclination  to  corpulency.  His  coun- 
tenance is  of  that  swarthy  hue  common  to  the 
inhabitants  of  a  warm  clime  ;  and,  if  it  be  not 
blasphemous  to  speak  in  such  light  terms  of 
an  anointed  monarch,  I  should  say  that  his 
nose  was  of  the  order  "  snub."  Do  not  those 
features  bear  the  impress  of  weakness,  rather, 
than  cruelty  1  They  convey  to  my  mind 
the  idea  of  a  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  rather 
than  of  a  Harry  the  Eighth.  Never  mind  ; 
be  he  good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  one  has 
seen  a  KING ;  and  that  consideration  is 
generally  sufficient  to  cheer  the  spirits  of  a 
Briton. 

Like  many  other  edifices,  the  destination  of 
the  Museum — to  which  I  have  at  length 
arrived — has  undergone  various  changes.  It 
has  been  by  turns  a  Riding  School,  an  Uni- 
versity, the  seat  of  the  Law  Courts,  a 
Barrack,  and  again  an  University.  At  length, 
when  the  conclusion  of  the  late  war  and  the 
expulsion  of  the  Murat  family  had  enabled 
the  Bourbons  to  preserve  something  like  an 
equilibrium  on  their  unsteady  throne,  the 
first  Ferdinand  by  a  decree  converted  it  to 
its  present  purpose.  Uniting,  under  one  roof, 
the  various  antiquities  and  paintings  scattered 
over  the  different  royal  residences,  and  pro- 
viding for  the  reception  of  such  objects  as  the 
future  excavations  at  Pompeii  and  elsewhere 
might  bring  to  light,  he  has  laid  the  foundation 


282 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  a  Museum  as  rich  and  interesting  as  any 
in  the  known  world. 

As  one  stands  in  the  vestibule  or  entrance- 
hall,  the  first  room  to  the  right  contains  the 
paintings  found  in  Pompeii  and  Herculaneum. 
At  the  first  coup  d'ceil  it  is  not  unfrequently 
the  case  that  the  visitor  looks  disappointed : 
these  works  of  art  do  not  come  up  to  the 
expectations  that  he  had  formed  of  them. 
He  recognises  the  superiority  of  ancient  over 
modern  sculpture.  A  cast  from  the  "  Laocoon," 
or  "  The  Dancing  Faun,"  or  "  Mercury  in 
repose,"  strikes  even  his  uncritical  eye  with 
admiration.  He  requires  no  artist  to  be  at 
hand  to  point  out  their  beauties.  The  case  is 
not  the  same  with  these  paintings.  One  is  apt 
to  imagine  that  in  perspective,  in  delicacy  of 
touch,  in  the  composition  of  the  principal 
figures,  and  in  many  other  points,  they  are 
vastly  inferior  to  the  works  of  Trafalgar 
Square.  At  least,  I  can  only  whisper  (for  such 
an  heretical  opinion  could  never  be  conveyed 
in  any  other  tone)  that  I  am  almost  of  that 
way  of  thinking. 

There  are  one  or  two  paintings  here,  however, 
which  may  excite  curiosity,  even  though  they 
do  not  awaken  admiration.  Such  is  the  pic- 
ture of  a  parrot  in  harness,  drawing  a  chariot 
and  driven  by  a  grasshopper.  This  is  sup- 
posed to  be  a  caricature  of  the  Emperor 
Nero,  guided  by  his  preceptor,  the  philo- 
sopher Seneca.  The  spirit  of  caricature  is 
still  further  illustrated  in  a  painting  of 
^Eneas,  Anchises,  and  Ascanius,  who  are  re- 
presented with  the  heads  of  dogs.  These 
heads  have  a  certain  air  of  intelligence  and 
waggery  about  them,  which  would  not  do 
discredit  to  some  of  the  French  artists  of  the 
present  day.  Not  far  off  is  a  copy — an  ancient 
copy,  be  it  understood — of  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated works  of  olden  times.  It  represents  the 
death  of  Iphigenia,  sacrificed  by  her  father — as 
your  school  recollections  may  inform  you — to 
appease  the  gods,  and  enable  the  Greek  fleet 
to  leave  Aulis,  where  they  were  detained  by 
contrary  winds.  The  figures  have  all  the 
stiffness  peculiar  to  our  own  Pre-Raphaelite 
school ;  but  Agamemnon,  the  father,  is  con- 
ceived in  a  happy  spirit.  We  are  not  suffered 
to  see  his  face,  which  he  is  represented  as 
covering  with  his  cloak,  so  that  the  ex- 
pression which  it  must  wear  at  such  a  moment 
is  left  to  the  imagination.  It  is  interesting 
to  be  told  by  an  ancient  writer  with  regard 
to  tin's  very  picture,  that  the  painter  having 
tried  successively  the  various  shades  of  grief, 
agony,  and  despair,  which'  he  was  capable  of 
giving  to  the  features,  at  length  hit  upon  this 
happy  expedient  of  veiling  them  altogether, 
which  appears  to  me  to  add  tenfold  to  the 
force  and  effectiveness  of  the  scene.  Not  far 
off  is  a  work  of  a  very  different  class.  The 
scene  represented  is  the  interior  of  a  school, 
and  the  moment  selected  is  that  when  a 
truant  schoolboy  is  undergoing  the  punish- 
ment of  being  "horsed."  Although  it  was 
painted,  like  the  others,  several  thousand 


years  ago,  you  might  fancy  you  saw  before 
you  the  inside  of  Laburnum  House  Academy, 
Peckham.  Hoisted  upon  the  back  of  one  of  his 
comrades,  in  precisely  the  same  manner  as  I 
believe  the  time-honoured  custom  still  obtains 
among  the  moderns,  the  offender  is  subjected 
to  the  strokes  of  the  birch.  The  personage 
officiating  appears  not  to  be  the  schoolmaster 
— and  herein  I  think  I  notice  an  improvement 
on  the  plan  adopted  at  some  of  our  public 
schools — but  some  other  functionary,  the  foot- 
man, most  probably,  or  the  porter.  As  for 
the  schoolmaster  himself,  he  is  amongst  his 
scholars  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  "  im- 
proving the  occasion,"  and  calling  their 
attention  to  the  results  of  idleness.  They, 
poor  little  creatures,  seem  to  be  sitting  for 
the  most  part  with  their  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  as  if  not  daring  to  contemplate  the 
dreadful  little  drama. 

A  row  of  thirteen  small  pictures,  executed 
with  the  delicacy  of  miniatures,  forms  the  cele- 
brated series,  "  The  Dancing  Girls  of  Pompeii." 
Striking  the  lyre,  clashing  the  cymbals,  in 
every  attitude  of  graceful  elegance  and 
abandon,  it  must  be  confessed  that  these 
figures,  when  closely  examined,  convey  a  high 
idea  of  the  art  of  painting  as  practised  by  the 
ancients.  You  perceive  in  these  young  ladies 
no  resemblance  to  our  modern  ballet-girls. 
So  far  from  being  arrayed  in  the  short  muslin 
dress  and  closely-fitting  tights  which  draw 
down  our  applause  at  the  Opera,  they  are  en- 
veloped in  a  vast  amount  of  loose  drapery, 
which,  though  it  adds  to  the  grace  of  the  out- 
line in  the  pictures,  must  have  sadly  encum- 
bered their  movements  in  the  dance.  The  fact 
is  that  the  Terpsichorean  art  neither  stood  in 
the  same  position  nor  was  practised  in  the 
same  manner  among  the  Romans  as  among 
ourselves.  There  were  war-dances,  and  na- 
tional dances,  and — what  may  seem  strange 
to  every  one  but  a  classical  scholar  or  a 
"  Jumper  " — religious  dances ;  whatever  kinds 
of  dancing  took  place  independently  of  these, 
and  for  the  amusement  of  an  audience,  were 
usually  carried  on  at  the  entertainments  of 
the  great. 

But  if  we  were  really  together  in  the  Mu- 
seum, and  were  to  stand  chatting  at  this  rate 
before  each  picture,  we  should  never  get, on. 
The  question  is,  where  to  look,  and  in  what 
direction  to  go  ?  Here  are  subjects  of  almost 
every  kind  to  engage  our  attention  ;  subjects 
of  what  may  be  termed  "  High  Art,"  taken 
from  the  Iliad — the  Trojan  horse,  the  last 
interview  of  Achilles  and  Briseis  (by-the-bye, 
what  a  beautiful  head  that  is  of  Briseis  !  it 
reminds  one  of  the  face  of  one  of  Etty's 
nymphs) ;  subjects  selected  from  mythology, 
and  bringing  before  us  our  old  and  valued 
friends  the  gods  and  goddesses — Bacchus  and 
Silenus,  Hylas  carried  off  by  the  Nymphs, 
Medea  meditating  the  murder  of  her  children. 
Then  there  are  subjects  drawn  from  domestic 
life,  of  the  Wilkie  and  Mul  ready  school — the 
Toilet  of  a  Young  Girl  j  a  Family  Concert ;  a 


Charles  Dickens.] 


PEESEEVATION  IN  DESTRUCTION. 


283 


Domestic  Party.  It  is  to  be  remarked  of  all 
these  paintings  that  not  one  of  them  is  in  oil, 
th«  use  of  which  for  such  a  purpose  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  known  to  the  ancients  ; 
neither  are  any  of  them,  as  far  as  I  can  see, 
painted  on  canvas.  They  are,  for  the  most 
part,  upon  panels  or  tablets,  and  the  material 
used  was  a  mixture  of  wax,  resin,  and  other 
such  ingredients.  There  are  four  very  curious 
Monochroms  hanging  up  in  one  place,  which 
are  supposed  to  be  among  the  most  valuable 
objects  here,  and  which,  as  illustrating  the 
progress  of  the  art  in  one  of  its  earliest 
developments,  well  merit  a  passing  glance 
before  leaving  the  room.  They  were  dis- 
covered at  Herculaneum  about  a  hundred 
years  ago. 

These  Monochroms — as  they  are  called — are 
executed  on  marble,  and  consist  merely  of  out- 
lines, corresponding  with  those  figures  which 
the  learner,  under  the  direction  of  his  drawing- 
master,  is  taught  to  execute  before  he  has 
arrived  at  that  part  of  the  Art  which  is 
termed  "shading."  Precisely  what  takes  place 
in  the  case  of  an  individual  is  known  to  have 
happened  with  regard  to  the  Art  itself,  and 
these  pictures  must  therefore  be  referred  to  a 
period  when  the  production  of  a  mere  outline, 
without  any  attempt  at  light  or  shade,  or 
intermediate  markings  of  any  kind,  was  con- 
ceived to  be  the  aim  and  object  of  the 
painter's  skill.  They  bear  the  name,  in 
Greek  characters,  of  Alexander  the  Athe- 
nian. 

If  it  were  attempted  to  give  anything  like 
a  description,  or  even  the  outline  of  a  de- 
scription of  the  various  objects  contained  in 
this  most  marvellous  Institution,  this  would 
be  the  place  to  invite  attention  to  the  Egyp- 
tian room,  as  well  as  to  the  magnificent 
galleries  of  sculpture  and  cabinet  of  mosaics 
which  follow  next  in  order.  The  object  of 
this  paper  being,  however,  merely  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  reader  to  one  or  two  of  the 
more  prominent  objects  immediately  con- 
nected with  Herculaneuni  and  Pompeii,  and, 
if  possible,  to  induce  a  desire  for  reading  and 
learning  more  on  such  an  interesting,  although 
neglected,  topic,  I  shall  pass  at  once  to  that 
portion  of  the  edifice  which  more  than  any 
other  attracts  the  attention  of  the  ladies — 
the  cabinet  of  jewels  and  other  precious 
articles. 

The  glass  cases  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
contain  the  objects  in  gold,  such  as  bracelets, 
ear-rings,  necklaces,  and  articles  of  that 
description,  found  in  the  course  of  the  exca- 
vations. The  length  of  time  which  they 
have  passed  underground  does  not,  of  course, 
admit  of  their  retaining  much  lustre,  but  in 
point  of  workmanship  and  design  they 
present  an  appearance  creditable  to  the 
jewellers  of  antiquity.  Birds,  beasts,  fruits, 
flowers — all  the  emblems  that  figure  on  our 
own  shirt-pins  and  the  brooches  of  our  wives, 
were  enlisted  in  the  service  of  the  decorative 
arts  two  thousand  years  ago.  Here  are  ear- 


drops in  the  form  of  a  balance,  the  scales  of 
which  are  composed  of  pearls :  bracelets 
formed  by  a  row  of  golden  balls  tastefully 
relieved  by  vine-leaves ;  others  in  the  shape 
of  serpents  with  precious  stones  for  the  eyes  ; 
signet  rings  engraved  with  various  devices — 
in  fact,  the  interior  of  a  Eoman  Storr  and 
Mortimer's.  Arranged  in  other  cases  round 
the  walls  are  objects  which  appear  to  me  to 
be  still  more  curious.  There  is,  for  instance, 
some  liquid  oil  preserved  in  a  bottle.  The 
guardian  of  the  room  informs  the  visitor  that 
when  it  was  first  brought  here  he  tasted  it. 
One  is  reminded  of  the  Mammoth  found  en- 
cased in  ice,  a  morsel  of  which  was  served  up 
at  the  table  of  a  German  prince.  Here  are  figs, 
beans,  raisins,  eggs,  preserves,  fragments  of 
pie,  loaves  of  bread.  Upon  ,one  of  these 
loaves  you  can  distinctly  trace  the  following 
letters :  CEEIS.  Q.  GRANL  ...  El.  SEE. 
They  are  supposed  to  have  been  marks 
ordered  by  the  police  regulations  of  the 
period,  to  designate  the  ingredients  of  which 
the  bread  was  composed.  Do  you  not  think 
that  in  certain  modern  cities  a  similar  regula- 
tion might  with  great  propriety  be  enforced  1 
Here  are  more  figs,  cherries,  plums,  nuts, 
bits  of  cake.  In  the  next  cupboard  are 
various  articles  of  a  domestic  nature ;  soap, 
cotton,  sponges,  wax,  inkstands  containing 
dried  ink,  purses  with  coins  that  were  never 
more  to  make  a  purchase,  surgical  instru- 
ments that  had  been  used  in  their  last 
operation,  corks  cut  ready  for  bottles  that 
were  never  blown,  colours  laid  out  in  readi- 
ness for  the  picture  that  was  never  to  be 
painted.  The  vanity  of  human  toil  sowing 
where  it  is  never  to  reap  ;  the  cunning  of  man- 
kind intent  upon  a  morrow  which  will  never 
arrive  ;  the  value  of  small  things  ;  the  worth- 
lessness  of  great  ones  ; — how  many  lessons 
are  taught  by  these  relics,  the  whole  of  which 
would  not  probably  have  purchased  for  their 
possessor  a  night's  rest,  or  a  meal,  but  for  the 
possession  of  which  the  connoisseur  would 
now-a-days  mortgage  his  broad  lands  and 
entail  poverty  upon  his  unborn  descendants  ! 
The  "  Caroline  "  which  the  stranger  slips 
into  the  hand  of  the  guardian,  and  at  which 
he  most  probably  casts  a  rueful  glance, 
will  one  day,  perhaps,  make  a  great  and 
wise  man,  a  learned  author,  a  profound 
critic,  jump  for  joy.  Neither  gold  nor  en- 
treaties will  induce  him  to  part  with  the 
sacred  treasure. 

We  have  only  time  for  one  more  gallery  ; 
but  that,  I  think,  is  the  most  interesting  of 
all.  It  contains,  amongst  other  objects,  the 
domestic  implements,  or  kitchen  furniture, 
found  in  the  "buried  cities.  Here,  for  instance, 
is  a  stove,  or  cooking  apparatus  :  it  is  in 
the  form  of  a  square  fortress,  at  each  angle  of 
which  stands  a  tower.  In  the  centre,  a  pan 
was  let  in,  for  the  purpose  of  holding  the  fire  ; 
while  the  water,  which  it  served  to  heat,  cir- 
culated round  the  battlements,  and  was  turned 
off  by  means  of  a  cock,  emerging  from  the 


284 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


outer  walls.  Suspended  across  this  fire,  and 
resting  with  each  end  upon  an  embrasure  in 
the  walls,  were  placed  spits,  on  which  the 
meat  was  roasted.  Not  far  from  this  "  Magic 
Stove,"  one  observes  various  kinds  of  scales, 
for  the  purpose  of  weighing  articles  of  domestic 
consumption,  very  similar  in  form  to  those 
now  in  use  in  the  shops.  The  weights  gene- 
rally represent  the  head  of  a  divinity,  or  of 
some  great  personage.  Scattered  about  in 
different  parts  of  the  room,  the  eye  of  the 
housewife  may  detect  saucepans  of  different 
forms  and  sizes,  wine-strainers,  frying-pans, 
and  moulds  for  pastry,  of  various  designs. 
The  great  novelty  about  most  of  these  utensils 
is,  that  there  is  nothing  new  about  them  ; 
and  the  remark  which  has  been  applied  to 
everything  under  the  sun,  may,  with  equal 
propriety,  be  extended  to  all  that  lies  under 
the  kitchen  fire. 

The  room  following  next  to  this  room,  and 
forming  a  portion  of  the  same  gallery,  is  very 
rich  in  lamps.  The  shape  of  an  ancient  lamp 
is  familiar  enough.  A  notion  of  the  form 
most  in  use  may  be  conveyed  by  the  idea  of 
an  ordinary  butter-boat  covered  in,  with  a 
round  hole  for  the  wick,  and  a  larger  aperture 
for  pouring  in  the  oil.  Here  are  lamps  of 
various  materials,  but  principally  of  bronze 
and  terra  cotta.  The  ingenuity  which  has 
been  displayed  in  their  construction  is  very 
great,  and  the  workmanship  inimitable.  In 
some,  the  handles  are.  formed  by  the  figures 
of  satyrs  and  fauns,  or  of  lions,  bulls,  horses, 
and  other  animals  ;  in  others,  invention  is 
carried  to  a  higher  point,  and  a  naked  boy 
holds  the  lamp  itself,  suspended  by  a  chain. 
One  of  the  most  splendid,  in  point  of  execu- 
tion, is  that  on  which  a  Cupid  is  sculptured 
astride  on  a  dolphin.  Some  of  these  lamps 
were  hung  by  chains  ;  but  the  greater  number 
rested  on  stands,  of  which  a  variety  of  speci- 
mens are  to  be  seen  around  us. 

But  what  is  that  instrument  to  which  the 
guide,  or  guardian,  or  keeper,  in  a  jargon  of 
bad  French,  interspersed  with  snatches  of 
English,  calls  my  attention  ?  As  I  live,  it 
is  a  pair  of  stocks.  He  tells  me  that  they 
were  found  in  the  barracks  or  soldiers'  quarter 
at  Pompeii,  with  the  skeletons  of  four  wretches 
confined  in  them.  Think  what  a  death  !  To 
blaspheme,  to  cry,  to  rave  for  help,  and  to  be 
answered  by  nought  but  the  roaring  of  the 
mountain  ;  to  watch  the  ashes  pouring  down 
in  showers  —  coming  onward  —  onward  — 
onward — and  then — the  end  ! 

Pause  for  a  moment,  and  contemplate  in 
this  glass  case  the  skull  of  the  sentinel  who 
was  found,  faithful  to  his  post,  at  the  gates  of 
Pompeii.  Why  should  that  skull  be  here  1 
"Were  not  others  discovered — skulls  of  men 
who  perished  grasping  money-bags,  or  hidden 
away  with  their  jewels  in  cellars,  or  gorging 
themselves  at  the  dinner-table,  and,  probably, 
too  drunk  to  fly  ?  Why  should  not  the  bones 
of  this  poor  fellow  be  reverently  committed  to 
the  soil  which  he  guarded  so  well,  with  a 


monument  over  them,  and  an  inscription 
testifying  that  it  was  to  the  memory  of  an  un- 
known hero  ?  Smaller  men  have  slept  for 
ages  undisturbed  beneath  their  marble  mau- 
soleums ;  pilgrims  have  bowed  in  reverence 
before  the  tombs  of  those  who  might  more 
easily  have  been  spared. 

Here  are  compartments  containing  surgical 
instruments.  To  any  one  conversant  with  the 
subject,  an  interesting  study  will  be  presented 
by  the  Speculum  Vulvw,  of  which  a  Frenchman, 
if  I  remember  rightly,  was  believed  to  be  the 
inventor,  until  the  discovery  of  this  one  was 
made  in  the  course  of  the  excavations.  Here 
are  lancets,  needles,  pincers,  files ;  instruments 
for  extracting  splinters  from  fractured  joints  ; 
others  for  performing  the  operation  of  tre- 
panning; others,  again,  which  seemingly  con- 
stitute a  cupping  apparatus.  Further  on  are 
the  compartments  devoted  to  articles  of  the 
toilet,  among  which  the  visitor  will  not  fail 
to  notice  a  multitude  of  mirrors.  They  do 
not  resemble  our  own,  but  are  of  metal — 
for  the  most  part  silver — small  in  size, 
and  with  a  handle  so  as  to  be  easily 
carried  about.  You  will  be  amused  to  be 
told  that  it  was  a,  privilege  of  lovers  to  hold 
up  these  mirrors  before  their  mistresses  at 
their  toilet,  and  may  perhaps  think  that  your 
mistress  has  no  need  of  any  one  to  perform 
that  office  for  her.  Talking  of  mirrors,  brings 
us  to  the  subject  of  glass,  and  I  have  only  just 
time  to  give  you  a  curious  instance  of  the 
additions  which  have  been  made  to  our  know- 
ledge of  the  ancients,  by  the  discovery  of 
Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  Little  more  than 
seventy  years  ago,  Gibbon,  the  learned  his- 
torian of  the  Decline  and  Fall,  wrote  that 
the  Romans,  with  all  their  luxury  and  refine- 
ment, were  not  even  acquainted  with  the  use 
of  glass  windows.  At  the  time  when  this 
sentence  was  written,  I  believe  that  there 
was  not  a  classical  scholar  of  any  note  in 
England  who  would  not  have  been  found 
ready  to  express  the  same  opinion.  I  believe 
that  if  a  candidate  for  the  Chancellor's  Medal 
at  Cambridge  had  written  "  Yes,"  in  reply  to 
the  question,  "  Were  the  Romans  acquainted 
with  the  use  of  glass  windows  1 "  he  would 
have  lost  a  mark.  The  point  has  since  been 
set  at  rest  by  the  discovery  of  a  lattice  con- 
taining panes,  at  Pompeii. 

Probably,  at  this  point,  and  just  as  you  are 
beginning  to  take  an  intense  interest  in  all 
that  you  see,  the  guide  will  tell  you  that  the 
hour  for  closing  the  museum  has  arrived. 
And  yet  there  is  the  compartment  containing 
bed-fixings,  the  compartment  of  agricultural 
implements,  those  of  arms  and  armour,  writing 
materials,  locksmiths'  tools,  and  many  others, 
yet  to  be  examined.  Not  to  speak  of  the 
cabinets  of  Mosaics,  and  Rolls  of  Papyrus,  the 
Galleries  of  Sculpture,  the  Library,  the  Etrus- 
can Vases,  Mediaeval  Curiosities,  and  I  know 
not  what  wonders  besides.  To  take  the  most 
cursory  survey  of  all  these  objects,  would  be 
the  work  of  many  days. 


Published  at  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Str«nd.    Printed  by  BBAJBBUIT  &  ETAXS,  Whitefriars,  London. 


' Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD   WORDS." — SHAKESPEABE. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


NO.  lie.] 


SATURDAY,  JUNE  12,  1852. 


[PaiCE  Id. 


THE    POOE    BEOTHEES    OF  THE 
CHAETEEHOUSE. 

FROM  the  city  pleasure  ground  of  Smith- 
field  it  is  not  a  distance  of  many  steps  to 
Charterhouse  Square,  a  fortified  position  in 
the  heart  of  London,  made  secure  by  an 
array  of  iron  gates,  and  garrisoned  by  a  well- 
victualled  beadle.  Charterhouse  Square  is 
nearly  as  quiet  now,  in  the  very  core  of  the 
noisy  City  of  London,  as  it  was  five  hundred 
years  ago,  when  it  was  a  lonely  field,  bearing 
the  name  of  "  No  Man's  Laud."  Balph  Strat- 
ford bought  it  as  a  place  of  burial  for  the 
victims  of  the  pestilence  of  1349.  "  In  this 
place  of  sepulture  was  buried  in  one  year," 
says  <Damden,  "  no  less  than  sixty  thousand 
of  the  better  sort  of  people."  Thirteen  acres 
of  adjoining  ground,  bought  at  about  the  same 
time  of  "  St.  Bartholomew's  Spittle,"  and 
called  the  Spittle  Croft,  had  also  been  enclosed 
and  consecrated.  Upon  this  ground  Ealph  de 
Northburgh,  Bishop  of  London,  founded  a 
monastery,  devoted  to  the  use  of  the  Car- 
thusian monks,  whose  name  of  Chartreuse 
time  has  corrupted  into  Charterhouse.  It 
was  the  third  Carthusian  monastery  in».x  • 
tuted  in  this  country.  Such  monasteries 
being  always  named  after  some  event  in  the 
life  of  the  Virgin,  the  title  and  address  of 
this  one  was — "  The  House  of  the  Salutation 
of  the  Mother  of  God,  without  the  Bars  of 
West  Smithfield,  near  London." 

The  monastery  having  been  suppressed  by 
Henry  the  Eighth,  in  1537,  its  site,  with  all 
the  buildings  on  it,  was  in  the  next  place 
bought  by  Thomas  Sutton  for  the  erection  of 
a  proposed  Free  School  Hospitable  Founda- 
tion. Thomas  Sutton  had  enjoyed  lucrative 
situations  under  government,  and  had  ac- 
quired also  very  great  wealth  by  a  liappy 
speculation  in  coal  mines  near  Newcastle. 
He  had  next  increased  his  wealth  by  fitting 
vessels  out  for  privateering  service,  and  had 
finally  enlarged  his  borders  as  a  money-lender 
at  usurious  interest  upon  the  largest  scale. 
,  This  taste  for  money-getting  being  accom- 
panied with  a  great  dread  of  money-spending, 
Sutton's  wealth  became  so  serious  as  to  inspire 
him  with  the  hope  th'at  he  could  fully  make 
amends  with  it  to  Heaven  for  any  profane 
things  he  might  have  done  in  getting  it 
together.  He  designed  the  foundation  of  a 


vast  establishment  for  the  education  in  their 
youth  of  promising  boys  found  among  the 
poor,  and  for  the  support  of  decayed  gentle- 
men in  their  old  age.  For  this  purpose 
Sutton  bought  the  Charterhouse,  intending  to 
erect  and  endow  a  noble  edifice  within  its 
walls,  and  this  he  obtained  leave  to  do  from 
James  the  First  in  the  year  1611.  Six  months 
afterwards  he  died,  almost  an  octogenarian. 
He  has  been  charged  with  avarice  in  ac- 
quiring the  money  he  bequeathed,  and  has 
been  pointed  out  as  the  original  of  Ben 
Jonson's  comedy  of  Volpone  the  Fox;  but 
this  Gifford  disproves. 

Sutton  being  dead,  high  festival  was  held 
over  his  body.  Before  the  funeral  procession 
started  from  the  house,  there  was  taken  by 
the  assembled  mourners  a  slight  refreshment 
in  the  form  of  a  hogshead  of  claret,  sixteen 
gallons  of  Canary  wine,  twelve  gallons  of 
white  wine,  ten  gallons  of  Ehenish,  six  gallons 
of  hippocras,  six  barrels  of  beer,  with  a  little 
diet  bread  and  a  few  wafers.  After  the 
funeral  the  mourners  dined  at  Stationer's 
Hall,  where  they  ate  forty  stone  of  beef,  forty- 
eight  capons,  thirty-two  geese,  forty-eight 
roasted  chickens,  thirty-two  neats'  tongues, 
twenty-four  marrowbones  and  a  lamb,  forty- 
eight  turkey  poults,  seventy-two  field  pigeons, 
thirty-six  quails,  forty-eight  ducklings,  ten 
turbots,  twenty-four  lobsters,  three  barrels  of 
pickled  oysters,  sixteen  gammons  of  bacon, 
with  a  great  many  things  more  that  are  to  be 
named  before  one  comes  to  a  great  continent 
of  pastry,  and  a  sea  of  wine.  So  the  Usurer 
was  buried,  and  so  before  the  earth  had  fairly 
covered  him,  the  wasting  of  his  property 
began. 

The  next  business  connected  with  Sutton's 
great  bequest  was  to  resist  the  heir-at-law, 
Simon  Baxter,  who,  through  the  pleadings  of 
the  Solicitor-General,  no  less  a  person  than 
Lord  Bacon — then  Sir  Francis,  disputed  the 
validity  of  the  will.  It  needed  in  the  sequel 
a  bribe  to  his  majesty  often  thousand  pounds 
to  procure  a  decision  against  Baxter's  claims. 
The  preparations  for  establishing  the  proposed 
institution  then  proceeded  ;  but,  instead  of 
raising  a  new  structure,  the  trustees  repaired 
and  adapted  the  old  monastic  buildings, 
making  some  additions  ;  and  having  spent  six 
thousand  pounds  in  patchwork,  opened  the 
establishment  to  the  captains  and  gentlemen 


286 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


scholars  and  officers  011  the  third  of  October, 
1614. 

Before  this  time,  at  the  third  meeting  of 
the  governors,  held  on  the  tenth  of  December, 
1613,  it  had  been  settled  that  the  decayed 
gentlemen  who  were  to  be  consoled  in  their 
old  age  within  the  walls  of  the  Charterhouse, 
under  the  name  of  "  Poor  Brothers,"  were  to  be 
eighty  in  number.  It  was  resolved,  also,  that 
in  accordance  with  the  disposition  of  the 
founder,  they  were  "  to  be  ancient  gentlemen, 
having  the  same  tender  breeding  with  their 
elder  brothers,  but  only  the  slender  fortunes 
of  a  younger  brother — gentlemen  too  generous 
to  beg,  and  not  made  for  work  (whose  in- 
genuous natures  might  be  most  sensible  of 
want,  and  least  able  to  relieve  it),  and  who 
woidd  be  cast  away  and  brought  to  misery  for 
want  of  a  comfortable  subsistence  in  their  old 
age."  At  this  meeting  it  was  therefore  decided, 
that  no  rogues  or  beggars  should  be  eligible 
for  admission — but  that  "  these  ancient  gen- 
tlemen were  to  comprise  such  as  had  been 
servants  to  the  king's  majesty,  either  decrepid 
or  old,  captains  either  at  sea  or  land,  soldiers 
maimed  or  impotent,  decayed  merchants,  men 
fallen  into  decay  through  shipwreck,  casualty 
of  fire  or  such  evil  accident."  The  defi- 
nition of  the  purpose  of  the  founder  was  pro- 
bably suggested  by  a  passage  in  one  of  Bacon's 
letters  to  the  king,  in  which  he  says :  "  The 
next  consideration  may  be,  whether  this  in- 
tended hospital,  as  it  hath  a  greater  endow- 
ment than  other  hospitals  have,  should  not  like- 
wise work  upon  a  better  subject  than  other 
poor,  as  that  it  should  be  converted  to  the  relief 
of  maimed  soldiers,  decayed  merchants,  house- 
holders aged  and  desolate,  churchmen,  and 
the  like,  whose  condition  being  of  a  better 
sort  than  loose  people  and  beggars,  deserveth 
both  a  more  liberal  stipend  and  allowance, 
and  some  proper  place  of  relief  not  inter- 
mingled or  coupled  with  the  basest  sort  of 
poor." 

It  was  designed,  then,  by  the  founder  him- 
self, and  declared  by  his  trustees,  that  the 
Poor  Brother  of  the  Charterhouse  should  be 
chosen  from  a  rank,  and  elected  to  a  position, 
higher  than  the  meanest.  He  was  to  be  gen- 
tleman as  to  his  antecedents.  Misfortune  was 
to  qualify  him  for  election  into  what  might  be 
called  a  fellowship  on  Sutton's  munificent 
foundation,  over  which  officers  were  set,  en- 
trusted with  the  care  of  shielding  him  in  his 
old  age  from  all  painful  reminder  of  his 
changed  position.  He  was  to  have,  as  the 
funds  well  allowed,  a  shelter  from  the  world, 
in  which  he  could  retain  many  of  the  comforts 
of  his  old  position,  unoppressed  by  any  sense 
of  beggar-like  dependence.  The  foundation 
was  not  established  for  the  express  purpose  of 
supplying  handsome  incomes  to  a  staff  of 
officers,  but  for  the  consolation  of  decayed 
gentlemen  in  their  last  years,  over  whose 
wants  certain  officials  were  to  be  well  paid 
for  exercising  delicate  and  tender  care.  The 
act  of  parliament,  obtained  1628-9,  in  the 


third  year  of  Charles  the  First,  to  secure  th  e 
privileges  of  the  foundation,  requires,  "  That 
all  the  members  of  the  intended  hospital  shall 
be  provided  "  (not  "  in  a  good  and  sufficient  " 
but)  "  in  a  very  ample  manner  with  all  things." 
And  so  Hearue  in  his  doggrel  writes  of  it  in 
1677  :— 

"  Plenty  here  has  chose  her  seat, 
Here  all  things  needful  and  convenient  meet; 
Every  week  are  hither  sent 
Inhabitants  o'  the  wat'ry  element." 

Hearne  evidently  looked  upon  fish  dinners  as 
a  special  luxury : — 

"  Fourscore  patriarchs  here 
Wander  many  a  year, 
Until  they  move  unto  the  promised  land." 

Fourscore  patriarchs  here  wander  still ;  and 
to  see  how  they  wander,  and  to  ascertain  what 
great  improvements  have  strengthened  this 
foundation,  since  the  old  world  has  increased  hi 
wisdom,  and  the  old  property  of  La  Chartreuse, 
outside  Smithfield  Bars,  near  London,  has 
increased  in  worth,  we  have  lately  been 
paying  a  few  visits  to  the  Charterhouse. 

It  was  provided  by  the  founder,  that  if  the 
funds  devoted  to  their  use  increased,  these 
were  to  be  applied  either  to  an  increase  in  the 
scale  of  comfort  upon  which  the  Brethren  were 
maintained,  or  to  an  increase  in  the  number 
of  the  Brethren,  as  might  seem  most  fit.  The 
funds  have  increased  very  largely ;  and  as 
there  are  still  but  eighty  Brothers,  there  is 
reason  to  expect  that  the  old  gentlemen  are 
in  the  enjoyment  of  extremely  comfortable 
little  fellowships. 

Out  of  the  quiet  of  Charterhouse  Square, 
we  pass  under  an  archway,  by  a  porter's 
lodge,  into  the  still  greater  quiet  of  the 
laarterhouse.  Scattered  buildings,  many  old 
monastic  walls,  a  sort  of  lane  leading  to  a 
silent  square  with  a  bit  of  green  and  a 
large  pump ;  a  chapel,  a  hall ;  an  archway, 
other  squares,  cloisters,  modern  buildings 
like  dull  piles  of  law  chambers  constructed  to 
match  Pump  Court  in  the  Temple,  a  handsome 
modern  house,  an  archway  ;  a  graveyard  like 
a  meadow,  a  boy's  playground  ;  monkish 
time-ejxten  cloisters,  where  monks  spent  an 
agony  before  death  in  the  old  grim  days  of 
persecution  ;  then  back,  in  some  odd  way,  to 
the  pump,  or  under  an  archway  to  the  kitchen, 
or  the  chapel,  or  some  other  unexpected  place 
— all  this  belongs  to  the  confused  image  left 
upon  the  mind,  by  a  first  ramble  over  the 
acres  covered  by  the  Charterhouse,  and 
shut  out  from  the  noise  and  tumult  of  the 
city.  On  a  sunny  afternoon,  one  may  see  the 
milkman  talking  to  a  maid  servant  at  the 
door  of  the  schoolmaster's  handsome  modern 
residence  ;  or  an  old  man  in  a  livery-gown 
sunning  himself,  as  he  crawls  up  and  down 
with  a  long  pipe  between  his  lips.  Except 
the  playground  and  the  school,  which  do  not 
form  part  of  our  present  thoughts,  nothing 
conveys  to  the  mind  light  associations.  Our 


Charles  Dickens.] 


POOE  BROTHERS  OF  THE  CHAETERHOUSE. 


287 


blood  stirs  drowsily  within  us  as  we  walk 
about. 

There  is  a  grand  ball  at  the  Master's  house 
on  founder's  day,  when  the  new-fashioned 
world  comes  to  the  old-fashioned  place,  makes 
a  great  noise,  wakens  it  up  for  that  one  day, 
and  then  leaves  it  to  drowse  heavily  again  for 
twelve  months  more.  The  Master's  house  is 
on  the  right  hand  after  you  come  in  by  the 
porch  ;  an  ancient  gate  leads  to  its  portals. 
The  Master,  according  to  the  words  of  the 
foundation,  should  be  a  learned,  discreet,  and 
meek  man,  unmarried,  and  aged,  when  ap- 
pointed, above  forty  years.  He  should  neither 
have  nor  accept  of  any  place  of  preferment  or 
benefit  either  in  church  or  commonwealth, 
whereby  he  might  be  drawn  from  his  re- 
sidence, care,  and  charge  of  the  Hospital  ; 
and  if  he  do,  in  such  case  he  shall  leave  that 
place,  or  be  displaced  if  he  refuse  to.  leave  it. 
His  salary  was  fixed  at  fifty  pounds,  a  very 
reasonable  sum  in  those  days,  and  about  nine 
times  the  annual  allowance  to  each  of  the 
Poor  Brethren.  The  said  Master  was  at  first 
intended  to  be  any  grave  and  proper  man, 
whether  churchman  or  not,  but  on  the 
election  of  the  third  of  the  first  masters,  the 
governors  ordained  "  that  no  person  be  ad- 
mitted as  master  who  is  not  a  learned  and 
grave  divine,  a  licensed  preacher,  unbeneficed, 
unmarried,  and  a  constant  resident." 

The  Master's  house,  as  it  now  stands,  looks 
very  much  like  a  piece  of  the  year  1611.  Who 
is  the  unbeneficed  divine  residing  here,  devoting 
his  whole  care  to  the  superintendence  of  the 
household  of  Poor  Brethren  ?  He  is  the 
venerable  churchman,  whose  archdeaconry  of 
London,  whose  post  of  canon  residentiary  of 
St.  Pauls,  whose  onerous  duties  as  rector 
of  St.  Giles's,  Cripplegate,  whose  chaplaincy 
to  the  Bishop  of  London,  whose  almonership 
of  St.  Pauls,  (the  whole  yielding  between  two 
and  three  thousand  pounds  per  annum,)  are 
not  considered  incompatible  with  the  receipt 
of  an  additional  eight  hundred  a-year  as 
Master  of  the  Charterhouse,  together  with 
residence  and  partial  board.  The  residence 
is  humble  in  external  pretensions,  but  inside 
luxuriously  fitted,  having  thirty- three  rooms, 
including  all  domestic  offices  ;  it  is,  in  fact, 
one  of  the  best  ecclesiastical  nests  in  London. 

Then,  there  is  an  old  monastic  wall  on 
our  right  hand  as  we  go  on,  and  behind  it 
are  the  registrar's  offices,  and  an  excellent 
and  convenient  house.  The  salary  of  the 
registrar  has  risen,  with  the  changed  value 
of  money  and  improved  administration  of 
the  place,  from  thirty  to  six  hundred 
pounds  a-year.  From  an  archway,  between 
the  houses  of  the  Master  and  the  registrar, 
you  pass  up  to  the  apartments  of  the  chapel- 
reader,  whose  original  salary  of  eight  pounds 
has  become  two  hundred  ;  while  the  forty 
pounds  a  year,  which  made  the  preacher 
passing  rich  two  centuries  ago,  are  now  four 
hundred  ;  in  addition  to  a  handsome  house 
containing  sixteen  or  seventeen  rooms. 


If  we  pass  by  the  door  leading  to  the 
reader's  chambers,  under  the  archway,  we 
shall  come  to  the  chapel,  cloisters,  and  the 
great  hall,  built  for  lay  purposes  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  the  Eighth,  and  afterwards  fitted 
up  as  a  banqueting-hall  by  the  ill-fated  Duke 
of  Norfolk.  In  the  good  old  times  this  hand- 
some hall  had,  of  course,  a  mud  floor  covered 
with  rushes ;  and,  when  the  rushes  were 
abolished,  the  Poor  Brethren — for  it  was  and 
is  their  dining  hall — dined  over  the  simple 
dirt.  Within  the  last  few  years,  however,  the 
floor  has  been  boarded.  In  still  farther 
obedience  to  the  march  of  mind,  the  old 
custom  of  eating  from  wooden  trenchers  is 
abolished ;  the  existence  of  pottery  is  recog- 
nised, and  glass  is  substituted  for  the  old 
clumsy  mugs  ;  the  benches  of  the  Brethren 
are  replaced  by  chairs. 

The  outer  world  is  not.  a  blank,  then,  in  the 
Charterhouse.  The  officers  and  Brethren 
used  to  dine  together  in  this  hall ;  but,  as  the 
officers  ate  poultry  and  drank  wine,  while  the 
Brothers  had  plain  meat  and  table  beer,  and 
as  also  the  hour  at  which  the  Brothers  dine — 
three  o'clock — is  too  early  for  their  "  betters," 
the  official  dinner  was  transferred  to  Brooke 
Hall,  an  adjoining  smaller  building,  where 
the  officials  dine  together  very  comfortably 
every  day  at  half- past  five. 

In  a  corner  of  the  great  hall  are  boards,  on 
which  are  pasted  notices  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Poor  Brothers.  When  we  read  these,  we 
were  troubled  with  a  few  misgivings  ;  but  we 
will  postpone  for  the  present  any  observation 
upon  their  contents.  Up  stairs  one  goes  to 
the  governor's  room,  a  handsome  tapestried 
apartment,  a  relic  of  the  palace  of  the  before- 
mentioned  Duke  of  Norfolk.  Then  there  are, 
in  the  chapel,  monuments  of  course,  brasses 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  a  tremendous 
founder's  tomb. 

If  we  pass  on,  we  shall  come  to  scattered 
buildings,  old  or  new,  with  numbered  doors, 
through  which  we  reach  the  residences  of  the 
Poor  Brothers  of  the  Charterhouse,  each  of 
whom  has  one  room,  with  a  closet  in  it  to 
contain  his  coals  and  other  housekeeping 
supplies.  We  may  see  as  many  as  we  are 
able  of  these  eighty  chambers,  and  we  shall 
find  no  two  alike  ;  because  the  furnishing  of 
each  depends  on  the  amount  of  capital  of  his 
own,  which  each  tenant  has  been  able  to 
expend.  Some  affect  mahogany,  and  have  a 
carpet  with  a  little  painting  and  gilding  on 
their  walls ;  others  have  bare  boards  and  a 
plain  deal  table.  At  the  present  time  we 
shall  see  little  saucepans  on  most  of  their 
grates,  for  the  kitchen  is  closed  during  altera- 
tions, and  they  are  left  to  be  their  own  cooks. 

We  have  taken  a  little  pains  to  ascertain 
what  is  the  present  condition  of  a  Poor 
Brother  of  the  Charterhouse. 

He  is,  or  we  should  rather  say,  in  the  true 
spirit  of  the  charity,  he  ought  to  be,  a  de- 
cayed gentleman — a  merchant,  artist,  author, 
or  the  like — upon  whose  merits  the  world  has 


288 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


frowned,  and  who  finds  in  the  Charterhouse 
an  honourable  place  of  refuge  and  an  easy 
home  in  his  old  age,  not  too  bitterly  contrast- 
ing with  his  memory  of  comforts  past.  Let 
us  suppose  an  educated  man,  a  widower  in 
his  old  age,  become  destitute,  and,  being 
worthy  of  all  kindly  feeling,  presented  to  a 
share  in  the  benefit  of  Button's  endowment. 
He  pays  a  visit  to  the  room  allotted  for  his 
residence.  A  single  room,  not  very  large, 
•with  a  deal  table  and  chair,  bed  and  bedding  ; 
nothing  more.  There  is  a  closet,  which  will 
be  large  enough  to  hold  his  bed  and  form 
a  separate  apartment,  if  the  lodging  should 
chance  to  be  over  an  archway.  A  deal  table 
and  chair,  and  a  bed  are  cheerless  lodging 
to  the  eyes  of  the  ancient  gentleman,  and 
•would  seem  more  so  if  he  could  contrast  them 
•with  the  luxuriously  fitted  thirty-two  roomed 
residence  of  the  Master,  whose  income  was 
appointed  by  the  founder  of  the  institution  to 
be  only  nine  times  greater  than  his  own. 
The  Master's  income  being  eight  hundred 
pounds  a-year,  over  and  above  the  board  and 
lodging,  that  of  the  Brother  should  be  about 
eighty.  It  is,  however,  only  twenty-five.  The 
payment  of  the  manciple  used  to  be  eight 
pounds,  that  of  the  Poor  Brother  five  pounds, 
six  and  eightpence.  The  manciple  has  now 
two  hundred,  and  the  brother  twent}  -five. 

The  ancient  gentleman,  when  he  has  finished 
looking  at  his  room,  and  considered  how 
much  money  he  can  raise  wherewith  to  add 
a  little  to  its  comfort,  is  informed  that  the 
governors  require  him  to  bring  in  with  him, 
on  entrance,  two  pairs  of  new  sheets,  — sheets 
cannot  be  found  for  him.  He  proceeds  to 
inquire  further,  what  is  to  be  done,  and  what 
will  not  be  done  on  his  behalf.  He  is  in- 
formed that  he  will  have  coats  without  stint, 
and  thirteen  pounds  of  kitchen  candles  yearly, 
which  he  finds  out  by  arithmetic  to  yield 
about  an  inch  a  night.  He  will  have  left  at 
his  door  daily  in  the  morning  a  loaf,  con- 
taining twelve  ounces  of  bread — a  trifle  larger 
than  a  penny  loaf — and  two  ounces  of  butter. 
That  he  is  to  take  this  for  his  breakfast,  or 
lunch,  or  tea,  or  supper,  or  all  of  them  in  one. 
That  will  be  his  provision  for  the  day,  dinner 
excepted.  A  loaf  is  left  every  morning  at 
the  master's  door,  with  even-handed  charity  ; 
though  the  footman  scorns  it  when  he  takes 
it  in.  The  ancient  gentleman  is  to  make 
tea,  sugar,  cheese,  or  what  he  will  out  of  his 
loaf  and  butter.  No  restraint  is  put  upon 
his  fancy.  There  will  be  dinner  in  the  hall 
at  three  o'clock,  at  which  he  may  attend, 
wearing  his  livery-gown,  and  eat  as  much 
as  he  is  able  of  good  meat  and  pie,  and 
drink  with  it  a  pint  of  table  beer.  The  dinner, 
if  he  goes  to  eat  it  punctually  at  dinner 
time — for  a  minute  after  time  condemns 
him  to  fast  until  the  morning — has  no 
limit  but  his  appetite.  Experience  of  hungry 
nights,  caused  many  of  the  ancient  gentlemen 
to  carry  to  the  hall  tin  cases,  wherein  to 
conceal  a  few  scraps  for  their  supper.  This 


practice  being  discovered,  was  denounced  in 
the  hall  by  the  officials  as  exceedingly  ungeii- 
tlemanly  ;  no  doubt  it  was,  nevertheless  some 
little  allowance  is  to  be  made  for  the  weakness 
of  old  gentlemen,  who  do  not  like  to  be  sent 
supperless  to  bed. 

The  ancient  gentleman,  not  being  young 
and  lusty,  will  often  be  disposed  to  keep  his 
room,  but  when  he  does  so,  and  desires  to 
dine  in  private,  his  dinner  is  straightway 
weighed  for  him.  A  Shylock,  with  knife  and 
scales,  holds  firmly  to  a  half-pound  of  flesh  ;. 
and  if  the  invalid  desire  a  pudding,  then  his 
meat  is  reduced  in  allowance  to  a  quarter  of 
a  pound. 

The  old  gentleman  inquires  whether  there 
is  provision  made  for  tending  him,  and  look- 
ing to  his  small  domestic  wants.  He  is  in- 
formed, that  when  he  enters  as  Poor  Brother, 
he  will  be  committed,  with  seven  others,  to 
the  care  of  a  nurse,  who  will  attend  during 
eight  hours  daily,  upon  those  eight  rooms  ;  so 
that  he  receives  a  daily  average  of  one  hour's 
attendance.  His  room  is  cleaned  out  once 
a-week  ;  and  his  window  is  cleaned  once 
a-year — that  is  to  say,  every  December.. 
During  the  sixteen  hours  free  from  nurses, 
the  Poor  Brother  will  be  left — very  helpless 
and  infirm  as  he  often  is — wholly  to  himself, 
or  to  the  care  of  friends  who  may  come  to 
him  in  the  daytime,  or  to  what  service  he  may 
hire  out  of  his  twenty-five  pounds  a-year — 
one  pound  of  that  being  payable  in  fees  to 
the  nurse  provided  by  the  institution.  In  the 
night  he  is  left  quite  alone,  and  without  means 
of  summoning  assistance.  Should  he  be 
seized  with  illness,  he  must  get  up,  and 
having  lighted  a  candle,  place  it  in  his 
window  ;  the  light,  if  seen  by  the  watchman, 
brings  his  tender  assistance  when  he  next 
comes  on  his  hourly  round.  Whatever  fit  or 
seizure  to  which  age  is  liable  may  render 
him  unable  to  get  up  and  light  a  candle,  or 
if  he  be  blind,  as  three  or  four  of  the  Poor 
Brothers  are — it  must  either  pass  from  him, . 
remain  on  him,  or  kill  him,  as  the  chance 
may  be :  no  help  can  come  until  the  morning.. 
So  rigid  is  the  exclusion  of  non-residents,  that 
it  is  a  breach  of  Charterhouse  law  for  a 
mother  or  a  sister  to  be  present  in  the  night 
time.  If  a  Poor  Brother  Avish  to  leave  the 
world  comfortably,  he  must  not  die  in  the 
night  time. 

When  the  Poor  Brother  dies  in  the  usual; 
way,  he  spends  his  last  days  in  the  infirmary.. 
When  dead,  a  coffin  is  supplied  for  him  by 
contract,  and  he  is  deposited  in  the  burial- 
ground  attached  to  the  foundation,  service 
being  read  over  him  in  the  chapel  by  the 
chapel-reader.  Towards  the  expense  of  the 
coffin  twenty-four  shillings  is  allowed  from 
the  foundation  ;  and  to  this  there  is  added  a 
sum  of  one  pound,  six  shillings  and  sixpence, 
towards  defraying  the  expense  of  the  ground, 
clergyman,  &c.  So  the  Poor  Brother  is. 
buried.  No  head-stone  is  permitted.  For 
a  few  weeks  the  mound,  which  covers  his 


Charles  Dickens.J 


POOE  BROTHERS  OF  THE  CHARTERHOUSE. 


289 


remains,  is  allowed  to  disfigure  the  smooth 
surface  of  the  grass.  A  heavy  roller  after 
that  time  passes  over  it,  The  solemn  little 
heap  is  levelled  and  turfed  over,  and  the  last 
trace  of  the  Poor  Brother  is  wiped  away.  A 
few  smoke-soiled  votive  tablets  fixed  against 
the  wall  which  separates  this  graveyard  from 
"  Wilderness  Row,"  are  the  only  memorials 
left  of  the  dead.  There  is  a  level  green, 
broken  at  this  moment  by  a  little  cluster  of 
three  graves,  upon  which  the  mould  lies 
fresh.  In  the  present  year,  one  of  the  most 
eminent  booksellers  and  publishers  of  his  own 
younger  time,  who  had  given  to  the  literary 
world  upwards  of  two  hundred  and  fifteen 
volumes  in  Greek,  Latin,  Hebrew,  and  Italian, 
and  ninety-five  in  English  Classics  and 
Divinity,  was  buried  here  as  a  Poor  Brother, 
and  after  six  weeks  had  the  roller  passed  over 
his  grave.  Certain  rooms  of  the  Brothers 
open  on  this  graveyard  ;  and  they  who  reside 
in  them  find  other  evidence  than  hillocks 
furnish  of  the  multitude  of  bodies  therein 
buried. 

The  ancient  gentleman  who  has  obtained 
the  privilege  of  admission  as  Poor  Brother  of 
the  Charterhouse,  finds  a  great  deal  to  wound 
his  feelings,  or  his  prejudices,  in  all  this.  Pre- 
judices they  are,  which  it  is  commonly  ac- 
counted gentle  and  becoming  to  respect.  The 
old  fellow  is  told  that  a  portion  of  this 
cemetery,  consecrated  not  very  many  years 
ago,  was  formerly  a  garden  for  the  supply  of 
vegetables  to  the  foundation.  These  vege- 
tables the  Master  had  found  so  convenient  to 
his  private  kitchen,  that,  when  the  garden  was 
converted  into  a  cemetery,  there  was  accorded 
to  him,  in  addition  to  his  spacious  house,  and 
his  luxurious  dinners  in  Brooke  Hall,  and  his 
eight  hundred  pounds  a-year,  twenty-five 
pounds  a-year — a  Brother's  pension — as  con- 
solation for  the  cabbages  of  which  he  was 
deprived. 

A  gate  in  a  strong  iron  railing  leads  from 
the  graveyard  to  the  wilderness.  This  wilder- 
ness is  described  in  an  old  tract  of  the  year 
1 707,  called  "  A  Trip  to  the  Charterhouse, 
or  the  Wilderness  Intrigue,"  as  "  a  small,  yet 
complete  little  flower-garden,  formed  of  shady 
walks  and  choice  parterres,  and  adorned  with 
some  very  rare  trees,  and  shrubs,  which  we 
must  confess  have  but  a  dingy  hue.  Notwith- 
standing, there  are  not  many  such  gardens  in 
London."  It  was  a  plot  covering  about  three 
acres,  designed  for  the  recreation  of  the  pa- 
triarchs. The  ancient  gentleman,  finding  the 
gate  locked,  is  informed  that  it  is  now  called 
"  The  Master's  Gardens,"  and  that  Poor 
Brothers  are  intruders  there,  except  when 
the  boys  are  gone  home  for  the  holidays,  and 
the  officials  are  out  of  town. 

The  ancient  gentleman  begins  now  to  dis- 
cover that  the  Charterhouse  is  intended  for 
the  consolation  of  officials,  and  that  the 
Poor  Brothers  are  simply  the  discomfort  of 
the  place ;  which  otherwise  provides  good 
salaries,  and  dwellings,  and  dinners,  and  daily 


pints  of  wine  to  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
are  really  fed  upon  its  funds.  The  Poor 
Brother's  pint  of  wine  comes  once  a-year. 
The  Poor  Brother  of  the  Charterhouse  is,  in. 
fact,  a  bore. 

Our  gentleman,  however,  takes  possession 
of  his  room.  The  infirm  old  fellow,  waited 
upon  somewhat  cavalierly  by  the  eighth  part 
of  a  nurse  during  a  third  part  of  the  day, 
grows  restless  at  the  sight  of  men-servants  and 
maid-servants  about  the  squares.  Not  count- 
ing the  men  at  all,  he  discovers  that  three 
female  servants  wait  on  the  Master,  three  on 
the  registrar,  five  on  the  preacher,  two  on  the 
reader,  four  on  the  schoolmaster,  four  on  the 
usher — and  he  thinks,  therefore,  that  with  very 
close  economy,  the  rich  endowment  of  the 
Charterhouse  might  possibly  afford  him 
something  larger  than  the  twenty -fourth  part 
of  a  woman's  care. 

The  old  gentleman  having  taken  possession 
of  his  rooms,  brought  in  his  own  sheets,  and 
gone  to  bed  between  them,  finds  that  there  is  a 
bell  ringing  him  to  matins  at  nine  o'clock.  The 
same  bell  ringing  for  dinner  at  a  quarter 
before  three  makes  a  pleasant  music.  Then  at 
seven  the  bell  rings  again  for  prayers — 
vespers — and  at  eight  o'clock  in  winter 
evenings,  at  nine  in  summer,  it  rings  a  curfew 
to  call  all  the  Brothers  home.  This  curfew 
tolls  exactly  eighty  times  when  the  Poor 
Brothers'  places  are  all  filled.  When  there  is 
one  dead,  one  stroke  is  deducted  till  his  place 
has  been  supplied.  The  number  of  pulls 
made  at  any  time  in  the  last  tolling  is  always 
adapted  to  the  number  of  Poor  Brothers 
then  on  the  foundation.  Our  old  friend, 
being  very  deaf,  thinks  it  not  worth  his  while 
to  go  to  chapel ;  so  he  takes  a  walk  after 
having  breakfasted  on  bread  and  butter,  and 
goes  abroad  to  buy  himself  some  sugar  and 
some  tea.  As  he  goes  in  and  out  he  observes 
that  his  outgoing  and  incoming  are  chronicled 
at  the  gate,  by  the  porter,  for  the  information 
of  the  officials.  He  pays  a  visit  to  a  friend, 
and,  coming  home,  is  duly  reminded  that  he 
must  put  on  his  livery-cloak  when  he  goes 
into  the  hall  for  dinner.  When  he  has  dined, 
he  pays  a  visit  to  the  notice-board,  and  is 
startled  to  perceive  that  he  is  in  debt  three- 
pence to  the  Charterhouse,  for  having  staid 
away  from  chapel.  The  notice-board,  among 
a  number  of  Musts,  by  which  he  is  somewhat 
offensively  reminded  of  the  humility  of  his  j 
position,  informs  him  that  for  absence  from 
chapel  on  a  week-day  he  has  threepence  to 
pay  ;  and  if  the  day  be  Christmas-day,  or  one 
of  the  great  days  of  Christian  celebration,  the 
fine  upon  the  ancient  gentleman  is  adjusted 
to  the  religious  character  of  the  occasion,  and 
becomes  a  shilling.  An  old  gentleman  offers 
the  new  Brother  a  contribution  from  his  per- 
sonal experience,  and  says,  that  being  com- 
pletely deaf  he  has  not  heard  the  service  now 
for  twenty  years,  though  he  has  paid  daily 
attendance  at  the  chapel,  because  there  is  a 
porter  there  who  ticks  off  from  a  list  the 


290 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Brothers  who  attend  ;  and  there  is  no  evading 
fines  under  what  he  calls,  not  very  reverently, 
the  Gospel  according  to  Saint  Mark.  The 
new  Brother  is  likewise  informed  that  it  will 
be  his  humble  duty  to  turn  out  in  his  livery- 
gown,  and  form  with  his  companions  a  guard 
of  honour,  coughing  and  wheezing,  to  assist 
at  all  the  churchings,  christenings,  &c.,  which 
arise  on  occasions  of  rejoicing  in  the  families 
of  the  clerical  officials. 

Another  notice  on  the  board  refers  to  the 
kitchen,  and  the  place  being  put  out  of 
commons — upon  which  subject  the  new  Bro- 
ther requires  some  enlightenment.  For  two 
or  three  weeks  every  autumn,  when  the  boys 
are  gone,  and  the  officials  in  a  body  take  their 
holiday,  it  is  not  thought  worth  while  to  cook 
for  the  Poor  Brothers  alone.  The  kitchen  of 
the  Charterhouse  has  a  tremendous  range, 
able  to  cook  fifteen  sirloins  at  a  time,  and  it 
cooks  three  dinners  daily  :  one  for  the  boys, 
by  two  o'clock ;  one  for  the  Brothers,  by 
three  ;  and  the  last  for  the  officials  in  Brooke 
Hall,  at  half-past  five.  When  there  is  no 
dinner  wanted  for  the  boys,  and  none  for 
Brooke  Hall,  the  Brothers  receive  each  of 
them  thirteen  pence  a-day  (on  Sunday  two 
shillings  and  a  penny)  to  provide  and  cook 
their  dinners  for  themselves.  While  we  now 
write,  the  kitchen  grate  is  cold,  because  the 
kitchen  itself  is  unroofed,  and  undergoing 
large  repairs.  The  Poor  Brothers,  therefore, 
being  out  of  commons,  receive  each  of  them 
eight  shillings  and  sevenpence  weekly,  with 
which  they  are  required  either  to  dine  at 
eating-houses,  or  to  find  dinners  and  cook 
them  in  their  little  rooms — not  pleasant  occu- 
pation in  June  weather.  Those  who  desire 
to  take  to  themselves  the  whole  care  of  their 
own  maintenance  during  this  period,  may,  by 
giving  notice,  receive  an  additional  one  and 
fivepence,  in  lieu  of  the  daily  bread  and 
butter.  They  receive,  therefore,  ten  shillings 
a-week  for  their  whole  board,  and  are  per- 
mitted with  this  money  to  obtain,  if  they 
please,  lodging  also,  out  of  doors.  Of  course, 
when  the  kitchen  is  pulled  down  the  cook 
must  hang  his  ladle  up,  but  the  ancient  gen- 
tleman feels  it  to  be  somewhat  of  a  slight  that 
there  is  no  dinner  to  be  got  ready  for  him 
when  there  is  none  required  by  the  magnates 
of  the  establishment. 

Another  piece  of  information  on  the  notice- 
board,  intended  to  strike  terror  into  the 
hearts  of  the  eighty  ancient  gentlemen,  is  the 
formal  notice  of  expulsion  of  one  of  their 
number,  for  speaking  impertinently  to  the 
Master.  If  the  Master  lost  his  place,  he 
could  fall  back  upon  the  income  of  his  arch- 
deaconry, his  canoury,  his  rectorship,  and  all 
the  other  gifts  and  graces  for  which  he  is, 
pei-haps,  a  little  too  notorious.  The  Poor 
Brother,  deprived  of  his  asylum,  was  turned  out 
into  the  roads  a  beggar  by  offended  dignity. 
In  the  words  of  the  offended  dignitaries,  here 
is  the  poor  fellow's  condemnation,  signed, 
sealed,  and  delivered,  in  the  depth  of  winter, 


and  when  all  hands  and  hearts  in  England 
were  preparing  for  the  blessed  festival  of 
Christmas,  forgetting  injuries,  and  above  all 
such  injuries  as  wounded  nothing  but  our 
pride.  There  can  be  no  mistake  as  to  the 
genuineness  of  this  document,  which  we  have 
copied  ourselves  from  the  notice  posted  in  the 
dining  hall  of  the  Poor  Brothers : — 

"  At  an  Assembly  of  the  Governors  of  the 
Charterhouse,  held  on  Tuesday,  the  sixteenth 
of  December,  1851, 

"  John  Dingwall  Williams,  one  of  the  Poor 
Brothers,  having  appeared  before  the  As- 
sembly to  answer  a  charge  of  having  written 
certain  letters  then  produced,  and  having  been 
heard  in  respect  thereof:  and  such  letters 
being,  in  the  judgment  of  the  Assembly,  so 
insulting  to  the  governors  and  officers  to 
whom  they  were  addressed,  that  it  would  not 
be  consistent  with  the  good  government, 
order,  and  well-being  of  the  Hospital  to  allow 
the  said  John  Dingwall  Williams  to  continue 
a  Poor  Brother :  the  said  John  Dingwall 
Williams  was  deprived,  displaced,  and  re- 
moved from  the  place  of  a  Poor  Brother  of 
the  Foundation ;  and  it  was  ordered  that  he 
leave  the  House  on  or  before  the  twenty- 
third  of  December  instant." 

We  believe  that  these  letters  contained 
comments  on  facts  similar  to  those  collected 
in  this  paper,  and  that  the  Poor  Brother  had 
been  emboldened  to  speak  out  by  the  decision, 
given  last  year  by  a  revising  barrister.  A 
Poor  Brother,  who  had  once  been  one  of  the 
most  influential  tradesmen  in  the  Strand,  had 
endeavoured  last  year  to  improve  his  ano- 
malous position  by  claiming  the  privilege  of 
the  franchise  as  an  elector.  His  claim  was 
contested,  and  allowed  by  the  revising  bar- 
rister, who  decided  that  "  the  Brothers  of  the 
Charterhouse  were  duly  qualified  to  vote, 
both  by  property  and  position  ;  that  the 
Charterhouse  was  not  to  be  regarded  merely 
as  a  charitable  institution,  but  was  by  its 
charter  to  be  ranked  with  the  colleges  and 
other  public  foundations  of  the  country,  insti- 
tuted at  different  times  by  royal  and  other 
illustrious  individuals  ;  that  it  does  not  em- 
power those  entrusted  with  its  administration 
to  expel  at  pleasure,  &c. ;  consequently  that 
its  members  do  not  come  under  any  denomi- 
nation that  can  render  them  at  all  ineligible 
to  the  possession  of  the  franchise." 

It  will  be  very  obvious  that  the  humbled 
position  of  Poor  Brother  of  the  Charterhouse 
has  long  ceased  to  be  fit  for  the  solace  of  those 
"  decayed  merchants,  householders,  aged  and 
desolate  churchmen,  and  the  like,"  for  whom 
it  was  originally  intended.  It  therefore  will 
surprise  no  person  to  learn  that  although 
some  men  who  have  occupied  places  of  honour 
in  society  are  always  to  be  found  among  the 
Brethren  of  the  Charterhouse,  the  position 
lias  for  a  long  time  been  habitually  given  to 
men  who  are  in  no  need  of  consolation  for  a 
lost  position  in  the  world.  A  great  number 
of  the  Poor  Brothers  of  the  Charterhouse  are 


Charles  Dickeus.j 


TOO  MUCH  BLUE. 


291 


men  who,  instead  of  looking  back  on  better 
days,  look  back  on  a  position  against  which 
the  Charterhouse  contrasts  as  a  great  scene 
of  luxury.  Kind  patrons  get  admission  to 
the  Charterhouse  for  aged  fathers  of  their 
footmen,  and  for  people  of  that  class — the  only 
class  for  which  its  present  style  of  government 
is  fitted.  To  the  sensitive  and  educated  man, 
smitten  by  poverty  in  his  old  age,  the  asylum 
offered  in  the  Charterhouse  is  lost :  one  of  the 
very  few  asylums  that  were  ever  opened  to 
such  sufferers. 

Some  months  ago,  we  made  our  readers 
acquainted  with  the  French  community  of 
Little  Sisters  of  the  Poor,  and  told  of  the 
house  in  Paris  wherein  a  few  peasant  women 
maintain  ninety  old  people  by  their  own 
exertions — beg  for  them,  feed  them,  warm 
them,  cheer  them  with  such  true  sympathy 
and  Christian  love  that  the  most  refined  scholar 
or  poet  in  Christendom,  if  he  were  fallen 
into  poverty,  might  sit  in  his  old  age  among 
those  poor  coarse  women,  and  be  made  subject 
to  their  pious  care,  without  a  sense  of  degra- 
dation. In  England,  in  the  Charterhouse,  on 
a  munificent  foundation,  thousands  of  pounds 
yearly  are  spent  upon  the  care  of  eighty  poor 
old  men.  The  money  provides  for  the  rich, 
salaries,  houses,  wine  :  we  have  partly  seen 
what  it  does  for  the  Poor  Brothers.  The 
"  Little  Sisters "  across  the  Channel,  with 
bright  eyes  and  busy  hands,  with  a  maid- 
servant for  founder,  and  not  a  sous  of  capital, 
have  done  so  much,  that  it  is  a  pleasant  dream 
(but  quite  a  dream)  to  fancy  what  result  a 
little  of  their  spirit  could  produce  out  of  the 
plentiful  resources  of  the  Charterhouse. 


TOO  MUCH  BLUE. 


EARLY  on  a  fine  summer  morning,  an  old 
man  was  walking  on  the  road  between  Brus- 
sels and  Namur.  He  expected  a  friend  to 
arrive  by  the  diligence,  and  he  set  out  some 
time  before  it  was  due,  to  meet  it  on  the  road. 
Having  a  good  deal  of  time  to  spare,  he 
amused  himself  by  watching  any  object  of 
interest  that  caught  his  eye  ;  and  at  length 
stopped  to  inspect  the  operations  of  a  painter, 
who,  mounted  on  a  ladder  placed  agaitist  the 
front  of  a  wayside  inn,  was  busily  employed 
in  depicting  a  sign  suitable  to  its  name,  "  The 
Rising  Sun." 

"  Here,"  said  the  old  man  to  himself,  "  is 
an  honest  dauber,  who  knows  as  much  of  per- 
spective as  a  cart-horse  ;  and  who,  I'll 
warrant,  fancies  himself  a  Eubens.  How  he 
brushes  in  that  ultramarine  sky ! " 

The  critic  then  commenced  walking  back- 
wards and  forwards  before  the  inn,  thinking 
that  he  might  as  well  loiter  there  for  the  dili- 
gence as  walk  on  farther.  The  painter, 
meantime,  continued  to  lay  on  fresh  coats  of 
the  brightest  blue,  which  appeared  to  aggra- 
vate the  old  gentleman  very  much.  At  length, 
when  the  sign-painter  took  another  brush  full 
of  blue  paint  to  plaster  on,  the  spectator 


could  endure  it  no  longer,  and  exclaimed 
severely : — 

"  Too  much  blue  ! " 

The  honest  painter  looked  down  from  his 
perch,  and  said,  in  that  tone  of  forced 
calmness  which  an  angry  man  sometimes 
assumes  : 

"  Monsieur  does  not  perceive  that  I  am 
painting  a  sky  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  very  well  you  are  trying  to 
paint  a  sky,  but  I  tell  you  again  there  is  too 
much  blue !  " 

"  Did  you  ever  see  skies  painted  without 
blue,  Master  amateur  ? " 

"  I  am  not  an  amateur.  I  merely  tell  you, 
in  passing — I  make  the  casual  remark — that 
there  is  too  much  blue  ;  but  do  as  you  like. 
Put  more  blue,  if  you  don't  think  you  have 
trowelled  on  enough  already." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  that  I  want  to  represent  a 
clear  blue  sky  at  sunrise." 

"  And  I  tell  you  that  no  man  in  his  senses 
would  make  a  sky  at  sunrise  blue." 

"  By  St.  Gudula,  this  is  too  much  ! "  ex- 
claimed the  painter,  coming  down  from  his 
ladder,  at  no  pains  this  time  to  conceal  his 
anger  ;  "  I  should  like  to  see  how  you  would 
paint  skies  without  blue." 

"I  don't  pretend  to  much  skill  in  sky- 
painting  ;  but,  if  I  were  to  make  a  trial,  I 
wouldn't  put  in  too  much  blue." 

"And  what  would  it  look  like,  if  you 
didn't  ? " 

"  Like  nature,  I  hope,  and  not  like  yours, 
which  might  be  taken  for  a  bed  of  gentianella, 
or  a  sample  of  English  cloth,  or  anything 
you  please — except  a  sky  ;  I  beg  to  assure 
you,  for  the  tenth  time,  there  is  too  much 
blue  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  what,  old  gentleman,"  cried  the 
insulted  artist,  crossing  his  maul-stick  over 
his  shoulder,  and  looking  very  fierce,  "  I  dare 
say  you  are  a  very  worthy  fellow  when  you 
are  at  home ;  but  you  should  not  be  let  out — 
alone." 

"  Why  not  1 " 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  you  must  be  crazy  to 
play  the  critic  after  this  fashion  ;  too  much 
blue  indeed  !  What,  I,  the  pupil  of  Euysdael, 
the  third  cousin  of  Gerard  Douw's  great 
grandson,  not  know  how  to  colour  a  sky  1 
Know  that  my  reputation  has  been  long 
established.  I  have  a  Eed  Horse  at  Malines, 
a  Green  Bear  at  Namur,  and  a  Charlemagne 
at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  before  which  every  pas- 
senger stops  fixed  in  admiration  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  exclaimed  the  critic,  as  he 
snatched  the  palette  from  the  painter's  hand. 
"You  deserve  to  have  your  own  portrait 
painted  to  serve  for  the  sign  of  the  Flemish 
Ass  !  "  In  his  indignation  he  mounted  the 
ladder  with  the  activity  of  a  boy,  and  began 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand  to  efface  the  chef 
d'ceuvre  of  Gerard  Douw's  great  grandson's 
third  cousin. 

"  Stop  !  You  old  charlatan  !  "  shouted  the 
latter,  "  You  are  ruining  my  sign  !  Why,  it's 


292 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


worth  thirty-five  francs.  And  then  my  repu- 
tation— lost !  gone  for  ever  !  " 

He  shook  the  ladder  violently  to  make  his 
persecutor  descend.  But  the  latter,  undis- 
turbed either  by  that  or  by  the  presence  of  a 
crowd  of  villagers,  attracted  by  the  dispute, 
continued  mercilessly  to  blot  out  the  glowing 
landscape.  Then,  using  merely  the  point 
of  his  finger  and  the  handle  of  a  brush,  he 
sketched,  in  masterly  outline,  three  Flemish 
boors,  with  beer-glasses  in  their  hands,  drink- 
ing to  the  rising  sun  ;  which  appeared  above 
the  horizon,  dispersing  the  gloom  of  a  greyish 
morning  sky.  One  of  the  faces  presented 
a,  strong  and  laughable  caricature  of  the 
supplanted  sign-painter.  The  spectators  at 
first  were  greatly  disposed  to  take  part 
with  their  countryman  against  the  intrusive 
stranger.  What  right  had  he  to  interfere  ? 
There  was  no  end  to  the  impudence  of  these 
foreigners. 

As,  however,  they  watched  and  grumbled, 
the  grumbling  gradually  ceased  and  was 
turned  into  a  murmur  of  approbation  when 
the  design  became  apparent.  The  owner  of 
the  inn  was  the  first  to  cry  "  Bravo  !  "  and 
even  Gerard  Douw's  cousin  nine  times  re- 
moved, felt  his  fury  calming  down  into 
admiration. 

"  Oh  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  belong  to  the 
craft,  honest  man,  and  there's  no  use  in  de- 
nying it.  Yes,  yes,"  he  continued,  laughing, 
as  he  turned  towards  his  neighbours,  "  this  is 
a  French  sign-painter,  who  wishes  to  have 
a  jest  with  me.  Well,  I  must  frankly  say  he 
knows  what  he  is  about."  \ 

The  old  man  was  about  to  descend  from 
the  ladder,  when  a  gentleman,  riding  a 
beautiful  English  horse,  made  his  way  through 
the  crowd. 

"  That  painting  is  mine  !  "  he  exclaimed  in 
French,  but  with  a  foreign  accent.  "  I  will 
give  a  hundred  guineas  for  it !  " 

"  Another  madman  !  "  exclaimed  the  native 
genius.  "  Hang  me,  but  all  these  foreigners 
are  mad  ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Monsieur  ?  "  said  the 
innkeeper,k  uncommonly  interested. 

"  What  I  say — I  will  give  one  hundred 
guineas  for  that  painting,"  answered  the 
young  Englishman,  getting  off  his  horse. 

"  That  picture  is  not  to  be  sold,"  said  the 
sign-painter,  with  an  air  of  as  much  pride  as 
if  it  had  been  his  own  work. 

"  No,"  quoth  mine  host,  "  for  it  is  already 
sold,  and  even  partly  paid  for  in  advance. 
However,  if  Monsieur  \vishes  to  come  to  an 
arrangement  about  it,  it  is  with  me  that  he 
must  treat." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  rejoined  the  Flemish 
painter  of  signs,  "  it  belongs  to  me.  My 
fellow-artist  here  gave  me  a  little  help  out 
of  friendship  ;  but  the  picture  is  my  lawful 
property,  and  I  am  at  liberty  to  sell  it  to  any 
one  I  please." 

"  What  roguery ! "  exclaimed  the  inn- 
keeper. "  My  Eisiug  Sun  is  my  property ; 


fastened  on  the  wall  of  my  house.  How  can 
it  belong  to  anybody  else.  Isn't  it  painted  on 
my  boards.  No  one  but  myself  has  the 
smallest  right  to  it." 

"  I  '11  summon  you  before  the  magistrate," 
cried  he  who  had  not  painted  the  sign. 

"  I  '11  prosecute  you  for  breach  of  covenant," 
retorted  the  innkeeper  who  had  half  paid 
for  it. 

"  One  moment !  "  interposed  another  ener- 
getic voice  ;  that  of  the  interloper,  "it  seems 
to  me  that  /  ought  to  have  some  little  vote 
in  this  business." 

"  Quite  right,  brother,"  answered  the 
painter.  "  Instead  of  disputing  on  the 
public  road,  let  us  go  into  Master  Martzen's 
house,  and  arrange  the  matter  amicably  over 
a  bottle  or  two  of  beer." 

To  this  all  parties  agreed,  but  I  am  sori'y 
to  say  they  agreed  in  nothing  else  ;  for  within 
doors,  the  dispute  was  carried  on  with  deaf- 
ening confusion  and  energy.  The  Flemings 
contended  for  the  possession  of  the  painting, 
and  the  Englishman  repeated  his  offer  to  cover 
it  with  gold. 

"  But  suppose  that  /  don't  choose  to  have 
it  sold  ?  "  said  its  real  author. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Monsieur  !  "  said  the  inn- 
keeper, "  I  am  certain  you  would  not  wish  to 
deprive  an  honest,  poor  man,  who  can  scarcely 
make  both  ends  meet,  of  this  windfall.  Why, 
it  would  just  enable  me  to  lay  in  a  good  stock 
of  wine  and  beer." 

"  Don't  believe  him,  brother,"  cried  the 
painter,  "  he  is  an  old  miser.  I  am  the  father 
of  a  family  ;  and  being  a  painter,  you  ought 
to  help  a  brother  artist,  and  give  me  the 
preference.  Besides,  I  am  ready  to  share  the 
money  with  you." 

"  He  !  "  said  Master  Martzen.  "  Why.  he 's 
an  old  spendthrift,  who  has  no  money  left  to 
give  his  daughter  as  a  marriage  portion, 
because  he  spends  all  he  gets  on  himself." 

"  No  such  thing :  my  Susette  is  betrothed  to 
an  honest  young  French  cabinet-maker  ;  who, 
poor  as  she  is,  will  marry  her  next  September." 

"  A  daughter  to  portion  !  "  exclaimed  the 
stranger  artist  ;  "  that  quite  alters  the  case. 
I  am  content  that  the  picture  should  be 
sold  for  a  marriage  portion.  I  leave  it 
to  our  English  friend's  generosity  to  fix  the 
sum." 

"  I  have  already  offered,"  replied  the  best 
bil.ler,  "one  hundred  guineas  for  the  sketch 
just  as  it  is  :  I  will  gladly  give  two  hundred 
for  it,  if  the  painter  will  consent  to  sign  it  in 
the  corner  with  two  words." 

"  What  words  ?  "  exclaimed  all  the  dispu- 
tants at  once. 

The  Englishman  replied, 

"  PIERRE  DAVID." 

The  whole  party  were  quiet  enough  now  ; 
for  they  were  struck  dumb  with  astonishment. 
The  sign-painter  held  his  breath,  glared  with 
his  eyes,  frantically  clasped  his  hands  together, 
and  'fell  down  on  his  knees  before  the  great 
French  painter. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


KING  CHARLES'S  POST-BAG. 


293 


"  Forgive  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  forgive  me 
for  my  audacious  ignorance." 

David  laughed  heartily ;  and,  taking  his 
hand,  shook  it  with  fraternal  cordiality. 

By  this  time  the  news  of  the  discovery  had 
spread  ;  the  tavern  was  crowded  with  persons 
anxious  to  drink  the  health  of  their  celebrated 
visitor  ;  and  the  good  old  man,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  pledged  them  heartily. 
In  the  midst  of  the  merry-making,  the  sign- 
painter's  daughter,  the  pretty  Susette,  threw 
her  arms  round  her  benefactor's  neck,  and  her 
intended  husband  raised  a  cloud  of  sawdust 
out  of  his  jacket  from  the  violence  with  which 
he  shook  the  French  master's  hand. 

At  that  moment,  the  friends  whom  he  was 
expecting  arrived.  They  were  M.  Lessee,  a 
theatrical  manager,  and  the  great  Talma. 


KING  CHAELES'S  POST-BAG. 


THE  Post-bag  of  Queen  Victoria  is  a  some- 
what bulky  affair,  with  its  tens  of  thousands 
of  newspapers,  its  innumerable  letters,  and 
its  millions  of  money.  John  Bull  of  1852 
is  very  proud  of  his  Post-bag,  and  talks  about 
it  with  remarkable  vehemence.  Yet,  not 
with  less  vehemence,  did  Mr.  Chamberlayne, 
in  the  year  1679,  propound  to  his  associates 
the  wonders  of  King  Charles's  Post-bag.  Mr. 
Chamberlayne,  at  about  that  time,  published  a 
ninth  edition  of  his  very  notable  book  on 
"  The  Present  State  of  England,"  wherein  he 
crammed  many  curious  and  instructive  facts 
for  his  great-great-grand-children.  It  is  easy 
to  imagine  Mr.  Chamberlayne,  with  a  some- 
what pompous  manner,  primly  attired  as  a 
learned  doctor,  discoursing  with  uncontrol- 
lable pride  of  the  doings  and  the  profits  of  his 
royal  master's  Post-bag. 

In  the  first  place,  he  informs  his  company 
that  the  profits  of  the  Post-bag  are  settled 
by  Act  of  Parliament  on  his  Royal  High- 
ness the  Duke  of  York ;  and  that  the 
Postmaster  General  for  the  time  being 
is  the  Right  Honourable  Henry,  Earl  of 
Arlington,  Lord  Chamberlain  of  his  Majesty's 
Household.  He  then  proceeds  to  develop, 
to  an  astonished  public,  the  wondrous  regula- 
tions which  govern  the  bag.  First,  he  tells 
them,  every  Monday  letters  and  "  pacquets  " 
are  despatched  to  France,  Italy,  Spain, 
Flanders,  Germany,  Sweden,  Denmark,  and 
to  Kent  !  Perhaps  his  audience  think  that 
after  the  transaction  of  so  much  business, 
the  Governors  of  the  Post-bag  enjoy  a  day's 
rest.  Not  so,  however,  declares  Mr.  Cham- 
berlayue,  dallying  with  his  ruffles,  for,  on 
Tuesday,  letters  and  "  pacquets  "  are  de- 
spatched not  only  to  the  United  Netherlands, 
Germany,  and  other  foreign  parts,  but  to 
all  parts  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland. 
After  these  exertions,  his  hearers  think, 
surely  the  Governors  of  King  Charles's  Post- 
bag  have  a  day's  respite  from  work.  Not 
quite  this,  but  something  like  it ;  for,  on 
Wednesdays,  Mr.  Chamberlayue  declares, 


letters  and  "  pacquets  "  are  despatched  to 
Kent  only,  and  the  Downs.  On  Thursdays, 
letters  start  on  their  way  to  France,  Spain, 
Italy,  and  all  parts  of  England  and  Scotland  ; 
on  Fridays,  to  the  Spanish  and  United  Nether- 
lands, Germany,  Sweden,  Denmark,  and  to 
Kent ;  and  on  Saturday,  to  all  parts  of 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland.  And,  says 
Mr.  Chamberlayne,  "  the  answers  of  the  said 
letters  and  '  pacquets '  are  received  in  the 
said  office  in  due  course  ;  and,  from  thence, 
lispersed,  and  delivered  according  to  their 
respective  directions  with  all  expedition." 
These  facts,  Mr.  Chamberlayne  opines,  are 
sufficient  to  make  every  English  subject  of 
the  enlightened  seventeenth  century  proud  of 
King  Charles's  Post-bag.  Yet  other  wonders 
of  management  remain  to  be  communicated. 
The  Post-bag  is  managed  by  deputy — my 
Lord  Arlington,  of  course,  having  nothing 
whatever  to  do  except  to  receive  his  salary. 
Seventy-seven  persons  "  actually  "  give  their 
attendance  to  the  business  of  King  Charles's 
Post-bag  in  London  ;  besides  one  hundred 
and  eighty-two  deputy  postmasters,  scattered 
through  the  three  kingdoms. 

Mr.  Chamberlayne's  throat  swells  with  the 
fulness  of  exultation,  when  he  informs  his 
wondering  company  that  King  Charles's  Post- 
bag  gives  employment  to  two  "  pacquet- 
boats  "  between  England  and  France  ;  two 
between  England  and  Flanders ;  three  be- 
tween England  and  Holland  ;  three  between 
England  and  Ireland  ;  and  two  stationed  at 
Deal  to  ply  to  the  Downs.  "  As  the  master- 
piece of  all  those  good  regulations,"  continues 
Mr.  Chamberlayue,  the  "  market-towns  are  so 
connected  with  the  capital,  that  all  '  con- 
siderable '  cities  of  the  kingdom  have  an  'easy 
and  certain  conveyance  for  the  letters  thereof, 
to  and  from  the  said  grand  office,  in  the  due 
course  of  the  mails,  every  post.' "  Mr. 
Chamberlayue  now  proceeds  to  contrast  the 
magnificent  contents  of  King  Charles's  Post- 
bag  with  the  paltry  Post-bags  of  the  olden 
time.  He  informs  his  company — who  are  by 
this  time  bewildered  with  excess  of  admira- 
tion— that  although  the  number  of  letters 
"  missive "  in  England  was  not  at  all  con- 
siderable in  their  ancestors'  days,  yet  it  is 
now  prodigiously  great,  "  since  the  meanest 
people  have  generally  learned  to  write  ; "  so 
great,  that  his  Royal  Highness  of  York  is 
able  to  farm  the  Post-bag  for  thirty  thousand 
pounds  per  year.  Mr.  Chamberlayne  bids  his 
friends  note  also,  that  by  King  Charles's  bag 
letters  are  conveyed  with  more  expedition, 
and  less  charge,  than  in  any  foreign  country. 
A  letter,  containing  a  whole  sheet  of  paper,  is 
conveyed  eighty  miles  for  two-pence  ;  two 
sheets  for  four-pence  ;  and  an  ounce  of  paper 
for  eight-pence  !  This  cheap  conveyance  is  so 
rapid  (the  Post-bag  travelling  by  night  as 
well  as  by  day),  that  a  letter  travels  one 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  in  four-and-twenty 
hours  :  so  that,  continues  Mr.  Chamberlayne, 
to  make  a  great  impression  upon  his  company, 


294 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


"  in  five  days  an  answer  of  a  letter  may  be 
had  from  a  place  three  hundred  miles  distant 
from  the  writer  !  "  Mr.  Chamberlayne,  now 
in  a  state  of  irrepressible  excitement,  con- 
tinues his  list  of  wonders: — "  Moreover,  if  any 
gentleman  desire  to  ride  post  to  any  principal 
town  of  England,  Post-horses  are  always  in 
readiness  (taking  no  horse  without  the  consent 
of  his  owner),  which  in  other  kings'  reigns  was 
not  duly  observed  ;  and  only  three -pence  is 
demanded  for  every  English  mile,  and  for 
every  stage,  to  the  post-boy  four-pence  for 
conducting.  Besides  this  excellent  con- 
venience of  conveying  letters,  and  men  on 
horseback,  there  is  of  late  such  an  admirable 
commodiousness,  both  for  men  and  women  of 
better  rank,  to  travel  from  London  to  almost 
any  great  town  of  England,  and  to  almost  all 
the  villages  near  this  great  city,  that  the  like 
hath  not  been  known  in  the  world  ;  and  that 
is  by  stage-coaches,  wherein  one  may  be 
transported  to  any  place,  sheltered  from  foul 
weather  and  foul  ways,  free  from  endamaging 
one's  health  or  body  by  hard  jogging,  or  over- 
violent  motion ;  and  this,  not  only  at  a  low 
price,  as  about  a  shilling  for  every  five  miles, 
but  with  such  velocity  and  speed,  as  that  the 
posts  in  some  foreign  countries  make  not 
more  miles  in  a  day  ;  for  the  stage-coaches — 
called  flying-coaches — make  forty  or  fifty 
miles  in  a  day,  as  from  London  to  Oxford  or 
Cambridge  ;  and  that  in  the  space  of  twelve 
hours,  not  counting  the  time  for  dining, 
setting  forth  not  too  early,  nor  coming  in  too 
late." 

Mr.  Chamberlayne's  enthusiasm  falls  oddly 
upon  the  ears  of  Mr.  John  Bull,  of  1852,  who 
has  eaten  a  large  slice  of  melon  with  his 
breakfast  this  morning  in  the  Maison  d'Or 
on  the  Boulevards,  and  is  now  about  to 
discuss  the  quality  of  a  late  chop  in  Fleet 
Street  ;  and  to  let  his  friends  in  Paris  know, 
by  to-morrow  morning,  of  his  whereabouts 
in  the  British  metropolis.  Yet  we  have 
pitched  upon  the  wrong  Mr.  Bull  for  our 
contrast. 

Mr.  Bull,  taking  his  chop  in  Fleet  Street,  is 
very  loud  about  the  discrepancies  of  our  postal 
arrangements.  He  has  two  friends — one  who 
lives  at  Penzance,  and  the  second  who  has 
chosen  for  his  residence  the  most  northerly 
point  of  Scotland :  these  can  communicate 
by  letter  by  the  payment  of  one  penny ; 
yet  Mr.  Bull  (who  has  also  a  friend  at 
Dover,  who  transacts  business  with  a  firm  at 
Calais)  is  compelled  to  pay  ten-pence  for  the 
twenty  miles  which  his  letters  travel.  It  costs 
two  shillings  and  two-pence  to  send  a  letter  to 
Spain  ;  yet  one  may  be  despatched  any  day  to 
New  Zealand  for  one  shilling  ;  and  the  emi- 
grant in  the  backwoods  of  Canada  pays  but 
one  shilling  and  two-pence  for  his  letter  of 
good  tidings  to  his  friend  in  London.  Thus, 
crossing  the  Channel  only  costs  two-pence  less 
than  the  voyage  to  the  Antipodes.  Therefore 
Mr.  Bull  grumbles  ;  and  talks  about  a  con- 
vention for  the  equitable  adjustment  of  the 


post-offices  of  the  world.  He  would  not  be 
sorry  to  see  delegates  from  the  different 
countries  of  the  world  assembled  here  in 
London  to  discuss  the  rates  at  which  it  is  the 
duty  of  all  honest  states  to  enable  the  nations 
of  the  earth  to  interchange  friendly  greetings. 
So  much  has  been  done  in  England,  that  he 
thinks  a  little  co-operation  on  the  part  of 
foreign  countries  wovdd  be  a  mere  act  of 
common  honesty,  and  he  proudly  points  to  the 
great  results  of  Victoria's  Penny  Post-bag : 
a  vulgar  bag  it  is  considered,  perhaps,  by 
those  who  measure  gentility  by  the  length  of 
the  purse,  and  very  unbecoming  the  dignity 
of  the  Queen  to  receive  copper  coinage ;  but 
it  contains  more  treasxire,  more  kindly  human 
emotions,  more  cordial  confidences,  than  the 
bag  of  any  other  sovereign  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  We  should  like  the  shade  of  Mr. 
Chamberlayne  to  rise,  and  take  just  one  peep 
into  it. 

Mr.  Bull,  of  London,  serenely  contemplating 
the  working  of  the  penny  inland  postage,  and 
objecting  to  embarrass  himself  with  the 
wrongs  of  his  Dover  friend,  whose  daily  ten- 
pences  rankle  at  his  heart,  proudly,  we  repeat, 
refers  to  the  recent  history  of  the  Post-office. 
The  inflated  pride  of  Mr.  Chamberlayne,  with 
his  post-office  farmed  on  behalf  of  the  then  Duke 
of  York  for  the  annual  sum  of  thirty  thousand 
pounds,  raises  a  sneer  on  Mr.  Bull's  lip,  as  he 
surveys  the  present  balance-sheet  issued  from 
St.  Martin's-le-Grand.  And  Mr.  Bull  has 
some  reason  to  be  satisfied.  Let  us  look  at 
the  facts  he  can  place  before  us. 

In  1839,  her  Majesty  Queen  Victoria's 
Post-bag  received  eight  million  four  hundred 
and  seventy  thousand  letters.  On  the  fifth 
day  of  December  in  that  year,  the  famous 
reduction  in  the  Post-office  charges  came  in 
force.  The  effect  of  the  change  was  instan- 
taneous. Victoria's  Post-bag  was  too  small  to 
bear  the  vast  increase — every  corner  was 
crammed  ;  and  the  Postmaster-General,  with 
all  his  secretaries,  found  it  a  difficult  matter 
to  manage  the  unwieldy  mass.  In  1840,  no 
less  than  one  hundred  and  seventy  million 
letters  were  crammed  into  Queen  Victoria's 
Post-bag.  The  ghost  of  Mr.  Chamberlayne 
has  a  terrible  look  of  wonder  and  awe,  as 
Mr.  Bull,  of  1852,  announces  the  fact — 
talking  of  millions  with  the  utmost  un- 
concern. 

We  allow  Mr.  Bull  to  skip  forward  from  the 
year  1840  to  the  year  1845,  and  then  once 
more  pause  to  hear  him.  In  this  year,  we 
are  informed,  two  hundred  and  seventy-one 
million  and  a  half  of  letters  were  abso- 
lutely stuffed  into  the  Britannic  Post-bag ! 
Mr.  Bull's  eyes  gleam  with  uncontrollable  satis- 
faction as  he  rolls  the  numbers  outof  his  mouth, 
and  becomes  dreadfully  excited  as  he  wanders 
about  later  years  ;  till,  with  dilated  orbs,  his 
hand  clenched  upon  the  table,  and  his  voice 
raised  to  its  most  sonorous  pitch,  he  declares 
the  total  number  of  letters  that  passed  through 
the  Post-office  in  the  year  1850  to  have  been 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TWENTY  SHILLINGS  FOE  A  NAPOLEON. 


295 


three  hundred  and  forty-eight  millions  !  Being 
"  as  fond  as  an  Arab  of  dates,"  Mr.  Bull  begins 
to  calm  himself  after  the  delivery  of  this  cul- 
minating statement,  and  to  wander  back,  with 
rich  precision,  to  the  early  years  of  the 
century,  and  the  number  of  letters  that  each 
brought  to  the  Post-bag  of  the  reigning 
sovereign.  Then  gently,  very  gently,  he 
touches  upon  the  profits  of  the  Post-office  for 
the  last  half-century.  He  reflects  that  we 
have  tried  a  magnificent  experiment  of  late  ; 
and  that  by  certain  advances  we  are  reaching 
a  result  that  will  content,  to  the  fullest  extent, 
the  lovers  of  large  balance-sheets.  Mr.  Bull 
finds  that  on  the  fifth  day  of  January,  1840,  it 
was  shown  that  the  net  revenue  for  the  year 
then  ended,  of  the  Post-bag  (including  a  month 
of  the  four-penny  rate)  was  upwards  of  one 
million  and  a  half  sterling.  In  the  following 
great  experimental  year,  which  ended  on  the 
fifth  of  January,  1841,  the  net  postal  revenue 
fell  to  four  hundred  and  ten  thousand  pounds  ! 
A  little  more  than  one-fourth  of  the  usual 
Post-office  net  revenue. 

Mr.  Bull  remembers  that  he  felt  a  certain 
sadness  when  he  read  that  year's  account. 
But  as  the  years  followed  one  another  his 
heart  revived.  The  financial  year  which  ended 
on  the  fifth  of  January,  1846,  showed  a  net 
postal  revenue  of  six  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand pounds  ;  that  which  closed  on  the  fifth 
of  January,  1851,  showed  a  net  postal  revenue 
of  six  hundred  and  ninety-four  thousand  ;  that 
which  closed  on  the  fifth  of  January  of  the 
present  year  displayed  a  net  postal  revenue 
of  one  million  six  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
pounds  ;  being  an  increase  of  twenty-five 
thousand  pounds  on  the  net  postal  revenue 
of  the  financial  year  1839.  Of  the  vast  sums 
expended  by  the  Postmaster-General  for  the 
convenient  delivery  of  his  bag  in  various 
parts  of  the  kingdom,  Mr.  Bull  gives  us  a 
notion,  when  he  informs  us  that  in  the 
financial  year,  1851,  the  railway  companies 
of  this  country  received,  for  work  done  within 
that  year,  no  less  a  sum  than  two  hundred 
and  six  thousand  pounds. 

We  find  Mr.  Bull  quite  excited  with  the 
glowing  bits  of  the  Post-bag  history.  Talk 
of  California  and  the  gold  of  Australia,  why, 
a  golden  sand  is  shifting  continually  all  over 
England.  So  vast  is  the  wealth  deposited  in 
Victoria's  Post-bag,  that  in  one  year  the  Dead 
Letter  Office  received  in  cash  and  bank 
notes  nearly  nineteen  thousand  pounds, 
and  money,  otherwise  represented,  as  by 
cheques,  bills,  &c.,  no  less  than  one  million 
two  hundred  and  twenty-six  thousand  pounds. 
Mr.  Bull  would  not  have  it  supposed  that 
these  sums  are  quietly  pocketed  ;  on  the  con- 
trary, he  is  anxious  to  express  his  assurance 
that  "nearly  the  whole  of  the  letters 
containing  the  money  were  delivered  to  the 
writers."  Three  years  is  the  space,  of 
time  allowed  by  the  Post-office  regula- 
tions for  the  owner  of  a  missing  letter,  con- 
taining any  property,  to  recover  it ;  and,  at 


the  expiration  of  that  period,  if  the  property 
be  in  the  shape  of  a  bill  or  cheque,  it  is 
destroyed,  and  if  in  the  form  of  cash,  it  is 
added  to  the  revenue  of  the  country.  Many 
a  luckless  individual  has  thus,  unwillingly, 
helped  to  lighten  the  burdens  of  his  country- 
men. 

These  are  the  main  facts  upon  which 
Mr.  Bull,  in  this  present  year,  1852,  delights 
to  dwell ;  but  all  he  has  put  forth  only  goes 
to  prove  that  las  friend,  Mr.  Bull,  of  Dover, 
may  reasnuaoly  advocate  the  consideration  of 
his  grievance  upon  the  promoters  of  the 
inland  penny  postage.  However,  some  people 
appear  to  think  that  the  correspondence  of 
Mr.  Bull,  of  Dover,  may  be  cut  short  by  the 
mild  manoeuvres  of  a  French  squadron  in  the 
Channel.  We  shall  see. 


CHIPS. 


TWENTY  SHILLINGS  FOR  A  NAPOLEON. 

MOST  thoroughly  did  we — freed  from  a  long 
voyage,  and  a  long  residence  in  the  tropics — 
enjoy  our  four  days'  stay  at  St.  Helena.  Of 
course  we  made  a  visit  to  the  late  residence, 
and  we  may  now  say  also,  to  the  late  tomb  of 
Napoleon.  Let  me  tell  you  the  result. 

Longwood  is  about  six  miles  from  James 
Town.  The  road  winds  up  along  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  opposite  Ladder-hill,  to  a  height 
of  some  two  thousand  feet,  presenting  many  a 
bleak  point  of  view,  and  numerous  picturesque 
glimpses  of  the  sea,  through  the  deep  gorges 
of  the  mountains.  At  the  point  of  greatest 
elevation  on  the  road,  is  the  "  Napoleon  Half- 
way House," — a  fact  announced  by  a  sign- 
board, representing  the  ex-Emperor  in  his 
well-known  coat  and  cocked  hat,  standing  in 
the  stock  attitude. 

Here,  we  had  no  reason  to  think  highly  of 
anything,  except  the  bill  of  costs.  Pursuing 
the  road  along  the  edge  of  the  deep  glen, 
called  Sloane's  Valley,  we  arrived  at  Hut's 
Gate.  In  the  dell  beneath  it,  at  the  foot  of  a 
hillock  covered  by  fir-trees,  is  "  The  Tomb. " 
We  will  step  that  way  presently.  A  mile  or 
a  mile  and  a  half  more,  along  the  side  of  the 
"  Devil's  Punch  Bowl," — (query,  how  many 
punch  bowls  has  that  personage  ?) — brought 
us  to  Napoleon's  Gate,  at  the  entrance  of  the 
grounds  at  Longwood.  The  old  as  well  as  the 
new  residence  of  the  name  were  visible  at  the 
trees  which  fringed  the  soft  and  turfy  plat- 
form over  which  we  galloped  until  stopped. 
The  stoppage  was  occasioned  by  a  slovenly- 
dressed  woman,  who  presented  us  with  a  large 
dirty  card  "  which,"  said  she,  "  will  tell  the 
gentlemen  how  much  they  have  got  to  pay 
before  they  go  in."  This  proved  to  be  two 
shillings  per  head.  We  paid  the  sum,  and 
accordingly  were  ushered  into  Longwood. 

An  exhibition,  to  which  the  entrance-money 
is  as  high  as  at  the  Coliseum  in  London,  ought 
to  be  kept  in  decent  order,  one  might  think. 

All  that  is  now  seen  of  old  Longwood  House 


296 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bjr 


is  a  low  wooden  building  of  very  cramped 
dimensions,  in  a  sad  state  of  disrepair.  The 
names  and  initials  of  thousands  are  cut,  writ- 
ten, or  scratched  on  every  available  point  from 
floor  to  ceiling.  In  that  which  was  the  dining- 
room,  and  in  which  the  illustrious  prisoner 
died,  there  is  a  winnowing  machine,  not  a 
cheap  sight  at  a  penny  ;  the  part  which  he 
used  as  a  bedroom  is  now  occupied  as  a  stable. 
Every  trace  of  the  outhouses  and  remainder 
of  the  establishment  has  disappeared. 

The  new  house  of  Longwooa,  &  few  yards 
lower  down,  is  a  handsome  and  commodious 
building,  with  an  elegant  suite  of  apartments, 
meant  for  the  Emperor  and  his  attendants. 
But  they  never  occupied  it.  A  few  days 
before  Napoleon's  last  illness  he  was  to  have 
taken  possession  of  the  house,  but  having  an 
extraordinary  horror  of  the  smell  of  paint,  he 
was  not  satisfied  that  it  was  quite  dry.  We 
were,  however,  told  that  he  two  or  three 
times  made  use  of  the  bath-room,  now  shown 
in  the  new  house.  The  billiard-room,  there, 
is  now  fitted  up  and  used  as  a  chapel  for 
Divine  Service  for  the  Protestants  in  the 
neighbourhood,  every  alternate  Sunday  ;  while 
the  whole  building  is  rendered  further  re- 
markable as  having  been,  until  a  short  time 
ago,  the  site  of  the  long  series  of  magnetic 
observations  conducted  by  Captain  J.  Clarke 
Eoss,  E.  N.,  and  by  officers  of  the  Eoyal 
Artillery. 

We  were  told  that,  though  it  is  a  notorious 
fact  that  Napoleon  never  resided  in  New 
Longwood,  so  great  is  the  mania  for  stealing 
souvenirs  of  the  place,  that  Frenchmen  and 
others  have  taken  anything  there  on  which 
they  could  lay  their  hands  ;  one  took  a  key, 
another  a  door-scraper.  There  was  one  attempt 
to  carry  off  a  grate  ! 

The  view  from  Lougwood  down  the  valley 
seaward  is  tine,  and  behind  it  are  the  various 
lofty  peaks  to  the  east  of  the  island.  Among 
these  is  the  flat-topped  and  lofty  crag,  on 
which,  according  to  some  engravings,  the 
captive  used  to  contemplate  the  ocean,  with 
his  hands  behind  his  back. 

On  our  return  to  James  Valley  we  turned 
to  the  right,  and  descended  to  the  head  of  the 
glen,  where,  until  lately,  reposed  in  peace  all 
that  remained  of  the  great  founder  of  the 
show.  Napoleon's  grave  is  situated  at  the 
very  head  of  a  rapidly  descending  narrow 
valley,  whence  the  view,  wild  and  romantic, 
may  be  seen  gratuitously.  The  spot  had  been 
selected  by  himself,  for  it  was  a  place  to 
which  he  often  resorted  in  his  riding  or 
•walking  excursions,  and  where  there  is  a 
spring  of  the  purest  water  issuing  from  a 
rock. 

The  stranger  who  approaches  the  little 
enclosure  which  contains  the  tomb,  is  once 
more  reminded  that  he  walks  on  British  soil, 
by  a  request  that  he  will  insert  his  name,  &c., 
in  a  book  kept  in  a  house  close  by,  and  pay 
tliree  shillings  for  the  privilege. 

On  5th   May,    1821,   during   an  unusually 


severe  thunder  storm  (rare  in  St.  Helena), 
Napoleon  breathed  his  last,  and  the  world 
breathed  more  freely,  when  the  spirit  which 
had  so  long  troubled  it  had  gone  for  ever. 
In  due  time  he  was  buried  at  the  head  of 
Sloane's  Valley,  on  the  spot  of  his  choice,  and 
thousands  came  to  see  the  place  so  distin- 
guished. But  fate  had  not  yet  done  with  him. 
Upwards  of  nineteen  years  afterwards  (in 
1840),  arrived  his  old  companions  in  exile,  to 
claim  all  that  remained  of  their  well-beloved 
"  Emperor,"  and  to  carry  it  in  triumph  and 
pageantry  to  their  native  land  ;  while  a  prince 
of  the  House  of  Orleans  waited  at  the 
landing-place,  to  receive  on  board  a  royal 
ship,  with  all  due  honour,  the  dust  of  him  who 
had  so  long  tyrannised  over  France  ! 

The  grave  was  opened  :  a  depth  of  sixteen 
feet  had  to  be  dug  through,  before  they  came 
to  the  stone  enclosure  which  surrounded  the 
coffin.  This  was  of  three  parts  ;  a  leaden,  an 
oaken,  and  a  tin  covering  had  to  be  removed. 
This  done,  the  features  of  him  who  had  been 
dead  for  nearly  twenty  years  were  found 
scarcely  changed,  and  retaining  the  placid  ex- 
pression peculiar  to  the  living  Emperor — when 
not  irritated.  The  body  had  been  slightly  em- 
balmed. The  contact  of  air  speedily  decom- 
posed the  Emperor. 

Now,  all  is  changed  ;  silent  and  deserted  is 
the  spot.  Empty  is  the  grave  ;  and  vacant  is 
the  sentry-box,  where  stood  the  soldier  who 
used  to  guard  the  tomb.  Still,  it  is  ques- 
tionable, whether  one  person  less  of  the 
many  who  visit  St.  Helena,  will  go  to  a 
place  so  remarkable. 

The  guide  who  accompanied  us  said,  that 
there  was  much  difficulty  in  preserving  the 
vault  from  being  chipped  by  enthusiastic 
French  and  other  strangers.  Indeed,  a  fort- 
night before  our  visit,  one  of  a  party  of  the 
former  was  found  breaking  a  slab  which  he 
had  managed  to  move,  and  which  we  still 
found  un-replaced.  The  very  ladder,  by  which 
one  descends  into  the  tomb,  is  cut  and  carved 
all  over  with  the  names  or  initials  of  gentle- 
men to  whom  it  had  seemed  a  convenient 
ladder  of  fame. 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  willow-tree. 
Two  years  after  the  deposit  of  the  Em- 
peror's remains,  the  only  original  tree, 
which  strange  hands  had  cut  away  nearly  to 
its  base,  died  away.  Its  two  successors  at  the 
foot  of  the  grave  bid  fair  to  follow  its  example 
and  share  its  fate. 

In  the  valley  above  James  Town  is  a  place 
called  "The  Briars,"  formerly  the  residence 
of  Mr.  Balcombe,  and  where,  until  Longwood 
was  prepared  for  his  reception,  Napoleon 
resided  for  some  time  after  his  arrival. 
We  varied  our  downward  route  by  scram- 
bling down  the  hill-side  to  this  place  ;  but 
it  presented  nothing  especially  worthy  of 
remark, 

We  were  curious  to  ascertain  who  were  the 
recipients  of  the  money  paid  by  all  strangers 
visiting  Longwood,  or  the  Tomb,  and  the  fol- 


SWORDS  AND  PLOUGHSHARES. 


297 


lowing  was  the  information  we  received.  The 
house  and  grounds  of  New  Lougwood  are 
the  property  of  Government,  and  are  at 
present  let  to  a  retired  officer,  who  makes 
a  considerable  income  by  the  two  shillings 
n,-head  exacted  from  each  visitor  to  the  old 
house.  Doubtless,  the  tenant,  in  his  turn, 
pays  a  rent  proportionate  to  the  probable 
amount  expected  from  the  toll  levied  on 
strangers. 

Again,  as  to  the  Tomb.  After  the  remains 
of  Napoleon  were  removed,  Government  sold 
the  ground.  The  present  proprietor  being 
therefore  at  liberty,  either  to  prevent  intru- 
sion or  to  exact  what  he  pleases  from  the 
curious,  consents  to  account  the  visit  710  in- 
trusion, which  is  paid  for  at  three  shillings 
a  head. 


HOPE. 

AN    EPIGRAM. 

SWEET  Hope  of  life,  where  shouldst  tliou  dwell  ? 
Not  with  the  eagle  on  the  roek, 
The  civic  strife,  or  battle  shock, 
But  near  thy  sister  Truth's  deep  well; 

Midst  shadowy  woods  and  grassy  lanes, 
Where  tenderness  with  beauty  reigns, 
And  heaven's  bright  silence  breeds  a  voice  within  ! 
Tliis  be  life's  care  to  win, 
Its  noblest  scope — 
"But  not  in  solitude — alone — sweet  Hope  ! 

SWORDS  AND  PLOUGHSHARES. 

THE  largest  and  most  interesting  question, 
connected  with  humanity,  is : — how  are  its 
labouring  classes  to  be  secured  the  greatest 
amount  of  morality  and  happiness  ?  For 
nineteen-twentieths  of  the  world  this  means, 
how  are  those  who  till  the  land  to  be 
remunerated,  and  iu  what  relation  are  they 
to  be  placed  with  regard  to  the  land  itself  ] 
Rousseau  would  have  commenced  such  an 
inquiry  by  asking,  what  was  the  state  of 
nature  i  But  history  would  have  answered 
that  the  state  of  nature,  in  Europe  at 
least,  was  a  state  of  violence,  where  the  rude 
pastoral  tribe  always  subdued  the  agricultural 
one,  and  reduced  it  to  slavery  or  serfage.  We 
must  begin,  therefore,  to  trace  the  peasant 
from  his  lowest  point  of  degradation. ; — 
when  slavery  was  the  general  law  of  the 
world,  and  man,  whose  lot  was  slavery,  was 
a  chattel.  To  find  such  a  state  of  things 
now,  we  should  go  to  Carolina  or  Brazil, 
where  the  question  is  mixed  up  with 
considerations  of  colour,  of  export,  and  of 
race  ;  but  these  questions  would  lead  us  far 
from  our  purpose,  which  is  merely  to  consider 
man,  as  connected  with,  and  affected  by,  the 
tenure  of  land,  in  Europe. 

To  look  for  serfage  now,  would  require  far 
research.  It  exists  in  Russia,  no  doubt ;  but, 
even  there,  it  has  been  modified,  or  is  expiring. 
It  has  been  abolished  on  the  lands  of  the 
crown ;  the  Imperial  serfs  being  henceforth  i 


tenants,  who  pay  rent — not  in  money,  but  in 
kind. 

The  grade  above  serfage,  in  the  history  of 
the  European  peasant,  is  formed  by  a  division 
of  the  land,  part  of  which  is  abandoned  to  the 
peasant  to  feed  himself  and  his  family  ;  he 
paying  rent,  in  the  shape  of  so  many  days' 
labour,  to  be  employed  on  another  portion 
of  land  which  is  reserved  to  the  landlord. 
This  is  the  robot,  which  prevailed  so  very 
generally  throughout  Hungary,  Gallieia,  part 
of  Poland,  and,  indeed,  all  Sclav onian  countries. 
The  arrangement  was  not  without  its  good 
effects.  It  gave  a  comparatively  independent 
character  to  the  peasant ;  who  had  a  pro- 
perty in  a  certain  portion  of  the  soil,  from 
which  he  became  irremovable,  as  long  as  he 
performed  his  labour  contract.  Yet,  although 
this  raised  the  peasant  in  the  scale  of 
humanity  and  society,  it  placed  him  in  a 
state  of  antagonism  with  his  landlord.  The 
peasant  was  no  sooner  in  possession  of  his 
own  half  of  the  land,  than  the  landowner 
thought  that  he  had  made  a  bargain  disad- 
vantageous to  himself.  Hence  his  bailiff,  or 
representative,  if  riot  himself,  became  rigid 
iu  the  exaction  of  the  labour-rent.  Of  the 
depth  and  extent  of  the  feuds  thus  engen- 
dered, an  idea  may  be  formed  from  the 
circumstance,  that  when  the  Austrian 
authorities  of  Gallicia  became  alarmed  at  the 
disaffection  and  frowardness  of  the  landed 
proprietors,  they  had  but  to  promise  impunity 
to  the  peasants,  to  induce  them  to  burn  the 
houses,  and  massacre  the  persons  and  families 
of  their  landlords. 

There  was  another  way  by  which  the  land- 
lords or  their  representatives  won  back  from 
the  peasant  those  advantages  which  the  substi- 
tution of  a  labour-rent  for  serfage  had  procured 
him.  This  was  lending  money  to  the  peasant  ; 
thus  getting  him  into  debt,  and  enforcing,  by 
the  severe  Jaws  of  debtor  and  creditor,  that 
supremacy  that  the  law  no  longer  sanctions, 
from  master  to  servant,  or  from  landlord  to 
tenant.  This  habit  of  the  poor  man  running 
into  debt,  and  of  the  rich  man  exercising 
usury,  is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  the 
old  and  barbarous  states  of  society  ;  and  it  is 
engendered  much  more  naturally  in  southern 
than  in  northern  climes.  In  the  South,  the 
season  of  the  year  for  tilling  the  earth,  pre- 
paring it  in  time  to  produce  the  annual  crop, 
is  comparatively  short,  and  is  almost  con- 
founded with  the  time  of  harvest ;  so  quickly 
is  everything  brought  to  maturity.  Spring  is 
the  great  time  for  production  in  the  South  i 
then  all  is  alive — man  and  nature  look  active. 
But  there  is  more  than  the  agricultural 
population  can  do.  Fresh  hands  must  be 
employed  ;  their  labour  paid  as  wages.  The 
South,  too,  often  produces  for  exportation,  and 
this  of  course  requires  more  manipulation,  la- 
bour, and  capital.  The  peasant  cannot  provide 
them,  and  he  is  therefore  in  the  hands  of  his 
landlord,  or  the  capitalist,  or  both. 

The  East,  notwithstanding  all  that  travellers 


298 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


indite  and  poets  sing,  is  a  naked,  barren,  for- 
bidding region,  over  far  the  greater  part  of  the 
surface  of  which  there  is  nothing  to  glean — 
not  even  a  supper  for  the  insect.  But  this  is 
made  up  by  the  extreme  richness  and  fer- 
tility of  certain  valleys,  and  sheltered  well- 
watered  and  well-situated  spots.  Upon  these 
happy  valleys  the  traveller  stumbles  in 
amazement  and  delight.  If  in  spring  time, 
he  sees  the  fields  alive  with  labour,  the 
fertilising  water  carefully  distributed,  the 
silk  or  the  fruit  harvest  proceeding  with 
exultant  promise ;  and  he  extols  the  lot 
of  the  Oriental  peasant.  Yet  not  a  wretch 
crawls  the  earth  more  miserable  than  he. 
No  portion  of  that  rich  valley,  we  may  be 
sure,  belongs  to  him.  Even  by  his  very  nature, 
the  farmer,  as  he  might  be  called,  is  a  yearly, 
or  rather  a  season,  tenant.  The  rich  Effendi, 
who  owns  his  land,  will  call  the  peasant  to 
him  in  early  spring,  advance  him  the  money 
to  till,  prepare,  and  to  sow  the  land — the 
money  to  be  repaid  out  of  the  crop  at  harvest 
time.  As  to  rent,  it  is  not  talked  of.  It  is 
lost  in  the  greater  consideration  of  the  money 
advanced,  and  the  interest  of  thirty,  forty, 
or  fifty  per  cent,  to  be  paid  upon  and  with 
the  money.  By  the  end  of  harvest  the  land- 
lord has  swept  the  whole  of  the  crop  into  his 
storehouse.  The  peasant  has  lived,  but  no 
more ;  and,  instead  of  paying  his  debt,  he 
has  merely  liquidated  a  portion  of  it  with  the 
interest,  leaving  himself  the  bond-servant  of 
the  Effendi,  who  thus  swallows  up  the  labourer 
with  the  crop.  This  is  the  Turkish  rule.  But 
are  Christians  always  better  ?  We  could,  by 
giving  the  history  of  almost  any  village  in 
Hindostan,  show  that  nearly  as  bad  things 
take  place  under  a  rule,  like  our  own,  meant 
to  be  humane,  and  which,  no  doubt,  will  one 
day  be  so ;  but  which  requires  wisdom,  and 
the  turning  of  a  powerful  and  leisurely  mind 
to  the  task,  to  be  raised  from  the  common 
level  of  Oriental  administrations. 

There  is  an  unfortunate  proverb  in  the 
East — unfortunate  from  its  truth,  and  from 
its  being  the  most  atrocious  libel  upon 
humanity; — I  say  libel,  for  libels  are  not 
necessarily  deprived  of  truth,  however  out- 
rageous or  insulting.  The  libel  I  speak  of  is, 
that  the  more  civilised  or  advanced  the  govern- 
ment and  the  social  system,  the  worse  is  the 
condition  of  the  peasant.  Whether  there  is 
room  or  probability  for  such  an  assertion  in 
Europe,  we  shall  not  yet  consider ;  but  in  the 
East  there  is  no  controverting  the  proposi- 
tion. The  most  miserable  populations  in  the 
East  are  those  whom  Mohamed  Ali  governed, 
decimated,  and  oppressed,  amidst  the  plaudits 
of  Europeans  and  the  worship  of  Franks.  A 
far  loftier,  nobler,  and  freer  man  is  the  Arab 
of  any  of  the  regencies — as  Algiers,  Tunis 
and  Tripoli  were  called — who,  living  far  from 
the  accursed  fertility  of  the  Nile,  scratched 
his  mountain  or  his  valley  in  common  with 
his  tribe,  obeyed  his  sheik  as  an  equal,  paid 
tribute  in  common  with  his  tribe  in  a  lump, 


slung  his  own  carabine  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  mounted  his  own  horse.  These  are  the 
men  whom  the  French  have  been  striving  to 
conquer  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  who, 
with  time  and  God's  blessing,  will  see  an  end 
of  the  French  and  their  jabber  about  carry- 
ing civilisation  into  Africa. 

It  is  no  agreeable  admission  to  make,  that 
the  only  peasantry  in  the  East  who  are  happy, 
or  who  have  any  security  that  they  shall 
enjoy  a  due  share  of  the  produce  of  the  soil, 
are  those  who  carry  arms.  Sling  a  mus- 
ket on  the  back  of  the  best-tempered  peasant, 
and  put  a  brace  of  pistols  in  his  girdle,  and 
he  will  infallibly  look  upon  these  instruments 
as  nobler  and  more  efficient  modes  of  earning 
his  livelihood  than  scratching  the  earth  with 
either  sword  or  plough.  Compare  the  diffe- 
rent populations  of  Turkey :  the  Turk  wears 
arms,  and  he  consequently  will  not  dig.  The 
rayah  or  Greek  in  Turkey  is  not  permitted 
to  wear  arms  ;  he  has  nothing  left  to  wield 
but  the  sickle  and  hoe. 

Do  you  know  the  secret  of  Swiss  heroism, 
Swiss  democracy,  Swiss  repudiation  of  knights 
and  barons,  Swiss  resistance  to  Austria  and 
to  Burgundy,  and  to  their  legions  of  mailed 
chevaliers  ?  Do  you  know  the  origin  of 
William  Tell,  and  of  the  three  Swiss  farmers 
who  took  the  oath  to  free  their  country — that 
is,  their  valley — of  lords  and  masters,  and  of 
all  who  pretended  to  be  lords  and  masters  ? 

It  is  a  prosaic  explanation  of  a  world  of 
heroism,  but  still  it  is  the  plain  and  naked 
truth.  The  cultivators  of  the  Swiss  valleys 
could  afford  to  pay  no  rent.  They  drove  the 
plough  in  vain ;  they  therefore  plied  the 
sword.  In  their  inability  to  pay  rent  lies  the 
whole  secret  of  their  republicanism  and  of 
their  independence.  The  soil,  and  clime,  and 
situation  were  such  as  could  afford  bare  sub- 
sistence to  him  who  could  wield  the  scythe 
— the  sickle  was  rarely  wanting — who  tended 
the  cattle,  or  who  was  contented  with  goats 
for  his  only  flock.  Lords  and  landed  pro- 
prietors, therefore,  the  entire  class  which 
lives  by  rent,  disappeared  from,  or  never 
sprung  up  in,  the  high  Swiss  valleys.  In  the 
low  ground,  at  the  mouth  or  entrance  of 
them,  you  may  now  and  then  find  the  ruins  of 
a  schloss  or  castle,  as  if  an  attempt  were  made 
to  blockade  the  refractory  and  republican 
inhabitants.  But  up  the  vallej^s,  the  only 
fortifications  to  be  seen  are  those  of  nature. 

This  is  the  plain  history  of  Uri,  Schwytz, 
and  Unterwalden.  It  was  the  peasantry  of 
the  higher  or  forest  cantons  who  first  set  the 
example  of  democracy ;  and  for  the  plain 
reason,  that  they  could  not  afford  to  pay,  or 
fee,  out  of  the  produce  of  the  soil,  any  land- 
lord or  aristocratic  class.  And  the  cantons  of 
the  plains  imitated  them  so  far  as  to  establish 
republics  too ;  but  as  their  cantons  had  landed 
proprietors,  and  could  afford  to  pay  them 
rent,  they  established  republics  in  which 
there  was  a  patrician  class  ;  and  thus,  by 
retaining  a  strong  hold  of  the  places  of 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SWOKDS  AND  PLOUGHSHARES. 


299 


authority  and  influence,  grew  up  good  repub- 
licans too,  and  joined  the  peasantry  of  Altorf 
and  Stanz  in  rejecting  the  supremacy  of  any 
sovereign. 

When  a  people  will  not  and  do  not  pay 
rent,  it  is  difficult  to  induce  them  to  pay  taxes, 
at  least,  to  a  distant  sovereign.  The  English 
found  this  to  be  the  case  with  their  colonies 
in  America  ;  and  they  thought  it  very  new 
and  very  strange.  History,  however,  could 
have  shown  them  an  example  in  the  annals 
of  Switzerland.  For,  though  the  dwellers 
in  the  forest  cantons  had  no  landlords  or 
lands,  the  Austrian  princes  deemed  that 
they,  at  least,  might  raise  a  revenue  from 
the  free  peasants.  To  tax  their  lands  was 
indeed  hopeless  ;  but  a  bailiff,  established  in 
a  strong  castle  at  the  mouth  of  the  valley,  at 
Altorf,  at  Stanz,  or  at  Brunnen,  might  pre- 
vent any  mountain  commodity,  such  as  cheese, 
from  being  exported  to  the  plain  country  to  be 
sold,  or  any  article  being  brought  back  in 
exchange,  except  by  the  payment  of  a  duty 
to  him,  the  Austrian  bailiff,  who  hoisted  the 
sign  of  the  double  eagle  over  his  portcullised 
gateway. 

Old  chroniclers  had  a  thorough  contempt 
for,  and  ignorance  of,  political  economy. 
They  never  observe,  much  less  hint,  why  there 
was  no  upper,  or  landlord,  or  knightly  class 
in  the  Swiss  valleys.  They  had  no  idea 
that  nature  could  be  democratic  by  a  mere 
stinting  of  produce,  or  barrenness  of  soil.  So 
that  the  lordly  annalist  attributes  all  to 
the  perverseness  of  the  Swiss  peasant ;  the 
Swiss  chronicler  to  the  innate  nobleness  of 
his  nature.  Neither  do  they  dwell  upon  the 
fiscal  pretensions  of  the  bailiff  of  Austria,  nor 
do  they  hint  at  the  source  of  revenue  from 
whence  he  was  to  pay  his  archers  and  his  men- 
at-arms.  They  depict  Gessler  as  the  villain 
of  the  tragedy — insisting  that  his  cap,  or  the 
ducal  cap  of  Austria,  should  be  done  reverence 
to  in  the  market-place  of  Altorf ;  or  else  going 
to  live  at  free  quarters  in  the  house  of  the  com- 
fortable Schwytz  farmer,  and  committing  the 
indignity  of  ordering  the  farmer's  wife  to 
prepare  a  bath  for  him.  The  fact  which  the 
chronicler  objects  to  Gessler,  is  not  so  much 
his  rapacity,  as  his  cruelty  and  insolence. 

The  Niebuhrs  and  Strausses  have  been 
nibbling  at  the  story  of  Gessler  and  Tell, 
and  would  persuade  honest  men  to  doubt  its 
authenticity.  Why,  or  with  what  view,  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  conceive.  Certainly  never 
did  the  scent  of  a  tradition  lie  stronger. 
The  country  has  been  in  the  hands  ol 
the  victors  ever  since  the  victory.  It  was 
not,  like  Greece  or  Home,  overrun  by  bar- 
barians, who  threw  and  who  trod  down 
edifices,  vestiges,  and  recollections,  all  ol 
which  had  to  be  raked  up  and  put  once  more 
together  by  conjunction  or  collation.  But 
there  has  been  nothing  to  disturb  the  remi- 
niscences and  traditions  of  the  race  of  Uri 
And  when  they  point  to  the  site  of  Tell's 
house,  or  Tell's  village,  I,  for  one,  no  more 


doubt  the   correct    indication  of   the    fresh 
omitenance  and  steady  finger,  than  if  old 
Tell  himself  were  the  cicerone,  who  tells  us 
the  story. 

The  canton  of  Uri  consists  of  the  one 
great  valley  of  the  Reuss,  which  emei'ges 
rom  the  Furka  and  the  waters  of  the  St. 
Grothard.  It  once  evidently  formed  an  im- 
mense mountain- lake,  at  the  foot  of  the  St. 
xothard,  till  a  convulsion  of  nature  and  its 
own  force  enabled  it  to  break  through  a 
rocky  barrier,  amidst  the  ruins  of  which 
stands  the  Devil's  Bridge.  The  river  runs  for 
seventeen  or  twenty  miles  down  to  the  lake, 
forming  an  angle  at  Amsteg,  and  pent  in  on 
Doth  sides  by  mountains  of  the  greatest 
leight.  About  a  league  before  reaching  the 
xtremity  of  the  valley,  on  the  falling  of  the 
river  into  the  lake,  a  lateral  valley  opens 
perpendicular  to  the  great  one,  and  to  the 
fight  as  one  descends.  This  valley  is  of 
small  depth  and  extent,  very  soon  rising  into 
the  mountain,  which  may  be  traversed  to  the 
summit,  and  which  leads  into  a  corresponding 
valley  of  Schwytz.  The  chief  man  of  the 
Little  valley,  that  is,  the  man  with  the  largest 
Earm  and  the  most  cattle,  was  William  Tell. 
Of  course  the  little  valley  is  formed  by  a 
mountain  stream.  This  about  half  a  mile 
up  makes  a  bound  ;  and  on  and  about 
its  fall  stands  the  village  of  Burglein.  Those 
who  visit  it  from  Altorf  ought  to  be 
directed  by  a  foot-path,  which  runs  along  a 
mill-stream,  and  leads  through  chestnut  groves 
and  wooden  cottages,  to  the  chapel  erected 
to  the  honour  of  Tell,  on  the  site  of  his  house. 
The  church  is  large,  with  a  tall  white  steeple 
and  a  red  top  to  it.  The  pilgrimage  of  every 
traveller  to  Burglein  is  indispensable ;  yet 
the  villagers  seem  not  to  have  invented  an 
efficient  mode  of  levying  black  mail,  although 
the  view  from  the  churchyard  is  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  valley.  The  village  is  now, 
especially  in  the  day-time,  noisy  with  visitors, 
with  children,  and  with  sawing-mills,  that 
take  advantage  of  every  fall  in  the  stream. 
Of  evenings  it  is  more  primitive,  when  the 
mill  ceases,  and  the  church  begins  its  Ave 
Maria  ;  for  Uri  is  a  strictly  Catholic  canton, 
as  the  fine  convent  over  Altorf  sufficiently 
attests.  The  monks  remain  still  the  sole 
aristocracy  of  the  district.  The  Franciscans, 
with  their  cowls  on  or  off  their  heads,  look 
picturesque  in  boats  in  the  flush  of  evening 
on  the  calm  lake ;  sometimes  going  on  ghostly 
errands,  with  an  awning  and  certain  symp- 
toms of  their  paraphernalia  and  profession. 
Such  sights  are  growing  rare  throughout 
Europe  :  it  is  in  few  places  the  traveller  meets 
with  them.  Besides  the  convent  at  Altorf, 
there  is  a  splendid  monastery  high  up  in  the 
valley  of  the  Unterwalden ;  it  is  called  the  En- 
gelberg.  These  monasteries  are  poorer  than 
they  were  ;  for  monks  are  like  other  landlords : 
they  can  live  on  their  rents  in  rich  districts,  as 
did  the  monks  of  Thergovia  and  Argovia, 
till  the  radicals  secularised  them  ;  but  in 


300 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


poor  countries,  like  Uri,  the  monks  cannot 
undergo  the  hard  Struggle  of  plying  scythe 
and  tending  flocks  amidst  snows  and  frosts. 
They  exist  in  a  good  measure  by  voluntary 
contributions  ;  which  monkish  produce  has 
rather  increased  than  declined  in  value, 
whilst  the  wants  of  all  men  have  increased. 

The  same  rule  of  property  which  prevailed 
of  old,  prevails  still.  This  is,  that  property 
in  land,  and  the  consequent  division  of  it,  is 
confined  to  the  valley  ;  while  he  that  owns  a 
certain  portion  of  the  ground  of  the  valley,  is 
entitled  to  send  a  proportionate  number  of 
cattle  to  the  hills.  The  reason  assigned  for 
this  apparent  monopoly  is  specious.  Cattle 
can  only  be  nourished  in  the  valley  in  winter, 
and  unless  a  man  have  the  means  of  feeding 
his  cattle  in  winter,  there  is  no  use  in  his 
being  able  to  feed  them  in  summer.  Were 
they  to  be  allowed  to  buy  in  spring  and  sell 
in  autumn,  and  to  avoid  the  winter  keep, 
the  valley  would  thus  be  deprived  of  the 
power  of  keeping  its  herds  the  year  through, 
and  thus  maintaining  its  permanent  stock  and 
wealth.  So  reason  the  Swiss  economists. 

The  poorer  people,  who  are  without  land, 
are,  however,  permitted  to  keep  goats,  and 
to  send  them  to  the  mountains  ;  accordingly, 
there  are  numerous  flocks  of  this  more 
plebeian  kind  of  property,  the  produce  of 
which,  if  not  toothsome  or  saleable,  is 
still  wholesome  and  profitable  in  the  main- 
tenance of  a  family.  It  has  been  mentioned 
how  the  poverty  of  the  soil  in  Uri,  and  its 
inability  to  afford  rent,  has  driven  from  the 
region  —  or,  indeed,  never  allowed  to  rise 
within  it — that  class  which  lives  upon  rent. 
But  here  another  peculiarity  arises  ;  for  the 
poverty  and  division  of  the  soil  has  created  a 
marked  distinction  between  two  classes — the 
proprietor  and  the  non-proprietor  of  land. 
This  would  not  be  so  much  felt,  were  there 
many  families  of  artisans  ;  but  the  poverty  of 
the  region  forbids  the  formation  of  this  class, 
too.  The  artisans  hie  to  the  town  on  the  other 
side  of  the  lake,  from  whence,  on  market-day, 
the  good  farmers  of  Uri  can  bring  home  shoes, 
or  utensils,  or  any  item  of  his  non-agricul- 
tural wants.  It  is  a  dogma  of  Free  Trade, 
that  this  procuring  of  their  shoes  and  nails 
from  the  other  side  of  the  lake  is  advantageous 
to  the  men  of  Uri.  This,  however,  is  what 
the  political  economists  of  Uri  can  never  be 
brought  to. agree  to;  and  gladly  would  they 
re-set  up  their  guilds  and  corporations  of 
tailors,  smiths,  and  shoemakers  at  Altorf,  if 
they  knew  how  to  manage  it. 

The  distinction  between  the  two  classes  of 
havers  and  non-havers  of  land,  has  given 
rise  to  terrible  feuds,  and,  indeed,  almost  to 
civil  war,  in  the  neighbouring  canton  of 
Schwytz.  This  war  is  carried  on  between 
the  party  of  the  Horns  and  that  of  the  Claws. 
The  Horns,  of  course,  comprise  the  owners  of 
horned  cattle,  and  of  the  land  required  to 
support  them.  The  Claws  mean  the  owners 
of  goats,  and  families  who  durst  not  vest  their 


savings  with  larger  cattle,  that  they  are  for- 
bidden to  send  to  the  mountain  pastures. 
They,  therefore,  confine  themselves  to  goats, 
and  "  such  small  deer."  In  Schwytz — which 
is  a  semi-open  country,  and  where  there  are 
considerable  towns,  as  well  as  artisans,  nay, 
some  manufacturers — the  party  of  the  Claws, 
reinforced  by  a  large  body  of  townsmen,  who 
felt  themselves  marked  with  a  stigma,  and 
excluded  from  the  range  of  their  own  moun- 
tains, mustered  very  formidable  ;  indeed,  so 
formidable,  as  to  commence  and  bring  to 
accomplishment  a  kind  of  revolution.  But 
this  very  revolution,  as  is  often  the  case,  led 
to  an  aggravation,  not  an  alleviation,  of  the 
evil  complained  of.  It  produced  a  total 
separation  between  town  and  country  dis- 
tricts ;  and  this,  if  it  put  an  end  to  hostilities, 
put  also  an  end  to  anything  like  real  com- 
promise. The  Horns  enforced  their  law  in 
the  mountains  and  adjoining  valleys,  whilst 
the  repeal  of  such  a  by-law  in  the  open 
country  was  of  neither  use  nor  result. 

In  our  large  societies,  in  towns  and  king- 
doms, the  great  interests  of  life — marriage, 
population,  and  provision — are  left  to  chance, 
to  Providence,  and  to  selfishness.  In  small 
and  patriarchal  communities,  like  those  of  the 
Swiss  mountains,  authority  interferes.  The 
landlord  is  the  poor-law  guardian.  He  can 
give  a  roof,  or  refuse  a  roof;  and  without  not 
only  a  roof,  but  considerable  space  for  storage 
and  for  animals  beneath  it,  a  family  in  the- 
mountains  cannot  live  through  the  winter. 
The  William  Tells  of  the  present  century, 
therefore,  are  lords  of  all  they  survey,  and  are 
the  Gesslers  of  their  villages — at  least  in  the 
respect  paid  them,  and  sometimes  in  the 
authority  they  exercise — quite  as  much  as 
the  Austrian  bailiff  of  old  time.  And  yet  all 
is  done  in  the  name  of  the  republic. 

I  resided  for  a  week  in  the  wooden  esta- 
blishment of  one  of  these  peasant-lords  of 
Uri.  It  was  more  like  Noah's  Ark  than  a- 
house.  All  the  animals  of  Swiss  creation 
entered  by  a  large  folding-door  and  a  wooden 
causeway  into  the  mansion,  in  November,  and 
there  abode  for  several  months.  The  noise  of 
them,  as  they  moved  and  masticated,  some- 
times came  like  subterranean  thunder  through 
floor  and  rafter.  The  human  inmates,  in- 
volved in  a  thick  and  hot  atmosphere  of 
steam,  were  as  restless  and  as  noisy,  and  as 
much  given  to  eat  and  drink,  as  their  herds. 
It,  however,  was  to  all  intents  an  inn,  though 
it  had  no  sign  ;  but  guests  came  and  went, 
and  slept  and  baited,  and  paid  their  reckoning 
in  some  shape  or  another.  The  period  was 
one  of  great  excitement.  The  Liberals — 
masters  of  all  cantons  and  cities  of  the 
plains,  except  Lucerne — were  meditating  an 
attack  upon  it,  whilst  the  men  of  Uri  and  the 
other  mountain  cantons  were  as  determined 
to  fly  to  its  defence  :  so  that  on  the  mount 
the  sword  was  sharpening  as  well  as  the 
scythe ;  and  the  rifle  was  taken  down,  cleaned, 
contemplated,  and  used  with  that  tender 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SWOEDS  AND  PLOUGHSHAEES. 


301 


respect  that  arms  inspire,  when  they  are 
destined  to  take  or  to  defend  human  life. 

I  had  heard  that  it  was  a  religious  quarrel — 
a  sort  of  polemic  warfare  between  Protestants 
and  Catholics  ;  and  as  such  I  had  resolved 
on  stopping  my  ears,  and  listening  to  neither 
side.  But  I  soon  found  religion  to  be  the 
mere  stalking-horse.  Land  tenure,  and  the 
authority  springing  from  it,  formed  a  far  more 
vital  point  of  the  question.  It  was  the  de- 
struction of  the  patriarchal  rule  that  terrified 
the  great  house  and  landholders  of  Uri.  It 
formed  a  political  and  religious  revolution, 
chiefly  because  it  would  be  a  revolution  in 
property,  also  ;  or,  what  is  the  same  thing,  in 
the  laws  and  privileges  that  affect  property. 

There  were  found  traits  and  circum- 
stances, too,  in  the  family  of  Furstlein,  that 
would  have  given  materials  for  a  novel,  had 
one  been  inclined  to  expand  truth,  or  embel- 
lish it,  by  adding  the  might  be  to  the  was.  For, 
whilst  the  males  of  the  family  were  known  as 
high  mountaineers  and  high  churchmen,  the 
daughter  of  the  house  had  been  betrothed  to 
a  Moderate  of  Lucerne,  and  persisted  in  re- 
maining true  to  him,  despite  the  madness  on 
either  side  ;  she  was,  of  course,  anathematised 
by  all.  The  circumstance  added  mildness,  ten- 
derness, wisdom,  and  conviction  to  the  female 
voices  of  the  great  wooden  house  ;  and  this 
so  increased  the  anger  and  impatience  of  the 
lords  of  the  creation,  as  to  require  a  very 
large  consumption  of  sour  wine  and  indige- 
nous tobacco  to  allay  the  super-excitement. 

AVhat  added  to  the  spirit  and  the  choler  of 
the  male  Furstleins  was,  that  they  were  a 
military  family.  Their  ancestors  had  no 
doubt  marched,  at  the  sound  of  the  horn  of 
Uri,  to  Morgarten  and  those  other  great 
fields  of  Swiss  victory.  Latterly,  however, 
they  had  served  the  Kings  of  France  and. 
Naples,  and  the  Pope ;  and  the  younger 
brothers  Furstlein  had  led  forth  companies 
of  the  tall  youth  of  the  valley,  where  their 
labour  and  appetites  could  well  be  spared,  to 
receive  the  military  pay  of  such  sovereigns  as 
preferred  foreign  to  native  troops.  Though 
nominally  for  the  service  of  court  and  parade, 
this  was  not  without  its  risks.  In  1790  and  1830, 
the  Swiss  Guards  perished  for  the  Bourbons — • 
a  Furstlein  upon  each  occasion.  But  this 
service  of  honour  and  profit  was  already 
stopped,  as  far  as  France  was  concerned  ;  and 
the  Swiss  Diet  had  passed  a  law,  forbidding 
the  levy  of  mercenary  legions  in  any  of 
the  cantons  for  foreign  service.  This  was  one 
of  the  complaints  of  the  mountaineers  against 
the  deputies  of  the  plain,  who  enacted  the 
part  of  philanthropists  at  the  expense  of  the 
poorer  cantons.  The  youth  of  other  regions 
had  something  to  emigrate  upon  :  some  were 
watchmakers  ;  some,  travelling  valets  ;  some, 
pastrycooks,  or  wood-carvers.  But  the  moun- 
tain-shepherd was  by  nature  a  soldier ;  his 
rude  language  and  education  unfitting  him 
for  almost  any  other  calling.  It  was  as 
economists,  as  well  as  Eoyalists,  that  the 


Furstleins  complained  that  the  mountain- 
valleys  were  not  permitted  to  send  their 
youth  to  foreign  military  service. 

This  had  been  the  subj  ect  of  most  vehement 
orations  uttered  in  the  Swiss  Diet  by  the 
mountain  deputies.  But  the  low  countries  of 
Switzerland  abound  in  political  economists  ; 
and  they  answered  the  mountaineers  by  argu- 
ments that  brought  no  consolation.  They 
said,  that  although  land  could  not  increase 
with  the  natural  increase  of  population,  yet 
that  capital  might,  and  ought  to  do  so  ;  and 
that  capital  so  saved  and  augmented,  would 
set  the  increased  population  to  work  even  in 
the  forest  cantons.  They  had  water-power, 
and  a  hundred  species  of  industry  to  which  it 
might  be  turned.  To  this  the  rustic  econo- 
mists of  the  mountains  replied,  that  the 
amassing  of  wealth  was  impossible  in  their 
region  ;  that  the  herds  could  not  be  increased 
beyond  the  limits  of  the  pasture ;  that  the  ex- 
tent of  land  growing  the  better  kinds  of  corn, 
had  to  be  yearly  preserved  or  rescued  from 
the  river,  which  was  as  destructive  below  as 
avalanches  above  ;  that  agricultural  improve- 
ments which  succeed  in  rendering  the  fields 
of  the  plain  country  more  productive,  were 
inapplicable  in  the  hills ;  that  the  labourer, 
though  little  employed  in  the  winter,  must  be 
fed  ;  that  nature  had  thus  decreed,  that  the 
inhabitants  of  the  mountains  should  be  sta- 
tionary in  every  way,  growing  neither  richer, 
nor  more  numerous,  nor  more  vicious,  nor 
more  free.  They  were  what  they  had  been 
four  hundred  years  before,  and  would  be 
four  hundred  years  hence :  at  all  of  which 
the  philosophers  of  the  plains  snapped  their 
fingers  in  no  very  tolerant  derision.  They 
even  went  further,  and  threatened  the 
mountaineers  with  a  railroad  through  the 
valley,  that  would  supersede  their  high  roads, 
and  their  carts,  their  turnpikes,  and  travel, 
and  place  their  most  remote  habitations 
within  ten  minutes'  distance  of  the  town  and 
its  influence,  and  a  few  hours'  distance  from 
Milan  and  other  capitals.  At  this  threat  the 
men  of  Uri  grew  pale  ;  for  that,  indeed,  they 
imagined,  would  be  the  end  of  the  world,  as 
well  as  of  their  property,  their  authority, 
their  old  habits  and  beliefs  of  life.  They  had 
fought  hard  for  years,  against  steamers  on 
their  lake,  and  now  to  have  it  threatened  to 
fire  them  up  their  valleys,  was,  indisputably, 
the  triumph  of  Satan. 

I  ventured  once  on  this  wordy  occasion  to 
give  utterance  to  an  argument  that  gave 
terrible  offence,  and  very  nearly  caused  my 
being  turned  out  of  the  house  as  a  heathen 
and  a  radical.  And  yet  it  was  my  deter- 
mination then,  as  now,  not  to  trespass  upon 
politics.  I  merely  hinted  the  expediency  of  a 
portion  of  mountain  and  a  portion  of  plain 
be  ing  linked  together  by  the  closest  ties  of  being 
the  same  race  and  the  same  government.  One 
always  having  and  supplying  what  the  other 
wants,  forms  a  natural  course  of  interchange 
greater  than  even  that  between  town  and 


302 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


country.  The  one  naturally  collected  wealth, 
whilst  the  other  could  not  without  participating 
in  the  prosperity  of  the  plain.  And  I  attributed 
the  extreme  poverty  of  Uri  and  Unterwalden 
to  their  being  exclusively  mountain  cantons  ; 
whilst  Schwytz,  for  example,  that  was  mixed 
in  its  condition  and  nature,  was  far  happier, 
more  progressive,  and  more  wealthy.  This 
was,  however,  pure  heresy  to  the  good  folk  of 
Uri,  who  considered  their  first  privilege  that 
of  forming  an  independent  canton  steeped 
in  poverty ;  even  the  rule  of  its  pastoral 
government  hanging  like  a  millstone  around 
the  neck  of  the  few  proprietors.  Such  a  pro- 
position as  that  made  them,  seemed  as  unwel- 
come as  the  marriage  of  their  sister  with 
the  Moderate  of  Lucerne.  The  marriage, 
however,  took  place  ;  for  women  in  the  moun- 
tains have  a  will.  But  whether  years  have 
wrought  further  changes  in  the  social  habits 
and  landed  tenure  of  Uri,  is  yet  to  be  dis- 
covered. 


HYDE  PARK. 


I  remember  once  to  have  been  shown  by  a 
celebrated  living  physiologist,  the  breathing 
lung  of  a  frog — to  have  watched,  focussed  in 
the  microscope,  the  apparatus  at  work  which 
supports  the  ever-burning  lamp  of  life.  Dis- 
tinctly within  the  narrow  field  of  vision  I 
could  see  the  dark  red  blood  globules,  rushing 
in  a  tumultuous  tide  along  the  transparent 
veins,  then  pacing  slowly  as  the  veins  broke 
up  into  a  delicate  net-work  of  little  vessels, 
so  narrow  that  they  could  only  pass  in  Indian 
file  ;  then  again  I  beheld  them  debouching 
into  the  widening  arteries,  where  they  com- 
menced once  more  their  mad  race,  one  over 
the  other  :  no  longer  purple,  but — under  the 
influence  of  the  air,  which  in  their  slow  pro- 
gress had  permeated  them — a  brilliant  scarlet. 

With  that  curious  spectacle  fresh  in  my 
recollection,  I  will,  in  imagination  at  least, 
change  "  the  field  "  of  the  microscope  for  that 
of  the  air,  and  suspend  myself  in  a  balloon 
over  this  mighty  city  of  millions.  Slowly, 
as  I  rise,  casting  out  sand  in  the  ascent, 
the  earth  seems  to  recede  from  me,  and 
at  last  all  is  gray  mist,  and  a  few  fleecy 
clouds.  A  little  adjustment  of  the  sand  bags 
and  the  escape  valve,  and  I  can  focus  London 
as  the  physiologist  did  the  frog's  lung  in  the 
microscope.  Directly  underneath  me,  hemmed 
in  by  a  huddled  mass  of  brick  and  stone,  lies 
a  large  open  space,  traversed  by  wide  white 
lines,  along  which  crowd  and  jostle  a  flood  of 
small  dark  spots,  no  bigger  than  the  heads  of 
pins — out  of  these  wide  lines  branch  an 
infinite  net-work  of  small  lines  across  the 
open  space,  sprinkled  with  many  dots,  which 
fall  in  crowds  once  more  into  the  wide  white 
lines.  The  small  dots  which  enter  the  open 
space  look  pale  and  worn  ;  as  they  circulate 
about,  their  colour  changes ;  they  move  quicker 
and  lighter ;  and  at  last  roll  out  of  the  great 
space,  florid  and  bright. 


Surely  I  have  only  been  looking  at  the 
frog's  lung  again,  magnified  a  little  more  ! 

No,  I  have  been  peering  at  Hyde  Park, 
watching  Rotten  Row,  and  the  drive,  ami 
the  different  pathways  crowded  with  holiday 
people.  I  have  been  looking  at  a  lung,  too  ; 
for  what  are  all  these  dark  points,  but  people 
representing  blood  globules,  which,  in  the 
aggregate  compose  the  great  tide  of  life  1  And 
what  is  this  park  but  an  aerator  to  the  race, 
as  the  one  I  before  looked  at  was  to  the  in- 
dividual ? 

Let  me  descend  to  a  more  minute  anatomy 
of  the  great  pulmouic  space  :  dropping  myself 
just  inside  the  beautiful  screen  of  Hyde 
Park  corner.  Five  o'clock,  and  Rotten  Row 
alive  with  equestrians  !  Far  away  between 
majestic  elms,  now  gently  dipping  into  the 
hollow,  now  slightly  ascending  the  uneven 
ground,  made  as  soft  and  as  full  as  horse- 
traps  can  make  it,  runs,  in  the  very  eye  of  the 
setting  sun,  this  superb  horse  promenade. 
And  here  comes  a  goodly  company,  seven 
abreast,  sweeping  along  with  slackened  rein ; 
the  young  athletes  on  the  Elgin,  marbles 
yonder  upon  the  frieze  of  the  screen,  do  not 
seem  more  a  portion  of  their  horses  than 
these  gay  young  fellows,  whispering  courtesies 
to  the  ladies  so  bright-eyed  and  supple  of 
waist,  who  gently  govern  with  delicate  small 
hands  their  fiery-eyed  steeds.  Single  riders 
trot  steadily  past  as  though  they  were  doing 
it  for  a  wager.  Dandies  drawl  along,  su- 
perbly indifferent  to  everything  about  them, 
with  riding-sticks  "based  on  hip."  And 
when  I  reach  Albert  Gate,  all  Belgravia 
seems  pouring  out  through  the  narrow 
streets  on  prancing,  dancing,  arch-necked 
steeds.  Where  all  the  horses  come  from  is 
the  wonder  to  me.  As  far  as  the  eye  can 
see,  out  far  into  Kensington,  where  the  per- 
spective of  the  road  is  lost  in  feathery  birch- 
trees,  I  see  nothing  but  prancing,  dancing 
horses,  tossing  their  heads,  caracolling, 
humbly  obeying  the  directions  of  delicate 
wrists,  or  chafing  at  the  curb  of  powerful 
bridle-hands.  Nor  do  they  end  here  ;  over 
the  bridge  and  round  the  drive,  the  contin- 
gents from  Tyburnia  pour  along  in  troops  ; 
and  now,  as  I  come  to  the  corner  of  Ken- 
sington Gardens,  there  is  a  perfect  conges- 
tion of  equestrians,  listening  to  the  band  of 
the  Life  Guards  playing  a  waltz.  There 
they  are,  ranged  round  the  great  trees, 
English  men  and  maidens,  and  English  horses, 
all  thoroughbred — as  noble  a  group  as  the 
wide  world  can  show,  whilst  over  all  the 
thick  fan-like  green  leaves  of  the  chestnut 
trees  cast  a  pleasant  shade. 

Meanwhile  the  drive  is  gorged  with  carriages 
moving  along  at  a  footpace.  Let  me  consti- 
tute myself  (for  the  nonce)  a  young  man  about 
town,  and  comfortably  resting  my  arms  over 
the  railings,  take  a  good  stare  at  the  passing 
beauty.  I  need  not  feel  bashful.  As  far  as  I  can 
see,  for  hundreds  of  feet  on  each  side  of  me, 
there  is  nothing  but  young  men  leaning  over 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HYDE  PARK. 


303 


the  railing,  tapping  their  teeth  with  their 
dandy  little  sticks,  and  making  the  most 
powerful  use  of  their  eyes.  Here  I  watch 
moving  before  me  the  great  portrait  gallery 
of  living  British  beauties.  Every  instant  a 
fresh  profile  passes  in  review,  framed  and 
glazed  by  the  carriage  window.  Onward  rolls 
the  tide  of  vehicles — of  dashing  cabs  with 
pendant  tigers — of  chariots  with  highly- 
groomed  horses — of  open  phaetons,  the  reins 
of  faultless  white,  guided  by  lady  whips — 
of  family  coaches  ancient  and  respectable. 
Now  and  then  some  countryman  and  his 
"  missus,"  in  a  home-made  chaise-cart,  seem 
to  have  got  accidentally  entangled  among  the 
gay  throng,  and  move  along  sheepishly  enough. 
On  they  all  go  to  where  Kensington  Gardens 
leans,  like  a  sister,  beside  her  bolder  brother, 
Hyde  Park ;  and  here  all  alight,  and  pour 
in  a  bright  flood  of  moving  colour  upon  the 
emerald  turf. 

Country  people  pity  us  poor  town-people, 
and  wonder  how  we  can  exist !  Did  anybody 
ever  see  such  a  public  park  as  this  in  the 
country  1  I  never  did.  Indeed,  I  question 
if  there  be  a  prettier  promenade  in  Europe 
than  the  north  bank  of  the  Serpentine, 
with  its  mimic  beach  of  broken  shells, 
washed  by  its  freshwater  lake.  Here,  where 
I  stand,  might  be  called  the  port ;  under- 
neath tall  sycamore  trees  which  cast  a  plea- 
sant shade  upon  the  edge  of  the  water — 
are  grouped  the  various  boats  which  hail 
from  this  place.  There  is  a  cutter  with 
flapping  sails  just  come  off  a  cruise  ;  another, 
is  beating  up  in  the  wind's  eye  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  off ;  a  third,  comes  sweeping  in  with 
her  gunwale  under  water.  There  is  some 
respectable  sailing  to  be  picked  up  on  the  Ser- 
pentine, I  suppose.  Near  the  picturesque  little 
boat-house,  which,  with  its  weather-beaten 
carved  gables  and  moss-grown  roof,  looks  as 
though  it  had  been  an  old  inhabitant  of  some 
Swiss  valley,  lie  grouped  a  dozen  light  skiffs, 
dancing  on  the  water,  and  reflecting  on  their 
sides  the  twisting  snakes  of  gold  cast  from 
the  sun-lit  little  waves. 

But  what  are  all  those  mimic  skiffs  I  see, 
coasting  from  shore  to  shore — cutters,  sloops, 
and  schooners,  now  on  their  beam-ends,  now 
sliding  in  between  the  swans,  which  scarcely 
deign  to  turn  aside  their  feathery  breasts, 
bent  back  like  Koman  galley  beaks.  These,  at 
least,  are  playthings.  Not  at  all.  One  of  the 
boatmen,  with  a  straw  in  his  mouth  and 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  informs  me  that  they 
form  the  squadron  of  the  London  Model 
Yacht  Club,  and  that  they  are  testing  their 
powers  for  the  next  sailing-match.  I  arn  not 
quite  sure  that  those  grave-looking  men  with 
long  poles,  watching  the  performances  of  the 
different  craft,  are  not  the  members  of  the 
Club.  That  big  man  there,  may  be  for  any- 
thing I  know,  the  Commodore — for  they 
have  a  Commodore,  and  rules,  and  a  club- 
room,  and  they  sail  matches  for  silver  cups  ! 
Look  into  Bell's  Life  in  London,  a  week  or 


two  since,  and  there  you  will  find  full 
particulars  of  the  next  match  of  the  Yacht 
Club,  "  established  in  1845,"  which  is  to  come 
off  in  June  next  for  a  handsome  twelve- 
guinea  cup,  and  which  informs  us  that  the 
measurements  must  be  as  follows :  "  The 
length  multiplied  by  the  beam  not  to  exceed 
five  hundred  inches  over  all ;  the  keel  for 
cutters  or  yawls,  not  more  than  two  feet,  six 
inches  ;  and  for  two-masted  vessels,  two  feet 
ten  inches,  on  the  level  of  the  rabbit,  with 
not  less  than  four  inches  counter."  It  is 
a  very  serious  sporting  matter.  The  Vice- 
Commodore  of  the  sister  Club  at  Birken- 
head  having  proposed,  by  advertisement,  to 
change  the  flags  of  the  Club,  "  the  white 
ensign  to  be  without  the  cross,"  &c.,  the 
editor  of  our  sporting  contemporary  gravely 
objects,  "that  the  alteration  of  our  national 
ensign  cannot  be  legally  made  without  the 
written  sanction  of  the  Admiralty."  Fast 
young  boats,  these  ! 

For  the  cup  last  autumn,  fifteen  yachts 
started,  and  the  different  heats  lasted  the 
whole  day ;  the  America,  modelled  on  the 
lines  of  the  famous  Yankee  boat,  coming 
off  victorious.  It  is  a  pretty  sight  to  see 
these  little  cutters  driving  along  under  full 
sail ;  and  many  an  old  gentleman,  standing 
amid  his  boys,  I  have  noticed  enjoying 
it  to  his  heart's  content.  After  watching 
them  for  some  little  time,  one's  ideas  of  pro- 
portion get  confused ;  they  look  veritable 
ships  sailing  upon  a  veritable  great  lake  ; 
the  trees,  the  men,  the  sheep  on  the  shore, 
swell  into  immense  proportions,  and  it  seems 
as  if  one  were  contemplating  the  fleet  of 
Lilliput  from  the  shores  of  Brobdignag. 

A  little  farther  on,  stands  the  boat-house  be- 
longing to  the  Royal  Humane  Society ;  and 
in  it  are  seen  the  awful-looking  "  drags " 
with  which  the  drowning  are  snatched  from 
death's  black  fingers.  Across  the  road,  is 
the  establishment  for  recovering  those  who 
have  been  rescued  from  the  water.  Over  the 
door  is  the  bas-relief  of  a  child  attempting 
to  kindle  with  his  breath  an  apparently  ex- 
tinguished torch,  and  around  it  is  the  motto  : 
"  Lateat  forsan  scintilla," — Perhaps  a  spark 
still  lingers.  Baths,  hot-water  beds,  electrifying 
machines,  and  mechanism  by  which  artificial 
breathing  can  be  maintained,  are  ranged 
around  the  rooms. 

The  majority  of  poor  creatures  carried  be- 
neath these  portals  are  persons  who  have 
sought  their  own  destruction.  The  bridge 
across  the  Serpentine  is  the  Westminster 
"  Bridge  of  Sighs."  Who  would  think  this 
bright  and  sunny  spot  could  be  the  haunt  of 
suicides  !  They  are  mostly  women  of  the  better 
order,  who  have  been  brought  to  shame  and 
abandoned, — at  least  five  women  to  one  man 
being  the  proportion.  The  servants  of  the 
Society,  who  form  a  kind  of  detective  water 
police,  and  are  always  on  the  look  out,  scarcely 
ever  fail  to  mark  and  to  watch  the  women  who 
contemplate  self-destruction.  They  know  them 


304 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


by  their  usually  sitting  all  day  long  without 
food,  grieving  ;  towards  evening,  they  move. 
When  they  find  they  are  watched,  they  some- 
times contrive  by  hiding  behind  the  trees  to 
elude  observation,  and  to  find  the  solitude 
they  desire.  The  men,  less  demonstrative 
and  more  determined,  escape  detection, 
and  but  too  often  succeed  in  accomplishing 
their  purpose.  Those  who  have  been  restoi-ed 
to  life,  after  hours  of  attention  in  the  receiving 
house,  frequently  repay  the  attendants  with, 
"  Why  should  I  live  against  my  will  1 "  Never- 
theless it  very  rarely  happens,  here,  at  least, 
that  a  second  attempt  at  suicide  is  made. 

While  I  have  been  dwelling  upon  this 
melancholy  subject,  the  shades  of  evening 
have  been  coming  on.  The  last  carriage  has 
driven  off,  and  the  last  young  man  about 
town  has  tapped  his  teeth  with  his  cane  for 
the  last  time,  and  departed  to  his  club.  The 
water's  edge  is  only  thinly  dotted  with  people, 
and  the  old  gentlemen  who  have  been  sitting 
reading  on  the  seats  have  gone  in  to  escape 
the  night  air. 

Gradually,  however,  I  perceive  a  gathering 
of  boys  upon  the  opposite  shore  ;  they  thicken 
apace,  and  soon  the  hum  of  hundreds  of  small 
voices  is  wafted  over  towards  me  ;  they  line 
the  whole  shore  for  a  mile,  like  little  black 
dots.  As  I  look,  the  black  dots  gradually 
become  party-coloured. 

What  are  they  doing  here  in  the  boat- 
house  1  Getting  ready  a  flag  to  hoist  on  the 
pole  ;  three  boats  are  also  putting  off.  What 
is  it  that  excites  and  moves  to  and  fro  the  living 
multitude  on  the  other  side  1  The  whole 
mass  is  turning  white  with  frantic  rapidity  ; 
up  runs  the  red  bunting,  and  a  thousand 
youngsters  dash  simultaneously  into  the  water, 
driving  it  in  a  huge  wave  before  them.  As 
far  as  can  be  seen  along  the  bank,  the  water 
is  studded  with  heads,  like  pins  in  a  pin- 
cushion ;  some  of  the  heads  move  out  into  the 
middle  ;  the  great  majority  remain  timidly 
near  the  shore,  splashing  and  dashing  with 
hands  and  feet.  The  boats  have  taken  up 
their  different  stations,  and  here  they  will 
remain,  ready  to  go  to  the  rescue  so  long  as 
the  bathing  continues.  At  nine  o'clock  the 
flag  drops,  and  "  All  out ! "  roared  from 
stentorian  lungs  booms  over  the  water  ;  "  All 
out ! "  is  echoed  by  many  silvery  young 
voices.  The  opposite  bank  is  again  a  moving 
mass  of  white  specks  :  these  deepen  to  grey, 
soon  become  black,  and  then  move  off  across 
the  green,  and  all  is  quiet.  Morning  and 
evening,  during  the  summer  months,  the 
Serpentine  is  thus  made  a  huge  bath  for  the 
children  of  the  labouring  classes.  The  better 
classes  also,  make  use  of  it  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. One  party  of  gentlemen  who  have 
formed  themselves  into  a  club,  bathe  here 
all  the  year  round  ;  and  when  the  frost  is  very 
hard  and  the  ice  is  very  thick,  a  space  is  cut 
for  them  with  hatchets,  to  enable  them  to  take 
their  diurnal  dip. 

The   twilight  deepens.      A   few   children, 


feeding  the  swans  upon  the  mai'gin  of  the 
water,  is  all  the  human  life  to  be  seen  of  the 
vast  tide  rolling  along  so  incessantly  a  short 
time  ago.  Across  the  glass-like  lake  the 
waterfowl,  here  and  there,  are  gently  sailing, 
leaving  long  trails  of  silver  as  they  go.  On 
the  opposite  bank,  so  lately  thronged,  crown- 
ing the  gently  rising  green,  and  seen  through, 
clusters  of  elms,  the  Crystal  Palace  rises  like 
an  exhalation.  Over  the  bridge,  the  foliage 
seems  to  float  in  a  bath  of  purple  haze,  and 
across  the  deep  amber  of  the  sky  a  flight  of 
wildfowl  go,  in  softly  moving  line.  Danby 
should  be  here  to  paint  from  it  one  of  his 
delicious  pictures  of  evening. 


A   CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

RICHARD,  son  of  the  Black  Prince,  a  boy 
eleven  years  of  age,  succeeded  to  the  Crown 
under  the  title  of  King  Richard  the  Second. 
The  whole  English  nation  were  ready  to  ad- 
mire him  for  the  sake  of  his  brave  father.  As 
to  the  lords  and  ladies  about  the  Court,  they 
declared  him  to  be  the  most  beautiful,  the 
wisest,  and  the  best — even  of  princes — whom 
the  lords  and  ladies  about  the  Court,  generally 
declare  to  be  the  most  beautiful,  the  wisest, 
and  the  best  of  mankind.  To  flatter  a  poor 
boy  in  this  base  manner  was  not  a  very  likely 
way  to  develop  whatever  good  was  in  him  ; 
and  it  brought  him  to  anything  but  a  good 
or  happy  end. 

The  Duke  of  Lancaster,  the  young  King's 
uncle — commonly  called  John  of  Gaunt,  from 
having  been  born  at  Ghent,  which  the 
common  people  so  pronounced — was  supposed 
to  have  some  thoughts  of  the  throne  himself; 
but,  as  he  was  not  populai-,  and  the  memory 
of  the  Black  Prince  was,  he  submitted  to  his 
nephew. 

The  war  with  France  being  still  unsettled, 
the  Government  of  England  wanted  money  to 
provide  for  the  expenses  that  might  arise 
out  of  it ;  accordingly  a  certain  tax,  called 
the  Poll-tax,  which  had  originated  in  the  last 
reign,  was  ordered  to  be  levied  on  the  people. 
This  was  a  tax  on  every  person  in  the 
kingdom,  male  and  female,  above  the  age  of 
fourteen,  of  three  groats  (or  three  fourpenny 
pieces)  a  year  ;  clergymen  were  charged  more, 
and  only  beggars  were  exempt. 

I  have  no  need  to  repeat  that  the  common 
people  of  England  had  long  been  suffering 
under  great  oppression.  They  were  still  the 
mere  slaves  of  the  lords  of  the  land  on  which 
they  lived,  and  were  on  most  occasions  harshly 
and  unjustly  treated.  But,  they  had  begun 
by  this  time  to  think  very  seriously  of  not 
bearing  quite  so  much  ;  and,  probably,  were 
emboldened  by  that  French  insurrection  I 
mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 

The  people  of  Essex  rose  against  the  Poll- 
tax,  and  being  severely  handled  by  the 
government  officers,  killed  some  of  them. 
At  this  very  time  one  of  the  tax-collectors, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


30,5 


going  his  rounds  from  house  to  house,  at 
Dartford  in  Kent,  came  to  the  cottage  of 
one  WAT,  a  tiler  by  trade,  and  claimed  the 
tax  upon  his  daughter.  Her  mother,  who 
was  at  home,  declared  that  she  was  under 
the  age  of  fourteen  ;  upon  that,  the  collector 
(as  other  collectors  had  already  done  in 
different  parts  of  England)  behaved  in  a 
savage  way,  and  brutally  insulted  Wat  Tyler's 
daughter.  The  daughter  screamed,  the  mother 
screamed.  Wat  the  Tiler,  who  was  at  work 
not  far  off,  ran  to  the  spot,  and  did  what 
any  honest  father  under  such  provocation 
might  have  done — struck  the  collector  dead 
at  a  blow. 

Instantly  the  people  of  that  town  uprose  as 
one  man.  They  made  Wat  Tyler  their 
leader ;  they  joined  with  the  people  of  Essex, 
who  were  in  arms  under  a  priest  called  JACK 
STRAW;  they  took  out  of  Maidstone  prison 
another  priest  named  JOHN  BALL  ;  and, 
gathering  in  numbers  as  they  went  along, 
advanced,  in  a  great  confused  army  of  poor 
men,  to  Blackheath.  It  is  said  that  they 
wanted  to  abolish  all  property,  and  to  declare 
all  men  equal.  I  do  not  think  this  very  likely ; 
because  they  stopped  the  travellers  on  the 
roads  and  made  them  swear  to  be  true  to 
King  Richard  and  the  people.  Nor  were  they 
at  ail  disposed  to  injure  those  who  had  done 
them  no  harm,  merely  because  they  were  of 
high  station ;  for,  the  King's  mother,  who  had 
to  pass  through  their  camp  at  Blackheath, 
on  her  way  to  her  young  son,  lying  for  safety 
in  the  Tower  of  London,  had  merely  to  kiss  a 
few  dirty-faced  rough-bearded  men  who  were 
noisily  fond  of  royalty,  and  so  got  away  in 
perfect  safety.  Next  day  the  whole  mass 
marched  on  to  London  Bridge. 

There  was  a  drawbridge  in  the  middle, 
which  WILLIAM  WALWORTH  the  Mayor  caused 
to  be  raised  to  prevent  their  coming  into 
the  city  ;  but  they  soon  terrified  the  citizens 
into  lowering  it  again,  and  spread  themselves, 
with  great  uproar,  over  the  streets.  They 
broke  open  the  prisons ;  they  burned  the 
papers  in  Lambeth  Palace  ;  they  destroyed 
the  DUKE  OF  LANCASTER'S  Palace,  the  Savoy, 
in  the  Strand,  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful 
and  splendid  in  England  ;  they  set  fire  to 
the  books  and  documents  in  the  Temple  ; 
and  made  a  great  riot.  Many  of  these  out- 
rages were  committed  in  drunkenness  ;  since 
those  citizens,  who  had  well-filled  cellars, 
were  only  too  glad  to  throw  them  open  to 
save  the  rest  of  their  property  ;  but  even  the 
drunken  rioters  were  very  careful  to  steal 
nothing.  They  were  so  angry  with  one  man, 
who  was  seen  to  take  a  silver  cup  at  the 
Savoy  Palace,  and  put  it  in  his  breast,  that 
they  drowned  him  in  the  river,  cup  and  all. 

The  young  King  had  been  taken  out  to 
treat  with  them  before  they  committed  these 
excesses  ;  but,  he  and  the  people  about  him 
were  so  frightened  by  the  riotous  shouts,  that 
they  got  back  to  the  Tower  in  the  best  way 
they  could.  This  made  the  insurgents  bolder  ; 


so  they  went  on  rioting  away,  striking  off  the 
heads  of  those  who  did  not,  at  a  moment's 
notice,  declare  for  King  Richard  and  the 
people  ;  and  killing  as  many  of  the  un- 
popular persons  whom  they  supposed  to  be 
their  enemies  as  they  could  by  any  means 
lay  hold  of.  In  this  mauner  they  passed  one 
very  violent  day,  and  then  proclamation  was 
made  that  the  King  would  meet  them  at 
Mile-end,  and  grant  their  requests. 

The  rioters  went  to  Mile-end,  to  the  number 
of  sixty  thousand,  and  the  King  met  them 
there,  and  to  the  King  the  rioters  peaceably 
proposed  four  conditions.  Eirst,  that  neither 
they,  nor  their  children ,  nor  any  coming  after 
them,  should  be  made  slaves  any  more. 
Secondly,  that  the  rent  of  land  should  be 
fixed  at  a  certain  price  in  money,  instead  of 
being  paid  in  service.  Thirdly,  that  they 
should  have  liberty  to  buy  and  sell  in  all 
markets  and  public  places,  like  other  free 
men.  Fourthly,  that  they  should  be  pardoned 
for  past  offences.  Heaven  knows,  there  was 
nothing  very  unreasonable  in  these  proposals  ! 
The  young  King  deceitfully  pretended  to  think 
so,  and  kept  thirty  clerks  up,  all  night,  writing 
out  a  charter  accordingly. 

Now,  Wat  Tyler  himself  wanted  more  than 
this.  He  wanted  the  entire  abolition  of  the 
forest  laws.* He  was  not  at  Mile-end  with  the 
rest,  but,  while  that  meeting  was  being  held, 
broke  into  the  Tower  of  London  and  slew  the 
archbishop  and  the  treasurer,  for  whose  heads 
the  people  had  cried  out  loudly  the  day  before. 
He  and  his  men  even  thrust  their  swords, 
into  the  bed  of  the  Princess  of  Wales  while 
the  Princess  was  in  it,  to  make  certain  that 
none  of  their  enemies  were  concealed  there. 

So,  Wat  and  his  men  still  continued 
armed,  and  rode  about  the  city.  Next 
morning,  the  King  with  a  small  train  of  some 
sixty  gentlemen — among  whom  was  WAL- 
WORTH the  Mayor — rode  into  Smithfield,  and 
saw  Wat  and  his  people  at  a  little  distance. 
Says  Wat  to  his  men,  "  There  is  the  King. 
I  will  go  speak  with  him,  and  tell  him  what 
we  want." 

Straightway  Wat  rode  up  to  him,  and  began 
to  talk  ;  "  King,"  says  Wat,  "  dost  thou  see 
all  my  men  there  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  says  the  King.     "  Why  1  " 

"  Because,"  says  Wat,  "  they  are  all  at  my 
command,  and  have  sworn  to  do  whatever  I 
bid  them." 

Some  declared  afterwards  that  as  Wat  said 
this,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  King's  bridle. 
Others  declared  that  he  was  seen  to  play  with 
his  own  dagger.  I  think,  myself,  that  he  just 
spoke  to  the  King  like  a  rough,  angry  man  as 
he  was,  and  did  nothing  more.  At  any  rate  he 
was  expecting  no  attack,  and  preparing  for 
no  resistance,  when  Walworth  the  Mayor  did 
the  not  very  valiant  deed  of  drawing  a  short 
sword  and  stabbing  him  in  the  throat.  He 
dropped  from  his  horse,  and  one  of  the 
King's  people  speedily  finished  him.  So  fell 
Wat  Tyler.  Fawners  and  flatterers  made  a 


306 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


mighty  triumph  of  it,  and  set  up  a  cry 
which  will  occasionally  find  an  echo  to 
this  day.  But  Wat  was  a  hard-working  man, 
who  had  suffered  much,  and  had  been  foully 
outraged  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  he  was  a  man 
of  a  much  higher  nature  and  a  much  braver 
spirit  than  any  of  the  parasites  who  exulted 
then,  or  have  exulted  since,  over  his  defeat. 

Seeing  Wat  down,  his  men  immediately 
bent  their  bows  to  avenge  his  fall.  If  the 
young  King  had  not  had  presence  of  mind  at 
that  dangerous  moment,  both  he  and  the 
Mayor  to  boot,  might  have  followed  Tyler 
pretty  fast.  But,  the  King  riding  up  to  the 
crowd,  cried  out  that  Tyler  was  a  traitor, 
and  that  he  would  be  their  leader.  They  were 
so  taken  by  surprise,  that  they  set  up  a  great 
shouting  and  followed  the  boy  until  he  was 
met  at  Islington  by  a  large  body  of  soldiers. 
The  end  of  this  rising  was  the  then  usual  end. 
As  soon  as  the  King  found  himself  safe,  he 
unsaid  all  he  had  said,  and  undid  all 
he  had  done  ;  some  fifteen  hundred  of  the 
rioters  were  tried  (mostly  in  Essex)  with  great 
rigour,  and  executed  with  great  cruelty. 
Many  of  them  were  hanged  on  gibbets  and 
left  there  as  a  terror  to  the  country  people  ; 
and,  because  their  miserable  friends  took  some 
of  the  bodies  down  to  bury,  the  King  ordered 
the  rest  to  be  chained  up — which  was  the 
beginning  of  the  barbarous  custom  of  hanging 
in  chains.  The  King's  falsehood  in  this  busi- 
ness makes  such  a  pitiful  figure  that  I  think 
Wat  Tyler  appears  in  history  as  beyond  com- 
parison the  truer  and  more  respectable  man 
of  the  two. 

Richard  was  now  sixteen  years  of  age,  and 
married  Anne  of  Bohemia,  an  excellent  princess, 
who  was  called  "  the  good  Queen  Anne."  She 
deserved  a  better  husband  ;  for  the  King  had 
been  fawned  and  flattered  into  a  treacherous, 
wasteful,  dissolute,  bad  young  man. 

There  were  two  Popes  at  this  time  (as  if 
one  were  not  enough  ! )  and  their  quarrels 
involved  Europe  in  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 
Scotland  was  still  troublesome  too  ;  and  at 
home  there  was  much  jealousy  and  distrust, 
and  plotting  and  counter-plotting,  because 
the  King  feared  the  ambition  of  his  rela- 
tions, and  particularly  of  his  uncle,  the  Duke 
of  Lancaster,  and  the  duke  had  his  party 
against  the  King,  and  the  King  had  his  party 
against  the  duke.  Nor  were  these  home 
troubles  lessened  when  the  duke  went  to 
Castile  to  urge  his  claim  to  the  crown  of  that 
kingdom  ;  for  then  the  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
another  of  Richard's  uncles,  opposed  him,  and 
influenced  the  Parliament  to  demand  the  dis- 
missal of  the  King's  favourite  ministers.  The 
King  said  in  reply,  that  he  would  not  for 
such  men  dismiss  the  meanest  servant  in  his 
kitchen.  But,  it  had  begun  to  signify  little 
what  a  King  said  when  a  Parliament  was 
determined  ;  so  Richard  was  at  last  obliged 
to  give  way,  and  to  agree  to  another  Govern- 
ment of  the  kingdom  under  a  commission  of 
fourteen  nobles  for  a  year.  His  uncle  of 


Gloucester  was  at  the  head  of  this  commis- 
sion, and,  in  fact,  appointed  everybody  com- 
posing it. 

Having  done  all  this,  the  King  declared 
as  soon  as  he  saw  an  opportunity  that  he  had 
never  meant  to  do  it,  and  that  it  was  all 
illegal ;  and  he  got  the  judges  secretly  to 
sign  a  declaration  to  that  effect.  The  secret 
oozed  out  directly,  and  was  carried  to  the 
Duke  of  Gloucester.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester, 
at  the  head  of  forty  thousand  men,  met  the 
King  on  his  entering  into  London  to  enforce 
his  authority  ;  the  King  was  helpless  against 
him  ;  his  favourites  and  ministers  were  im- 
peached and  were  mercilessly  executed. 
Among  them  were  two  men  whom  the  people 
regarded  with  very  different  feelings;  one, 
Robert  Tresilian,  Chief  Justice,  who  was 
hated  for  having  made  what  was  called  "  the 
bloody  circuit"  to  try  the  rioters  ;  the  other, 
Sir  Simon  Burley,  an  honourable  knight, 
who  had  been  the  dear  friend  cf  the  Black 
Prince,  and  the  governor  and  guardian  of  the 
King.  For  this  gentleman's  life  the  good 
Queen  even  begged  of  Gloucester  on  her 
knees ;  but  Gloucester  (with  or  without  reason) 
feared  and  hated  him,  and  replied,  that  if  she 
valued  her  husband's  crown,  she  had  better 
beg  no  more.  All  this  was  done  under  what 
was  called  by  some  the  wonderful — and  by 
others,  with  better  reason,  the  merciless  — 
Parliament. 

But  Gloucester's  power  was  not  to  last  for 
ever.  He  held  it  for  only  a  year  longer ;  in 
which  year  the  famous  battle  of  Otterbourne, 
sung  in  the  old  ballad  of  Chevy  Chase,  was 
fought.  When  the  year  was  out,  the  King, 
turning  suddenly  to  Gloucester,  in  the  midst 
of  a  great  council  said,  "  Uncle,  how  old  am 
I?"  "Your  highness,"  returned  the  Duke, 
"is  in  your  twenty-second  year."  "Am  I 
so  much  ? "  said  the  King,  "  then  I  will 
manage  my  own  affairs  !  I  am  much  obliged 
to  you,  my  good  lords,  for  your  past  services, 
but  I  need  them  no  more."  He  followed  this 
up,  by  appointing  a  new  Chancellor  and  a 
new  Treasurer,  and  announced  to  the  people 
that  he  had  resumed  the  Government.  He 
held  it  for  eight  years  without  opposition. 
Through  all  that  time,  he  kept  his  determi- 
nation to  revenge  himself  some  day  upon  his 
uncle  Gloucester,  in  his  own  breast. 

At  last  the  good  Queen  died,  and  then  the 
King,  desiring  to  take  a  second  wife,  proposed 
to  his  council  that  he  should  marry  Isabella 
of  France,  the  daughter  of  Charles  the  Sixth  : 
who,  the  French  courtiers  said  (as  the  English 
courtiers  had  said  of  Richard),  was  a  marvel 
of  beauty  and  wit,  and  quite  a  phenomenon — 
of  seven  years  old.  The  council  were  divided 
about  this  marriage,  but  it  took  place.  It 
secured  peace  between  England  and  France 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century  ;  but  it  was  strongly 
opposed  to  the  prejudices  of  the  English 
people.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester,  who  was 
anxious  to  take  the  occasion  of  making  himself 
popular,  declaimed  against  it  loudly,  and  his 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOKY  OF  ENGLAND. 


30y 


at  length  decided  the  King  to   execute  the 
vengeance  he  had  been  nursing  so  long. 

He  went  with  a  gay  company  to  the  Duke 
of  Gloucester's  house,  Pleshey  Castle,  in  Essex, 
where  the  Duke,  suspecting  nothing,  came 
out  into  the  court-yard  to  receive  his  royal 
visitor.  While  the  King  conversed  in  a 
friendly  manner  with  the  Duchess,  the  Duke 
was  quietly  seized,  hurried  away,  shipped 
for  Calais,  and  lodged  in  the  castle  tnere. 
His  friends,  the  Earls  of  Arundel  and  War- 
wick, were  taken  in  the  same  treacherous 
manner,  and  confined  to  their  castles.  A  few 
days  after,  at  Nottingham,  they  were  impeached 
of  high  treason.  The  Earl  of  Arundel  was 
condemned  and  beheaded,  and  the  Earl  of 
Warwick  was  banished.  Then,  a  writ  was 
sent  by  a  messenger  to  the  Governor  of 
Calais,  requiring  him  to  send  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester  over  to  be  tried.  In  three  days  he 
returned  an  answer  that  he  could  not  do  that, 
because  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  had  died  in 
prison.  The  duke  was  declared  a  traitor,  his 
property  was  confiscated  to  the  King,  a  real  or 
pretended  confession  he  had  made  in  prison 
to  one  of  the  Justices  of  the  Common  Pleas 
was  produced  against  him,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  the  matter.  Plow  the  unfortunate 
duke  died,  very  few  cared  to  know.  Whether 
he  really  died  naturally  ;  whether  he  killed 
himself ;  whether,  by  the  King's  order,  he 
was  strangled,  or  smothered  between  two 
beds  (as  a  serving-man  of  the  Governor's, 
named  Hall,  did  afterwards  declare),  cannot 
be  discovered.  There  is  not  much  doubt  that 
he  was  killed,  somehow  or  other,  by  his 
nephew's  orders.  Among  the  most  active 
nobles  in  these  proceedings  were  the  King's 
cousin,  Hemy  Bolingbroke,  whom  the  King 
had  made  Duke  of  Hereford  to  smooth  down 
the  old  family  quarrels,  and  some  others : 
who  had  in  the  family-plotting  times  done 
just  such  acts  themselves  as  they  now  con- 
demned in  the  duke.  They  seem  to  have 
been  a  corrupt  set  of  men  ;  but  such  men 
were  easily  found  about  the  court  in  such 
days. 

The  people  murmured  at  all  this,  and  were 
still  very  sore  about  the  French  marriage. 
The  nobles  saw  how  little  the  King  cared  for 
law,  and  how  crafty  he  was,  and  began  to  be 
somewhat  afraid  for  themselves.  The  King's 
life  was  a  life  of  continued  feasting  and  excess  ; 
his  retinue,  down  to  the  meanest  servants,  were 
dressed  in  the  most  costly  manner,  and 
caroused  at  his  tables,  it  is  related,  to  the 
number  of  ten  thousand  persons  every  day. 
He  himself,  surrounded  by  a  body  of  ten 
thousand  archers,  and  enriched  by  a  duty 
on  wool  which  the  Commons  had  granted 
to  him  for  life,  saw  no  danger  of  ever 
being  otherwise  than  powerful  and  abso- 
lute, and  was  as  fierce  and  haughty  as  a 
King  could  be.  He  had  two  of  his  old 
enemies  left,  in  the  persons  of  the  Dukes 
of  Hereford  and  Norfolk.  Sparing  these  no 
more  than  the  others,  he  tampered  with  the 


Duke  of  Hereford  until  he  got  him  to  declare 
before  the  Council  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk 
had  lately  held  some  treasonable  talk  with 
him,  as  he  was  riding  near  Brentford  ;  and 
that  he  had  told  him,  among  other  things, 
that  he  could  not  believe  the  King's  oath— 
which  nobody  could,  I  should  think.  For  this 
treachery  he  obtained  a  pardon,  and  the  Duke 
of  Norfolk  was  summoned  to  appear  and 
defend  himself.  As  he  denied  the  charge  and 
said  his  accuser  was  a  liar  and  a  traitor,  both 
noblemen,  according  to  the  manner  of  those 
times,  were  held  in  custody,  and  the  truth 
was  ordered  to  be  decided  by  wager  of  battle 
at  Coventry.  This  wager  of  battle  meant 
that  whosoever  won  the  combat  was  to  be 
considered  in  the  right ;  which  nonsense  meant 
in  effect,  that  no  strong  man  could  ever  be 
wrong.  A  great  holiday  was  made  ;  a  great 
crowd  assembled,  with  much  parade  and  show ; 
and  the  two  combatants  were  about  to  rush  at 
each  other  with  their  lances,  when  the  King, 
sitting  in  a  pavilion  to  see  fair,  threw  down 
the  truncheon  he  carried  in  his  hand,  and 
forbad  the  battle.  The  Duke  of  Hereford 
was  to  be  banished  for  ten  years,  and  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk  was  to  be  banished  for  life. 
So  said  the  King.  The  Duke  of  Hereford 
went  to  France,  and  went  no  farther.  The 
Duke  of  Norf«lk  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  Laud,  and  afterwards  died  at  Venice  of 
a  broken  heart. 

Faster  and  fiercer,  after  this,  the  King  went 
on  in  his  career.  The  Duke  of  Lancaster, 
who  was  the  father  of  the  Duke  of  Hereford, 
died  soon  after  the  departure  of  his  son  ;  and, 
the  King,  although  he  had  solemnly  granted 
to  that  son  leave  to  inherit  his  father's  pro- 
perty, if  it  should  come  to  him  during  his 
banishment,  immediately  seized  it  all,  like  a 
robber.  The  judges  were  so  afraid  of  him, 
that  they  disgraced  themselves  by  declaring 
this  theft  to  be  just  and  lawful.  His  avarice 
knew  no  bounds.  He  outlawed  seventeen 
counties  at  once,  on  a  frivolous  pretence, 
merely  to  raise  money  by  way  of  fines  for 
misconduct.  In  short,  he  did  as  many  dis- 
honest things  as  he  could  ;  and  cared  so 
little  for  the  discontent  of  his  subjects — 
though  even  the  spaniel  favorites  began  to 
whisper  to  him  that  there  was  such  a  thing 
as  discontent  afloat — that  he  took  that  time, 
of  all  others,  for  leaving  England  and  making 
an  expedition  against  the  Irish. 

He  was  scarcely  gone,  leaving  the  DUKE  of 
YORK  Regent  in  his  absence,  when  his  cousin, 
Henry  of  Hereford,  came  over  from  France 
to  claim  the  rights  of  which  he  had  been  so 
monstrously  deprived.  He  was  immediately 
joined  by  the  two  great  Earls  of  Northumber- 
land and  Westmoreland  ;  and  his  uncle  the 
Regent,  finding  the  King's  cause  unpopular, 
and  the  disinclination  of  the  army  to  act 
against  Henry,  very  strong,  withdrew  with 
the  royal  forces  towards  Bristol.  Henry, 
at  the  head  of  an  army,  came  from  York- 
shire (where  he  had  landed)  to  London  and 


308 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


followed  him.  They  joined  their  forces — 
how  they  brought  that  about,  is  not  distinctly 
understood — and  proceeded  to  Bristol  Castle, 
whither  three  noblemen  had  taken  the  young 
Queen.  The  castle  surrendering,  they  pre- 
sently put  those  three  noblemen  to  death.  The 
Regent  then  remained  there,  and  Henry  went 
on  to  Chester. 

All  this  time,  the  boisterous  weather  had 
prevented  the  King  from  receiving  intelli- 
gence of  what  had  occurred.  At  length  it 
was  conveyed  to  him  in  Ireland,  and  he  sent 
over  the  EARL  OF  SALISBURY,  who,  landing  at 
Con  way,  rallied  the  "Welshmen,  and  waited 
for  the' King  a  whole  fortnight  ;  at  the  end  of 
that  time  the  Welshmen,  who  were  perhaps 
not  very  warm  for  him  in  the  beginning,  quite 
cooled  down,  and  went  home.  When  the  King 
did  land  on  the  Coast  at  last,  he  came  with  a 
pretty  good  power,  but  his  men  cared  nothing 
for  him  and  quickly  deserted.  Supposing 
the  Welshmen  to  be  still  at  Conway,  he 
disguised  himself  as  a  priest,  and  made  for 
that  place  in  company  with  his  two  brothers 
and  some  few  of  their  adherents.  But,  there 
were  no  Welshmen  left — only  Salisbury  and 
a  hundred  soldiers.  In  this  distress,  the  King's 
two  brothers,  Exeter  and  Surrey,  offered 
to  go  to  Henry  to  learn  what  his  intentions 
were.  Surrey,  who  was  true  to  Richard,  was 
put  into  prison.  Exeter,  who  was  false,  took 
the  royal  badge,  which  was  a  hart,  off  his 
shield,  and  assumed  the  rose,  the  badge  of 
Henry.  After  this,  it  was  pretty  plain  to  the 
King  what  Henry's  intentions  were,  without 
sending  any  more  messengers  to  ask. 

The  fallen  King,  thus  deserted — hemmed 
in  on  all  sides,  and  pressed  with  hunger — 
rode  here  and  rode  there,  and  went  to  this 
castle,  and  went  to  that  castle,  endeavour- 
ing to  obtain  some  provisions,  but  could 
find  none.  He  rode  wretchedly  back  to 
Conway,  and  there  surrendered  himself  to 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  came  from 
Henry,  in  reality  to  take  him  prisoner,  but  in 
appearance  to  offer  terms  ;  and  whose  men 
were  hidden  not  far  off.  By  this  eai'l  he 
was  conducted  to  the  castle  of  Flint, 
where  his  cousin,  Henry,  met  him,  and 
dropped  on  his  knee  as  if  he  were  still 
respectful  to  his  sovereign.  "  Fair  cousin 
of  Lancaster,"  said  the  King,  "  you  are 
very  welcome"  (very  welcome,  no  doubt; 
but'  he  would  have  been  more  so,  in  chains 
or  without  a  head).  "  My  lord,"  replied 
Henry,  "  I  am  come  a  little  before  my 
time  ;  but,  with  your  good  pleasure,  I  will 
show  you  the  reason.  Your  people  com- 
plain with  some  bitterness,  that  you  have 
ruled  them  rigorously  for  two-and-twenty 
years.  Now,  if  it  please  God,  I  will  help  you 
to  govern  them  better  in  future."  "  Fair 
cousin,"  replied  the  abject  King,  "  since  it 
pleaseth  you,  it  pleaseth  me  mightily." 

After  this,  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  the 
King  was  stuck  on  a  wretched  old  horse, 
and  carried  prisoner  to  Chester,  where  he 


was  made  to  issue  a  proclamation,  calling 
a  Parliament.  From  Chester  he  was  taken, 
on  towards  London.  At  Lichfield  he  tried 
to  escape  by  getting  out  of  a  window  and 
letting  himself  down  into  a  garden  ;  it  was 
all  in  vain,  however,  and  he  was  carried  on 
and  shut  up  in  the  Tower,  where  no  one  pitied 
him,  and  where  the  whole  people,  whose 
patience  he  had  quite  tired  out,  reproached 
liim  without  mercy.  Before  he  got  there,  it 
is  related,  that  his  very  dog  left  him  and 
departed  from  his  side  to  lick  the  hand  of 
Henry. 

The  day  before  the  Parliament  met  a 
deputation  went  to  this  wrecked  King,  and 
told  him  that  he  had  promised  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland  at  Conway  Castle  to  resign 
the  crown.  He  said  he  was  quite  ready  to  do  it, 
and  signed  a  paper  in  which  he  renounced  his 
authority  and  absolved  his  people  from  their 
allegiance  to  him.  He  had  so  little  spirit  left 
that  he  gave  his  royal  ring  to  his  triumphant 
cousin  Henry  with  his  own  hand,  and  said, 
that  if  he  could  have  had  leave  to  appoint  a 
successor,  that  same  Henry  was  the  man  of 
all  others  whom  he  would  have  named.  Next 
day,  the  Parliament  assembled  in  Westminster 
Hall,  where  Henry  sat  at  the  side  of  the 
throne,  which  was  empty  and  covered  with  a 
cloth  of  gold.  The  paper  just  signed  by  the 
King  was  read  to  the  multitude  amid  shouts 
of  joy,  which  were  echoed  through  all  the 
streets  ;  when  some  of  the  noise  had  died 
away,  the  King  was  formally  deposed.  Then 
Henry  arose,  and,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  on  his  forehead  and  breast,  challenged 
the  realm  of  England  as  his  right  ;  the  arch- 
bishops of  Canterbury  and  York  seated  him 
on  the  throne. 

The  multitude  shouted  again,  and  the 
shouts  re-echoed  throughout  all  the  streets. 
No  one  remembered,  now,  that  Richard 
the  Second  had  ever  been  the  most  beautiful, 
the  wisest,  and  the  best  of  princes ;  and 
he  now  made  living  (to  my  thinking)  a 
far  more  sorry  spectacle  in  the  Tower  of 
London,  than  Wat  the  Tyler  had  made,  lying 
dead,  among  the  hoofs  of  the  royal  horses  in 
Smithfield. 

The  Poll-tax  died  with  Wat.  The  Smiths- 
to  the  King  and  Royal  Family,  could  make- 
no  chains  in  which  the  King  could  hang 
the  people's  recollection  of  him  ;  so  the  Poll- 
tax  was  never  collected. 


Now  Ready,  Price  3s.  6d., 
THE  FIRST  VOLUME  OF 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND, 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

To  be  completed  in  three  Volumes,  of  the  same  size  and  price, 

Collected  and  revised  from  "  Household  Words," 
With  a  Table  of  Dates. 


BBADBUBY  AND  EVANS,  11,  BOUVBR1B  STEEET. 


Published  at  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strnnd.    Printed  by  BBADSUBT  &  EVAM«.  Whitefriurs,  London. 


" Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"— SHAKESPEABB 


HOUSEHOLD    WOEDS. 

A   WEEKLY   JOUKNAL. 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  JUNE  19,  1852. 


[PRICE  2d. 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


LAST  year,  just  before  grouse-shooting  set 
in,  I  had  occasion  to  call  one  evening  on  John 
Eowleigh,  the  jolliest  of  our  English  engineers. 
I  found  him  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  friends 
and  clients,  gossiping  after  dinner  over  cold 
drinks  and  tobacco  on  the  large  lawn  of  his 
little  bachelor  house.  Kowleigh's  dinners  are 
as  well  liked  as  his  railway  works,  and  for 
the  same  good  qualities — a  judicious  plan,  the 
best  available  materials,  perfect  execution,  and 
no  frivolous  extravagance.  As  for  the  people 
to  be  met  at  his  round  table,  some  are  old 
friends :  like  his  wine ;  and  some  are  fresh, 
like  his  dessert.  Some  of  his  associates  are 
fruity  and  full-bodied,  like  his  port :  others, 
light  and  cool,  like  his  claret.  While  ex- 
changing salutations  with  all  the  friends  I 
found  on  John  Eowleigh's  lawn,  my  attention 
was  directed  to  a  stranger  who  approached  us 
from  the  greenhouse  with  slow  steps,  and  eyes 
intently  studying  the  grass.  He  was  a  wiry 
young  fellow,  with  a  compact  head,  short 
curly  light  hair,  well  cut  features,  thoroughly 
well  bronzed ;  and  enough  eyebrow  and 
whisker  for  the  tyrant  in  a  pantomime  (after- 
wards clown).  By  his  loose  throat,  wide  white 
trousers,  and  excessive  garniture  with  studs 
arid  chains  over  the  chest,  I  should  have  taken 
this  young  man  to  be  a  sea-captain  with  a 
flush  of  prize-money,  or  the  successful  master 
of  an  opium  clipper ;  but,  if  he  had  been  a 
sailor  he  would  have  had  his  nose  turned  up- 
ward to  the  wind,  and  not  downward  to  the 
daisies. 

The  good  people  on  the  grass  had-  been 
amusing  themselves — and  gratifying  their 
taste  for  the  horrible — with  stories  of  attor- 
nies,  and  their  ingenious  devices  for  rendering 
difficult  and  devious  the  straightest  railway 
routes  ;  tales  of  desperate  struggles  in  Parlia- 
mentary Committee-rooms ;  romantic  (but 
true)  anecdotes  of  prodigious  fees  to  bar- 
risters ;  and  narratives  of  ingenious  jockey- 
ship,  by  which  rival  lines  were  crushed,  and 
utterly  rased  from  the  railway  map. 

From  railway  attornies  the  talk  glided  to 
robbers  in  general,  and,  as  engineers  visit  all 
corners  of  the  world,  we  had  tales  of  the 
robbers  of  all  nations.  When  the  Bronzed 
Man  contributed  his  share,  it  turned  out  that 
he  had  been  spending  eleven  years  in 


Australia.  The  tale  he  told  I  will  endeavour 
to  repeat. 

"  In  another  ten  years,"  said  he,  "  if 
things  continue  on  their  present  footing,  tales 
of  blacks  and  bushrangers  will  exist  only 
as  nursery  stories  in  Australia,  but  when  I 
first  went  out  to  the  colony,  the  case  was  very 
diiferent  indeed.  Black  tribes,  flourishing  by 
hundreds,  were  like  bands  of  angry  wolves 
where  they  now  limp  like  lame  foxes  by  ones 
and  twos.  As  for  the  bush-rangers,  they  were 
generally  convict  servants  too  lazy  to  work,  or, 
driven  out  by  the  cruelty  of  unjust  masters,  had 
fled  into  the  bush  to  avoid  repeated  flogging, 
and  lived  by  plundering  the  stations  or  by 
lifting  cattle.  When  heifers  used  to  be  worth 
five  pounds  to  ten  pounds  it  was  worth  while 
to  be  gully-raker — that  is,  cattle-stealer  ;  but 
when  they  fell  to  forty  shillings,  the  profit  on 
a  robbing  speculation  was  not  worth  the 
risk. 

"At  that  time,  some  of  them  made  little 
parties  to  go  out  and  stop  the  drays  on 
any  unfrequented  road,  or  rob  passengers 
near  towns  ;  while  others,  who  desired  to 
have  exclusive  privilege  of  pocketing  the 
booty  and  were  desperate  enough  for  the 
adventure,  went  alone.  But,  a  good  horse 
formed  an  essential  part  of  the  bush-ranger's 
equipment,  whether  he  were  a  thief  in  his 
own  right,  or  a  member  of  a  troop  of  sable 
banditti.  t 

"  Desire  to  save  my  property  from  reckless 
plunder  caused  me  to  pay  a  sort  of  black  mail 
to  these  fellows.  When  my  drays  were  about 
to  travel  nearly  two  hundred  miles  over  a  very 
bad  road,  I  used  to  remind  the  bullock  drivers 
that  if  they  should  meet  with  any  one  upon 
the  road  in  very  urgent  want  of  tea  or  flour, 
they  had  better  be  good-natured,  and  supply 
them  with  a  little.  In  this  way  my  stores 
tz-avelled  safely  when  those  of  my  neighbours 
were  rifled,  and  when  even  their  drays  were 
often  wantonly  backed  over  the  edge  of  some 
precipice.  This,  no  doubt,  was  chiefly  due  to 
the  black-mail  I  paid  ;  but  I  had  managed  to 
get  the  good  will  of  these  fellows,  by  earning 
a  character  for  humanity. 

"  During  the  assignment  time  I  never  was  a 
flogging  master.  If  a  man  was  saucy  to  me  I 
might  perhaps  knock  him  down,  but  that  was 
a  proceeding  taken  in  good  part  ;  the  convict 
looked  upon  it  as  a  very  different  thing  to 


111 


310 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


being  taken  before  a  magistrate  and  forfeiting 
a  year  of  liberty. 

"  One  evening,  when  returning  from  a  three 
days' journey,  I  found  myself  within  fifty  miles 
of  my  station — at  that  time  recently  established 
— on  the  extreme  borders  of  known  land  ;  my 
horse  was  exhausted,  for  we  had  been  travelling 
since  daybreak.  I  had  dismounted,  and  was 
steering  by  the  Southern  Cross,  until  I  noticed 
the  reflection  of  a  fire,  and  heard  an  echo  of 
rude  laughter  in  the  neighbourhood.  Here, 
I  thought,  are  some  bullock  drays  encamped, 
I  shall  light  my  pipe  and  get  a  quart 
of  tea.  I  passed  from  the  shadows  of  the 
trees  and  stooping  down  impatiently  to  light 
my  pipe  with  a  "  Well  mates,  how  goes  it  ? " 
•was  welcomed  by  the  pointed  muskets  of  a 
couple  of  shaggy  men,  in  garments  wonder- 
fully patched.  Four  others  at  the  same  time 
ran  to  their  arms,  but  seeing  that  I  puffed 
away  at  the  lighted  brand,  apparently  con- 
cerned about  no  greater  matter  than  the  light- 
ing of  my  pipe,  and  noticing  perhaps  that  my 
horse  was  exhausted,  they  exchanged  their 
proposed  warm  reception  with  the  muskets 
for  a  "  Halloo,  stranger,  where  do  you  come 
from  ?  Have  you  any  tobacco  ? "  "I  am  going," 
I  said,  "  to  my  station  on  Pelican  Creek,  and 
I  have  been  up  to  the  Crownland  Commis- 
sioner, to  see  about  the  boundaries  of  my 
new  run.  I  have  plenty  of  tobacco,  but  not 
a  skerrick  of  tea  or  sugar."  So  saying  I 
pulled  out  my  tobacco-pouch,  which  I  had 
taken  care  to  supply  well ;  for  it  is  tfte  best 
purse  to  carry  on  a  journey  in  the  bush  ;  and 
then,  unbuckling  my  horse's  girths,  threw  my 
saddle  down  before  the  fire.  To  have  quitted 
my  new  friends  upon  a  tired  horse  would  have 
been  quite  impossible ;  my  safety  lay  therefore 
in  treating  them  with  confidence. 

"The  first  thing  to  which  they  attended 
was  the  filling  of  their  pipes  from  my  pouch  ; 
the  next  thing  to  which  they  attended  was 
lighting  them.  They  then  inhaled  and  puffed 
the  smoke  with  an  eagerness  that  I  can  com- 
pare only  to  the  zest  with  which  men  swallow 
water  after  a  long  journey  in  a  drought. 

"  Presently  they  consulted  apart  ;  while  I, 
preparing  for  the  night,  hobbled  the  fore-legs 
of  my  horse,  rubbed  his  ears  dry,  and  shook 
out  my  blanket.  After  a  few  minutes,  having 
made  an  end  of  whispering,  one  of  the  men 
handed  to  me  a  quart  pot  of  tea — there  were 
three  such  pots  boiling  at  the  fire — and, 
scraping  back  the  wood-ashes,  he  took 
out  and  fairly  divided  a  huge  damper 
among  us  all,  to  which  he  added,  for  my 
share,  the  hind-quarters  of  a  kangaroo-rat. 
There  were  frizzling  on  the  fire,  at  the  same 
time,  certain  bits  of  meat,  which  at  once  I 
concluded  to  be  rough  mutton-chops.  After 
my  hosts  had  smoked  their  first  pipes,  they 
attended  to  the  supper  and  commenced  a 
running  fire  of  questions.  Which  way  had  I 
gone  ?  Whom  had  I  seen  ?  Was  not  niy  name 
Lawdon  1  No,  it  was  not.  Was  the  Com- 
missioner coming  up  to  my  station  ?  And  did 


I  know  a  man  by  the  name  of  Bald-faced 
Tom  1  Yes ;  he  was  my  best  bullock-driver. 
Who  was  my  stockman  ?  Bed  Irish  Dan. 
Then  they  again  whispered  together,  and  I 
could  overhear  such  comfortable  words  as 
'  The  swell's  all  right ;'  'He'sjammock;'  'He 
won't  split.'  Finally  they  came  back  ;  and 
when  they  had  continued  smoking  and  eating 
far  into  the  night,  they  packed  up  the  unused 
tea  and  flour  in  the  two  sleeves  of  a  shirt ; 
asked  me  to  oblige  them  with  the  whole  of 
my  tobacco  ;  and  advised  me  to  sleep  away 
from  the  fire,  since  it  was  possible  that  the 
blacks  might  creep  up  and  throw  in  a  shower 
of  spears.  I  took  the  hint,  rolled  myself  in 
my  blanket,  and,  in  spite  of  all  misgivings, 
fell  asleep.  At  sunrise,  awaking  stiff  and 
chilly,  I  found  my  blanket  gone.  Fortu- 
nately, I  had  nothing  else  worth  taking, 
about  me  ;  and  my  friends  had  not  robbed 
me  of  my  horse.  The  great  hollow  gum-tree 
which  had  formed  the  fire  still  smouldered ;  so 
I  warmed  myself  before  it,  and  nibbled  a  bit 
of  the  damper  left  behind  by  my  departed 
hosts. 

"  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day,  I  reached 
my  station.  A  fortnight  afterwards,  Bald- 
faced  Tom  came  up  with  the  light  cart  from 
Maitland,  and  there  was  great  mirth  in  the 
prisoners'  hut.  The  joke  was  in  due  time 
imparted  to  me.  Moody's  overseer — who  had 
the  credit,  like  his  master,  of  serving  out 
short  rations,  and  getting  the  men  too  freely 
flogged — had  met  six  "  boys  "  in  the  Tea-tree 
Flats,  had  been  taken  off  his  horse,  stripped, 
tied  to  a  tree,  and  presented  with  a  service  of 
three  dozen  lashes.  Of  course  he  was  then  left  to 
get  home  as  he  might  be  able,  naked  and  on 
foot.  From  the  description,  I  at  once  knew 
that  these  six  men  had  been  my  supper  com- 
panions in  the  Bush. 

"  That  was  my  first  adventure  :  nothing 
very  terrible.  The  next,  however,  you  will 
find,  was  serious  enough  ;  and  these  two  are 
all  the  stories  of  bush-peril  that  I  can  tell  you 
from  my  own  personal  experience. 

"I  was  going  down  to  Sydney,  after  two  years 
in  the  Bush,  only  varied  by  an  overland 
journey  to  South  Australia.  My  hool  had 
gone  on  a  week  before,  and  my  intended 
companion,  Charley  Malcolm,  had  disap- 
pointed me,  being  suddenly  prevented  from 
travel  by  affection  of  the  heart.  He  had 
seen  (and  married  within  the  week)  a  pretty 
Scotch  girl,  who  had  come  into  our  district  as 
nurse  in  the  doctor's  family.  I  set  out,  ac- 
cordingly, alone  ;  with  a  carbine  at  my  back, 
and  two  of  the  best  kangaroo  dogs  in  the 
country  for  my  escort ;  riding  such  a  horse  as 
no  man  ever  can  own  twice  in  a  single  life. 
I  bought  him,  at  two  years  old,  from  the 
stockman  by  whom  he  was  bred  (at  a  very 
long  price),  and  had  spent  a  great  deal  more 
pains  in  training  him  than  we  generally  can 
afford,  in  the  Bush,  to  spend  on  horse  flesh. 
We  set  out,  as  usual,  at  a  foot-pace,  to  do 
thirty-mile  stages,  which  would  bring  us  to 


Charles  Dictens.] 


GOING  TO  THE  DOGS. 


311 


Maitland  in  five  or  six  days.  On  the  very 
first  day  I  was  tempted  foolishly  to  chase  a 
stray  emu,  because  I  had  promised  a  fe\v 
feathers  to  some  Sydney  friends.  The  emu  was 
caught ;  but  Moonlight,  my  horse,  putting 
his  foot  into  a  wombat-hole,  gave  me  a  fall 
over  his  head,  by  which  the  stock  of  my  car- 
bine was  snapped  asunder.  So,  for  the  rest 
of  the  journey,  I  was  doomed  to  go  un- 
armed. 

"  Before  getting  to  Liverpool  Plains,  at  a 
Bush  inn  where  I  passed  the  night,  there  was 
a  great  talk  about  a  certain  One-eyed  Dick, 
a  bush-ranger,  whom  the  mounted  police  had 
been  seeking  for  the  last  three  weeks.  In 
chase  of  him,  a  few  days  before  my  arrival, 
they  had  shot  his  horse  ;  but  he  had,  never- 
theless, contrived  to  get  away  into  the  scrub, 
and  to  find  a  hiding-place  among  the  rocks.  It 
was  supposed  he  was  by  that  time  driven  to 
extremities,  as  no  one  would  dare  to  help  him, 
if  there  had  been  any  one  inclined  ;  and  he 
could  not  venture  so  much  as  to  light  a  fire 
to  cook  his  food  lest  the  smoke  or  flame  might 
betray  his  whereabout  to  the  pursuers.  He 
was  a  murderous  fellow3  for  whom  no  one  had 
a  good  word  ;  and  it  seemed  to  be  agreed  on 
all  sides,  that,  if  he  did  not  find  means  to  get 
another  horse  to  carry  him  into  another  dis- 
trict, his  life  could  not  be  worth  many  weeks' 
purchase.  Being  tired,  and  knowing  full  well 
that  bush -travellers  were  given  to  ornament 
their  narratives,  I  paid  little  attention  at  the 
time  to  all  tliis  gossip,  and  went  drowsily  to 
bed. 

"  Crossing  the  ranges  on  the  following  day,  I 
had  to  pursue  a  narrow  track  along  the  steep 
side  of  a  hill  which  went  down  by  steps  into 
the  valley.  Before  I  reached  the  open  forest, 
as  I  was  winding  round  a  long  peninsula  of 
rocks,  my  dogs  dashed  after  a  kangaroo.  In 
another  minute  I  was  hailed  by  a  voice  im- 
mediately overhead,  shouting,  with  wild  oaths, 
"  Bail  up,  or  I'll  blow  out  your  brains  ! " 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  extremely  ugly  face, 
and  of  the  muzzle  of  a  rusty  musket.  There 
was  no  time  for  consideration.  The  gentleman 
above,  required  my  horse  ;  I  regarded  that 
horse  as  my  choicest  treasure.  Therefore  I 
pressed  the  said  horse's  sides,  threw  myself 
flat  on  his  back,  and  away  we  went  tumbling, 
rather  than  galloppmg,  along  the  narrow  path- 
way of  uneven  stones.  The  musket,  of  course, 
was  discharged,  and  the  slugs  whistled  round 
me,  raking  up  the  skin  of  my  neck  and 
shoulders ;  but  we  soon  turned  the  jut  of  the 
peninsula  from  which  the  bush-ranger  had 
fired.  The  narrow  defile  into  the  open  forest 
being  partly  blocked  up  by  a  small  tree  that 
had  fallen  across  it,  the  gentleman  of  the  bush 
was  taking  a  short  cut  to  meet  me  at  this 
point,  holding  his  musket  clubbed  ready  to 
deal,  when  he  could  get  at  me,  a  desperate 
blow.  He  had  evidently  set  his  mind  upon 
bestriding  Moonlight. 

"  We  got  to  the  barrier  nearly  at  the  same 
time.  Moonlight  went  at  and  cleared  the  tree 


like  a  kangaroo  ;  but,  as  he  alighted  on  the 
other  side,  he  tripped  and  struck  upon  his  head 
among  the  brambles.  I  rolled  over  him,  still 
holding  firmly  by  the  reins.  It  was  well  for 
me  that  the  bush-ranger,  being  out  of  breath, 
missed  the  blow  aimed  at  my  devoted  head. 
It  was  parried  for  me  by  the  strong  arm  of  an 
overhanging  tree,  which  caused  the  musket 
to  recoil  at  an  unexpected  moment  with  so 
much  force  as  to  fly  out  of  the  ruffian's  hand, 
and  to  tumble  down  the  hill  side.  My  horse 
rose,  and  the  man  ran  to  seize  him,  shouting 
threats  and  oaths  against  me  which  I  do  not 
think  it  needful  to  repeat.  I  still  maintained 
my  hold  upon  the  reins  and  the  stirrup  ;  my 
blood  was  up  ;  and  with  all  my  force  I  cut  my 
assailant  across  the  face  with  my  doubled 
stockwhip.  Then,  he  grappled  with  me, 
and  we  fell.  He  was  a  bigger,  broader 
man  than  I,  but  starvation  had  weakened 
him,  and  I  was  in  the  better  condition  for 
a  wrestle.  "We  rolled  over  and  over ;  at  first 
each  trying  to  get  the  other  down.  I  had 
his  left  wrist  grasped  in  my  right  hand  ;  my 
left  hand,  missing  his  throat,  tugged  at  his  chin 
and  beard.  He  clenched  my  neckerchief  in 
his  fist  and  dug  his  knuckles  into  my  throat, 
and  would  certainly  have  strangled  me,  had 
not  my  neckerchief — which  was  thin — given 
way.  Then  .he  attempted  to  get  out  his 
knife  ;  but  in  the  moment  when  he  put 
down  kirright  hand — being  then  undermost — 
I  threw  back  my  own  head  and  struck  him  a 
stout  blow  on  his  only  eye.  I  do  not  know 
how  long  the  struggle  lasted,  but  my  strength 
began  to  fail.  His  knees  were  once  or  twice 
upon  my  chest,  and  although  I  threw  him  off, 
my  hands  were  losing  power  rapidly. 

Until  I  felt  that  his  endurance  surpassed 
mine — until  I  despaired — I  had  been  silent, 
while  my  antagonist  most  vehemently  swore  : 
I  summoned  however  at  last  my  failing 
strength  for  a  loud  shout.  In  a  very  little  while 
his  cursing  took  the  form  of  a  wild  howl  of 
rage  and  pain,  his  grasp  relaxed,  and  I  saw 
him  fighting  at  the  jaws  of  my  two  fierce 
and  faithful  dogs.  Supporting  myself  on  my 
hands  and  knees,  I,  like  a  savage,  urged  them 
on  in  feeble  whispers — they  were  my  last  hope, 
and  my  strong  hope.  One  dog  had  the  robber 
by  the  throat,  the  other  had  plunged  his  sharp 
muzzle  into  his  side.  Shrieking  horribly,  he 
writhed  and.  fought  with  them.  As  soon  as  I 
could  gather  strength  I  arose ;  and  with  falter- 
ing steps  followed  my  horse,  who  waited, 
trembling,  for  his  master.  I  mounted,  and 
without  looking  back  pushed  over  fifteen 
miles,  until  we  halted  at  a  cattle  station. 
My  dogs  did  not  follow  me.  I  waited  an  hour 
for  them  before  they  came  in.  Refusing  the 
offal  of  a  sheep  that  was  presented  to  them, 
they  went  to  sleep  before  the  fire. 

"  While  I  was  in  the  colony,  I  never  men- 
tioned the  matter  to  any  man  except  to  the 
head  of  the  police.  One-eyed  Dick  was 
never  heard  of  more.  The  dingoes,  and 
eagle-hawks,  soon  provide  decent  burial  for 


312 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


any  dead  body  of  man  or  beast  left  in  the 
Bush.  I  sold  Moonlight  for  India — he  was  too 
good  a  horse  for  my  rough  work.  In  India 
lie  soon  rose  to  merited  distinction,  and 
trotted  about  with  a  Governor-general  upon 
his  back." 


DUMBLEDOWNDEAKY. 


in  the  pleasant  Kentish  county, 
where  there  are  hops,  and  apples,  and  ruddy 
women  ;  where  an  unobtrusive  little  railway 
runs  through  luscious  orchards  of  pears  and 
cherries,  and  gooseberry-bushes  so  overbur- 
dened with  juicy  fruit  as  to  require  little 
crutches  for  the  support  of  the  laden 
branches  ;  where  fat  little  meadows,  in  which 
fat  cattle  graze,  are  intersected  by  those  green 
lanes  so  pleasant  to  the  English  eye,  and  which 
you  will  find  in  no  other  country  save  this  our 
England  ;  where,  all  day  long,  "  the  lyric  cho- 
risters," as  good  Master  Donne  calls  them — 
"  the  lyric  lark,  the  grave  whispering  dove, 
and  the  household  bird  with  the  red  «to- 
macher,"  are  blithe  subscribers  to  Nature's 
great  Sacred  Harmonic  Society  ;  where  there 
are  May-meetings  of  bees,  humming  and  buz- 
zing quite  as  much  (and  quite  as  profitably,  per- 
haps,) as  some  of  your  London  May-meeters  ; 
where,  mount  to  whatever  eminence  you  will, 
the  horizon  bounds  for  you  on  every  side 
one  great  English  garden,  with  the  river 
Thames,  innocent  of  dead  dogs  hereabout, 
running  through  the  midst — down  in  this 
pleasant  smiling  land,  where  you  could  almost 
imagine  that  such  things  as  poor-rates  were 
unknown  (but  they  are  not),  I  light  upon  a 
town.  A  little  town  it  is,  though  of  consi- 
derable pretensions — a  town  that  means  to  do 
a  great  deal  some  day,  but  has  not  done  much 
yet — an  embryo  town  grown  out  of  an  obsolete 
village — a  baby  town  in  brick  long  clothes, 
with  a  bedridden  old  grandfather  dozing  in  a 
cottage  by  the  river-side.  Shall  I  be  accused 
of  personality  if  I  call  it  Dumbledowndeary  1 
I  hope  not. 

My  town,  like  Beau  BrummePs  valet,  has 
had  its  failures.  It  is  on  the  famous  Thames 
river,  and  tried  hard,  once,  to  be  a  watering- 
place.  It  came  out  with  a  pier,  a  Pier  Hotel, 
a  bazaar,  and  a  pleasure-garden  ;  but  the  soil, 
I  suppose,  was  not  favourable  to  the  growth 
of  shrimps,  crusty  bread  and  butter,  donkies, 
circulating  libraries,  and  other  productions  of 
a  quasi-marine  watering-place ;  and  it  came  to 
naught.  There  is  nothing  but  a  blurred  bill 
pasted  on  a  pump  to  tell  of  the  bazaar  that 
was ;  the  steamboat,  though  it  still  calls  at 
the  pier-head,  takes  up  and  lands  but  very 
few  passengers,  and  the  Pier  Hotel  has  been 
numbered  long  since  in  the  great  category  of 
"  Houses  to  let." 

Dumbledowndeary  afterwards  tried  the  coal 
trade,  which  showed  a  sanguine  and  commerce- 
loving  temperament  on  the  part  of  its  inha- 
bitants ;  but,  as  there  were  no  coal-fields  in 
the  neighbourhood,  and  very  few  coal  pur- 


chasers (the  bulk  of  the  population  preferring 
to  use,  as  fuel,  sticks  from  the  hedges,  portions 
of  barges  past  service,  and  any  stray  bits 
of  their  own  houses  or  furniture  that  came 
handy),  the  import  and  export  trade  in  black 
diamonds  never  became  very  brisk.  A  timid 
little  collier  loiters  about  an  out-of-the-way 
creek  sometimes,  but  she  never  seems  to  load 
or  to  discharge  cargo  ;  and  in  the  window  of 
the  grocer's  shop  (which  also  serves  as  a  post- 
office)  you  may  see,  from  month's  end  to 
month's  end,  faded  letters  addressed  to  collier 
captains,  which  letters  have  been  there  so 
long,  and  have  grown  so  yellow  and  so  fly- 
blown, that  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  com- 
manders to  whom  they  are  addressed  must  all 
be  first  cousins,  or  bosom  friends  of  Captain 
Vanderdecken,  and  have  never  been  able  to 
double  the  Cape  yet,  and  come  and  fetch 
them. 

These,  with  a  frantic  though  puny  attempt 
to  do  something  in  the  boat  and  barge-building 
line,  and  an  impotent  plunge  into  the  mash- 
tub,  with  a  view  to  the  brewing  of  strong  ale, 
have  been  among  the  failures  of  Dumble- 
downdeary. 

Suddenly,  however,  she  (Dumbledowndeary) 
had  a  mission.  Everybody  has  a  mission 
now-a-days — actors,  authors,  commercial  tra- 
vellers ;  and  my  town  had  hers.  She  dis- 
covered that  her  mission  was  Bricks.  The 
Dumbledowndereans  threw  themselves  upon 
bricks  with  an  ardour  and  an  intensity  of  pur- 
pose really  surprising  ;  and  it  is  doubtless  due 
to  their  extensive  operations  and  speculations 
in  bricks  that  there  are  so  many  brick-fields 
and  so  many  brick-barges  in  Dumbledown- 
deary— so  many  brickmakers,  bricklayers,  and 
bargees — and  more  especially,  that  Dumble- 
downdeary may  be  called  without  much 
exaggeration  a  Town  to  Let. 

Before  I  treat  of  the  yet  infant  town,  I  may 
be  allowed  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the 
ancestor  of  this  brick-baby,  the  old  town,  or, 
rather,  village  of  Dumbledowndeary.  It  is  not 
extensive.  It  has  no  market-place,  parks, 
squares,  or  fountains  ;  nor  has  it,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  a  church,  a  charity-school,  and  a 
cage,  any  public  buildings.  It  has  a  "  common 
hard,"  a  straggling  street,  a  back  lane,  and 
there  an  end.  Public-houses  are  pretty  nu- 
merous. There  is  no  gas  out  of  doors.  There 
are  three  policemen  who  appear  to  pass  their 
time  in  the  consumption  of  tea  under  the 
shadow  of  their  sergeant,  or  in  inviting  him,  in 
rotation,  to  the  same  social  meal.  These  mem- 
bers of  the  force  are  all,  I  opine,  modest  and 
reserved  men,  averse  to  mixing  much  in  public. 
I  have,  indeed,  never  set  eyes  upon  one  of 
them  during  a  fortnight's  sojourn  ;  but,  as  I 
occasionally  see  a  little  chubby  boy,  three 
years  old,  with  whom  I  have  a  pat-on-the- 
head  acquaintance,  riding  cock-horse  to  Co- 
ventry on  a  formidable  looking  cutlass  with  a 
brass  hilt,  and  which  he  says  is  "  father's,"  I 
conjecture  that  the  police  are  accustomed  to 
the  use  of  weapons ;  and  that,  although  ad- 


Charles  Dickens.  J 


DUMBLEDOWNDEAKY. 


313 


dieted  to  the  cultivation  of  the  household 
virtues,  they  are  ready  to  sally  forth,  and  do 
terrific  execution  when  they  are  wanted  (which 
they  very  seldom  seem  to  be),  and  when  Dum- 
bledowndeary and  the  rest  of  England  expect 
them  to  do  their  duty. 

The  architecture  of  Dumbledowndeary  is 
peculiar.  Plumb-lines,  levels,  and  squares 
were  unknown  when  it  was  built  ;  and 
the  houses  seem  to  have  grown,  rather  like 
pollard  willows  and  gnarled  oaks  with  win- 
dows in  them,  than  to  have  risen  by  the  legi- 
timate agency  of  scaffold-poles,  trowels,  and 
hods  of  mortar.  Timber,  lath  and  plaster, 
thatch,  and  an  anomalous  composition,  in 
which  mud,  shingle,  rushes,  and  fragments 
of  tile  are  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  ap- 
pear to  form  the  principal  materials  of 
which  the  queer  little  houses — half  cot- 
tage, half  barn — are  composed.  There  is 
no  pavement,  and  the  roadway  itself  is  dis- 
tressingly eccentric,  now  sinking  so  low  as  to 
require  an  embankment  on  either  side  for  the 
footway,  now  rising  so  pretentiously  that  the 
houses  seem  to  be  in  danger  of  being  swallowed 
up,  causing  the  first  floor  fronts  to  be  in  the 
area,  and  the  soles  of  the  by-passer's  boots 
nearly  on  a  level  with  the  garret  windows. 
"Window  sashes  are  unknown,  and  the 

picturesque   little   lozenges   of   bottle   glass, 
\,    ,.,      .l     ,    ,,, 
fertile   in    bull  s-eyes, 


still 


in    voeaie. 


Chimney  pots  sprout  up  indifferently,  not 
necessarily  on  the  roof,  but  wherever  it 
has  been  found  convenient  to  make  a  fire- 
place and  an  aperture  for  the  smoke.  Knockers 
to  the  doors  there  are  none,  and — seeing  that 
doors  themselves  are  not  numerous,  and  that 
three-fourths  of  the  male  population  and  the 
whole  of  the  female  and  infant  ditto  are 
always  loitering  in  the  doorways  or  sprawling 
amicably  in  that  part  of  the  road  where  there 
should  be  a  gutter,  but  there  is'nt — where 
would  be  the  use  of  knockers,  I  should  like  to 
know  '?  It  is  a  pretty  sight,  on  a  fine  after- 
noon, to  peep  through  one  of  these  doorways. 


economy  can  it  be  that  out  of  sorry  and  pre- 
carious wages  can  give  the  grizzled  old  grand- 
father his  snuff  and  his  beer,  the  sturdy 
brickmaker  his  bacon,  the  tribe  of  little 
children  clean  pinafores  unconscious  of  tatters 
and  hobnailed  shoes  with  whole  soles,  can  fill 
their  little  bellies  with  bread  a,nd  butter,  can 
give  them  each  the  weekly  twopence  for  their 
instruction  at  school ;  can  keep  up  the  sub- 
scription to  the  burial  club  and  father's  lodge 
of  Foresters,  or  Druids,  or  Shepherds  ;  can 
even,  on  high  days  and  holidays  enable 
mother  to  astonish  the  Dumbledowndereans  in 
a  bonnet — a  marvellous  bonnet  of  white  chip, 
with  rainbow  ribbons — and  a  parasol  as  green 
as  a  gooseberry  ?  All  these  things  are  done  ; 
but  how  are  they  managed  ?  What  subtleties 
of  finance,  what  Machiavelic  evolutions  of 
domestic  diplomacy  must  be  resorted  to  to 
give  all  these  young  ravens  their  food,  all 
these  little  foxes  their  holes,  all  these  babies 
their  raiment  1  To  be  sure,  father  has  his 
beer  at  home  instead  of  going  to  the  "  Cross 
Keys,"  the  "  Traveller's  Joy,"  or  the  "  Jolly 
Brickmakers "  for  it,  and  water  is  good  and 
plentiful  in  Dumbledowndeary,  and  the  inha- 
bitants seem  to  be  naturally  fond  of  washing 
themselves  and  each  other ;  so  there  may  be 
something  in  that. 

Dumbledowndeary  does  not  possess  a  public 
promenade,  aiithough  its  environs  afford  the 
most  beautiful  walks  to  be  found  anywhere, 
perhaps,  in  England.  Within  the  walls  the 
lounger  is  confined  to  the  common  hard  I 
have  named,  and  to  a  little  quay  commanding 
at  low  water,  and  in  calm  weather,  nothing 
more  picturesque  in  the  way  of  a  view 
than  a  considerable  expanse  of  mud,  the  flat 
shores  of  the  opposite  Essex  coast,  the  phan- 
tom collier  playing  at  loading  ballast,  and 
one  or  two  cutter  yachts  belonging  to  "  city 
men,"  who  take  an  occasional  holiday  from 
consols  for  account  and  bills  payable,  to  run 
social  little  matches  for  snuff-boxes  and  silver 
mugs  from  Dumbledowndeary  to  the  Nore, 


and  catch  the  Dumbledowndereans  in  the  full  I  and  whose  crews  (one  man  and  a  boy  I  think 


luxuriance  of  their  menage,  which  serves  them 
for  "  kitchen  and  parlour  and  all :  "  three 
generations  enjoying  their  family  souchong  or 
serviceable  bohea.  A  grizzled  old  grand- 
father, eighty  years  old,  perhaps,  so  bent  and 
twisted  by  the  rheumatiz  that  he  cannot  have 
seen  his  shoes  or  the  ribbons  at  the  knees  of 
his  small  clothes  for  a  score  of  years  ;  a  hale 
husband,  the  bread  winner  of  the  family,  just 
come  home  from  the  brickfield,  very  clayey 
and  strawy,  enjoying  a  basin  of  tea  and  a 
pipe  of  tobacco,  an  amalgamated  refreshment 
somewhat  distasteful,  it  may  be,  to  cockneys  ; 
but  than  which  country  people  and  travellers 
in  Australia  will  tell  you  there  are  few  things 
more  grateful  and  refreshing  ;  a  comely  wife 
(with  the  arm  of  Milo  for  cutting  bread  and 
butter)  and  a  whole  tribe  of  ruddy  children, 
varying  in  size  and  stature  like  the  row  of 
stew-pans  ranged  in  a  large  kitchen.  Talk 
about  political  economy  —  what  sort  of 


to  each  yacht)  appear  to  me  to  have  no  duties 
more  arduous  to  perform  than  to  scrape 
carrots  for  their  pot-au-feu,  and  to  polish  the 
masts  and  bowsprit  with  beeswax.  But  at 
high  water,  in  fine  weather,  and  above  all, 
in  fresh  breezy  weather,  you  shall  see  a  sight 
from  Dumbledowndeary's  shabby  little  quay, 
that  I.  for  one,  would  not  change  for  any 
number  of  Panoramas  of  the  Mississippi, 
nay,  nor  for  Venice,  the  Golden  Horn,  or 
the  Bay  of  Naples  with  Mr.  Southby's  moat 
brilliant  fireworks  bursting  from  Vesuvius 
in  the  background.  For  then  you  shall  see  the 
highway  of  nations  and  of  the  world,  thick 
sown  with  winged  carriages.  The  majestic  In- 
dianaan  bursting  with  live  stock  appertaining 
to  the  Honourable  Company  ;  the  great  Cana- 
dian timber-ship ;  the  humble  colliers,  smacks, 
and  hoys,  by  fleets  ;  the  portly  steamers  bound 
for  Antwerp  and  Hamburgh,  puffing  and  blow- 
ing as  though  conscious  of  their  importance  in 


314 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


society  ;  the  screw  steamers,  whose  long  low 
black  hulks  and  flaunting  ensigns  at  the  main, 
tell  them  to  be  Government  vessels  from 
Woolwich  Dockyard,  fresh  from  the  study  of 
steam,  and  the  ironing  and  mangling  of  their 
boilers  and  machinery,  and  which  glide 
sinuously  and  quietly  (though  with  a  vicious 
twist)  through  the  maze  of  vessels ;  and,  for  all 
their  smooth  ebony  sides,  could  show  some 
sharp  and  ugly  teeth,  and  scream  and  bellow 
as  other  vixens  do  upon  emergency.  Vixenish 
names  have  they,  too,  these  little  war-steamers. 
"  Scourges,"  or  "  Spitefuls,"  or  "  Spitfires,"  or 
"  Retaliations."  They  forage  cunningly  all 
over  the  world,  poking  their  sharp  noses  into 
out-of-the-way  ports  and  harbours — bringing 
home  African  kings  with  more  epaulette 
than  broadcloth — taking  out  useful  presents 
to  uncivilised  nations  :  such  as  baby-jumpers, 
Revalenta  Arabica,  and  ministers  plenipoten- 
tiary— landing  lieutenant-governors  on  unin- 
habited islands,  and  consuls-general  at  tiger- 
frequented  jungles — and, ever  and  anon,  kicking 
up  a  terrible  dust  on  some  imperfectly  known 
coast,  with  a  king  and  people  seldom  heard 
of,  and  to  avenge  some  inexplicable  national 
wrongs  :  all  of  which  invariably  end,  though, 
by  a  list  of  killed  and  wounded  (mostly  ou  the 
unknown  side),  and  a  declaration  of  prize 
money  by  some  patriotic  navy  agent  in  a 
street  out  of  the  Strand,  by  which  is  adjudi- 
cated to  "  flag  "  two  or  three  hundred  pounds, 
or  a  trifle  of  that  sort,  and  to  "thirteenth 
class"  something  like  one  and  tenpence  half- 
penny. /  would  rather  be  "  flag." 

Also,  in  fine  weather  and  in  summer,  besides 
shoals  of  pleasure  boats  on  this  same  water, 
you  see  the  Gravesend  steamers,  rather  un- 
comfortably crowded,  on  their  way  to  K  Town- 
pier,  Terrace,  or  Rosherville "  (pronounced 
-/foserville).  Popular  melodies  float  gently 
through  the  summer  air,  and  on  your  quay  at 
Dumbledowndeary  you  have,  in  addition  to  the 
opportunity  for  improvement  in  the  Euterpean 
art,  the  gratification  of  being  exempted  from 
the  periodical  visits  of  the  trombone  player 
on  board  ;  from  whom  few  men  can  withhold 
half-pence,  or,  withholding,  can  bear  the  glance 
of  deadly  meaning  that,  during  the  remainder 
of  the  voyage,  darts  from  his  (slightly  bleary) 
eye.  Finally,  the  great  river  Yacht  Clubs, 
the  clubs  that  have  Commodores,  and  costly 
cups  and  purses  of  sovereigns  for  prizes,  do 
not  disdain  Dumbledowndeary  as  a  stalling 
place,  nor,  returning  thither  when  the  battle 
lias  been  lost  and  won,  do  they  refuse  to 
refresh  themselves  at  the  "  Lee  Scupper," 
which  is  the  yachting  house.  Mighty  dinners 
are  cooked  here  ;  great  toasts  are  given  and 
responded  to  ;  fierce  arguments  take  place  as 
to  whether  the  Grampus  ran  foul  of  the  Solan, 
or  the  Seagull  can  go  closer  into  the  wind's 
eye  than  the  Waterduck  ;  guns  are  dis- 
charged, shouts  rend  the  air,  and  many  men 
and  many  boys,  the  crews  of  many  yachts,  are 
wheeled,  towards  midnight,  down  the  common 
hard  on  barrows  to  where  their  boats  await 


them.  Then  the  rejoicings  terminate.  The 
yacht  owners  —  from  formidable-  looking 
mariners  in  alarming  pea-coats,  and  glazed 
hats :  with  eye-glasses,  telescopes,  and  a 
slight  perfume  :  full  of  brave  words  of  belay- 
ing and  heaving  to  :  smoking  short  pipes  to  a 
maritime  degree  of  blackness — subside  into 
quiet,  clean-shaven  stockbrokers,  or  merchants, 
as  the  case  may  be,  go  back  to  town  by  train, 
and  leave  their  crews,  once  more,  to  scrape 
their  masts  and  carrots,  and  leave  Dumble- 
downdeary to  solitude  and  bricks.  And  as  yet, 
I  have  unwarrantably  neglected  Bricks,  by 
the  bye  ! 

I  don't  mean  the  bricks  in  the  brickfield, 
exactly — long  avenues  of  tubes  of  greyish  clay, 
called  "  clamps,"  with  heaps  of  straw  between ; 
heaps  of  broken  bricks  spoiled  in  the  making 
or  the  baking  ;  smoking  kilns,  with  glowing 
masses  of  burning  cinders  and  "  breeze 
within,  whose  caloric  is  gradually  doing  the 
bricks  to  a  turn,  giving  them,  though,  ere 
they  attain  the  orthodox  hue  of  dull  red  or 
yellow  suitable  to  a  well-done  brick  fit  to  be 
cemented,  a  thousand  rainbow  hues  of  crimson, 
and  chrome,  and  purple ;  the  mighty  brick- 
stacks  thatched  in  like  wheat  or  hay,  and 
awaiting  purchase  or  removal.  I  don't  mean 
the  bricks  which  the  toiling  workmen  are 
moulding  in  iron  cubes  ;  the  rude  masses  of 
clay  and  sand  which  the  children  are  kneading 
into  useful  dirt  pies,  ready  for  the  finishing 
touch  of  the  brick-maker  ;  the  women,  wheel- 
ing barrows  of  earth  and  ashes  ;  the  burners, 
stackers,  or  carters.  The  bricks  T  mean, 
and  to  which  I  would  desire  to  call  your 
attention  have,  though  contiguous  to  the 
brickfield,  and  owing  their  very  existence  to 
its  beneficent  soil,  no  connection  with  it  now. 
For  with  the  aid  of  mortar,  "compo,"  and 
cement,  lath  and  plaster,  carpenter  and  joiner's 
work,  rule,  bevel,  and  square,  they  have 
become  Houses.  Scarcely  have  you  escaped 
from  the  old  fashioned  little  village  with  its 
lean-to  roofs,  its  thatch  and  lead-paned  case- 
ments, ere  a  little  Babylon  of  bricks  stares 
you  in  the  face.  Streets,  terraces,  rows, 
_ardens  (brick  ones),  crescents,  lodges,  villas, 
squares,  groves,  cottages,  all  in  brick.  The 
Royal  Family  of  this  island,  the  victories  won 
under  the  meteor  flag  of  Britain  have  given 
their  names,  or  have  stood  sponsors,  willingly, 
to  these  little  red  and  yellow  strangers. 
Miniature  conservatories,  lilliputian  bow- 
windows,  infinitesimal  area  railings,  microsco- 
pic street  doors  with  knockers  to  match,  baby- 
house  bells,  dwarf-house  garden  entrances,  are 
in  abundance.  All  is  very  complete  though 
very  small.  There  is  an  unexceptional  foot- 
pavement,  gas-lamps  of  exquisite  symmetry, 
corner-posts  rigidly  spiked  d  la  Burton 
Crescent.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  view  of 
the  river  and  surrounding  country  is  beautiful 
from  all  the  front  and  back  windows  ;  that 
water  is  plentifully  laid  on ;  that  the  fire- 
places and  kitchen  fixtures  possess  all  the 
latest  improvements  ;  that  this  little  paradise 


Charles  Diekeus] 


DUMBLEDOWNDEAKY. 


315 


of  bricks  offers  every  element  of  felicity  for  a 
whole  town-load  of  small  families.  I  can 
fancy  the  lilac  and  geranium  and  mignonette, 
smelling  sweetly  in  the  little  front  gardens ; 
lusty  cabbages  and  bold-faced  cauliflowers 
in  the  back  ditto  ;  jocund  young  butchers 
pulling  their  fast-trotting  ponies  short  up 
opposite  the  street  doors  ;  insinuating  bakers, 
whispering  flowery  nothings  to  rosy  cooks  at 
the  area  railings  ;  smiling  tax  collectors, 
with  fat  little  red  books,  knocking  at  all 
the  doors  and  never  having  to  knock  twice ; 
pleasant  caps  and  ribbons  enshrining  pretty 
matron's  faces  at  the  first-floor  windows ; 
virtuous  tenants,  with  salaries  varying  from 
one  hundred  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
a  year,  working  very  hard  all  day  in  London, 
then  hastening  by  the  rail  to  their  well- 
beloved  Brick-Eclens  at  Dumbledowndeary ; 
the  pavement  checquered  with  parasols, 
chubby  legs,  go-carts,  and  little  dogs  ;  little 
masters  and  misses,  preternaturally  inducted 
into  the  mysteries  of  Bradshaw  and  railway 
time-bills,  and  knowing  to  a  second  what 
time  papa's  train  is  due  ;  a  pleasant  odour  of 
baby,  and  flowers,  and  home,  and  dinner  ready 
precisely  at  half-past  five  o'clock.  I  can  fancy 
all  these  things,  I  say  ;  but 

But  !  ah,  fatal  word  !  ah,  woeful  pivot  on 
which  all  things  human  turn  !  Nobody  lives 
alas,  in  these  pretty  little  houses  ;  there  is  no 
population  for  these  cleanly,  fresh-coloured, 
airy  little  streets  and  terraces.  The  surveyor's 
ban,  the  anathema  maranatha  of  the  house- 
agent  is  upon  them  all.  "  These  Houses  are 
to  be  Let  or  Sold  ;  "  and  nobody  comes  to  hire 
or  to  purchase  them.  The  cosy  little  windows 
are  besmeared  with  the  dread  announcement 
in  whitewash  ;  rude  bills  to  the  same  effect 
are  posted  on  the  street  doors  ;  tall  posts  with 
placards,  like  gibbets,  rear  their  ugly  heads 
where  rose-trees  and  laburnum  ought  to  grow. 
Dumbledowndeary  is  a  Town  to  Let. 

No  butchers  pull  up  their  fast-trotting 
ponies,  no  bakers  whisper  flowery  nothings ; 
for  there  are  no  joints  to  be  ordered,  and  no 
loaves  to  be  delivered.  Spikes  are  useless  to 
the  posts,  for  there  are  no  boys  to  "  over"  them. 
The  foot-pavement  is  a  work  of  superero- 
gation, for  there  are  no  passengers  to  tread 
it ;  the  tramps  and  agricultural  labourers 
preferring  to  walk  in  the  road.  There  are 
no  nursemaids,  and  no  babies  to  nurse ; 
no  youthful  students  of  railway  time-bills  : 
for  there  is  no  papa's  train  due.  Dumble- 
downdeary is  another  name  for  desolation. 
The  spider  has  not  woven  her  web,  nor  does 
the  owl  shriek  through  these  deserted  halls, 
as  the  Eastern  poet  informs  us  they  were 
in  the  habit  of  doing,  abroad  ;  but  there  is 
desolation,  notwithstanding.  Next  to  a  house 
long  inhabited  and  then  deserted  ;  a  house 
never  tenanted,  almost  new,  yet  old  in  soli- 
tude, is  the  most  melancholy  house  I  know. 
The  mortar  scarcely  dried,  the  paper  on  the 
walls  yet  fresh,  the  fire-places  unconscious  of 
fire,  the  chimneys  innocent  of  smoke,  the 


staircases  untrodden  by  domesticated  feet,  the 
bed-rooms  unslept  in,  the  dining-rooms  un- 
dined  in,  the  doors  into  which  no  bride  has 
entered,  out  of  which  no  coffin  has  passed  : 
the  house  unsanctified  by  the  smiles  and  tears, 
the  pickles  and  preserves,  the  sweets  and  sours, 
that  go  to  make  up  the  leaven  of  humanity. 
And  yet  to  be  let  or  sold,  year  after  year, 
with  nobody  to  bid  !  Such  is  Dumbledown- 
deary. Unless  somebody  comes  to  take  it,  it 
will  fall  to  ruin  through  sheer  desuetude. 
An  uncut  cheese  will  grow  musty  ;  the  dress 
too  long  secluded  in  a  drawer  will  become 
motheaten.  The  whitewash  must  be  effaced 
from  its  window-panes,  the  bills  torn  down, 
the  ugly  gibbets  levelled.  Even  a  succession 
of  bad  tenants,  running  away  on  the  eve  of 
quarter-day  without  paying  their  rent,  and 
carrying  off  the  lead  piping  and  brass  door- 
handles with  them,  would  be  better  than, 
none.  They  would  be  something  in  the  way 
of  a  house-warming.  They  would  oil  the 
hinges  of  the  area-gates,  and  refresh  the 
knockers  and  bells.  They  would  brush  up 
the  front  gardens  (even  though  the  flowers 
were  never  paid  for),  and  take  from  them  the 
doleful  aspect  they  have  now — an  aspect 
generally  resembling  a  portion  of  a  stone- 
mason's yard  run  to  seed  in  a  pigless  pigstye, 
littered  with  fragments  of  scaffold-poles,  chips 
of  dried  mortaf,  broken  brickbats,  clay  pipes 
of  by-gone  bricklayers,  strands  of  decayed 
ropes,  and  the  ghost  of  a  trowel. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  good  people  of 
Dumbledowndeary  have,  in  the  articles  of 
bricks,  houses,  and  tenants  to  inhabit  them, 
occupied  themselves  rather  too  much  with  the 
question  of  supply,  without  quite  enough  re- 
garding the  question  of  demand.  Seduced  by 
the  mammoth  London  up  the  line,  and  the 
smaller,  but  still  vigorous  leviathan  in  minia- 
ture, Gravesend,  down  the  line  ;  dazzled  by 
Greenwich,  getting  bigger  and  bigger  every 
day  ;  forgetful  of  the  ominous  example  of  that 
city  of  unfulfilled  promises,  Herne  Bay  ;  they 
have  dabbled  in  houses  as  stock-jobbers  dabble 
in  shares.  They  have  projected  streets  with 
people  to  inhabit  them,  as,  during  the  railway 
mania,  lines  were  projected  to  carry  pas- 
sengers where  there  were  no  passengers  to 
be  carried,  and  to  traffic  where  there  was 
no  commerce.  They  would  have  a  metropolis 
when,  as  yet,  their  ancient  village  had  no 
suburbs.  They  would  build  their  Home  in 
half  a  day.  They  have  laid  out  their  capital 
in  bricks,  and  seem  to  draw  but  sorry  interest 
(to  say  nothing  of  a  bonus)  therefrom.  There 
is  not  a  door-knocker  in  this  wo-begone  little 
town  to  let,  but  what  seems  to  me  muffled 
in  bank-notes.  The  deserted  parlours  are 
papered  with  transfer  tickets.  The  stair- 
carpets  (where  there  are  any)  should  be  of 
Exchequer  Bills.  The  whole  town  seems  to 
me  one  grim  brick  mausoleum  of  dead  capital 
— a  tomb  erected  to  the  sinking  funds  of 
Dumbledowndeary. 

If    the    Dumbledowndereans    had  looked 


316 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


at  home,  they  would  have  built  one-store} 
cottages,  or  large  houses,  if  you  will,  dividec 
into  little  tenements  fit  for  the  occupancy 
of  the  poor  brick-makers,  and  bargees,  anc 
labourers  who  swelter  in  crowded  kennels 
in  the  back  lane  and  narrow  alleys  of  th< 
village — paying  rents,  too,  which  would  securi 
them  clean,  wholesome,  airy  lodgings  else 
where.  But  no,  the  Dumbledowndeary  capital 
ists  must  needs  build  villas,  residences ;  tin 
lord  of  the  manor  has  said  nay  to  small  tene- 
ments. The  rents  demanded  are  from  twenty- 
five  to  thirty-five  pounds  a  year,  of  which  none 
avail  themselves  ;  while  the  brick-makers  am 
bai-gees,  who  could,  and  who  do,  pay  four  anc 
five  shillings  a  week  for  their  styes,  can't  move 
into  better  houses,  because  there  are  none  buill 
for  men  of  their  degree.  They  should  have 
looked  at  home,  you  say  ;  but,  alas  !  who  can 
— who  does  ?  I  say  again.  Hearken  to  Doctor 
Goldsmith  writing  wisdom  among  the  beggars 
of  Axe  Lane,  perchance  :  "  Were  I  to  be  angry 
with  men  for  being  fools,"  he  says,  "  I  could 
here  find  ample  room  for  declamation  ;  but, 
alas  !  I  have  been  a  fool  myself ;  and  why 
should  I  be  angry  with  them  for  being  some- 
thing so  natural  to  every  child  of  humanity  ?" 
Let  us  hope  that  Dumbledowndeary,  the 
rashly  built,  will  not  longer  lack  tenants,  and 
that  it  will  not  always  be  a  town  to  let. 

We  go  for  a  walk  out  of  Dumbledowndeary. 
We  leave  the  church  on  our  right,  cross  the 
railway  by  a  pretty  bridge,  close  to  which 
a  large  railway  hotel  has  driven  away  the 
orchards  and  gooseberry  bushes  which  two 
years  before  flourished  in  its  place,  and  plunge 
into  a  sweet-smelling,  shadowy  lane.  Mine 
host  of  the  Railway  Hotel  is  with  us,  a  cheer- 
ful man  and  portly,  who  sings  a  song  and 
does  not  despair  of  Dumbledowndeary  yet. 
He  carries  a  lantern  ;  I  carry  a  lantern  ; 
Mr.  Caps,  the  gamekeeper,  who  has  started 
up  somehow  from  somewhere,  in  a  velveteen 
frock  and  leather  gaiters,  carries  a  lantern. 
"  What  is  this  for  ? "  you  ask,  seeing  that  it 
is  yet  broad  day.  "  We  are  going  to  see  the 
lion  of  Dumbledowndeary,  the  wonder,  and 
terror,  and  admiration  thereof.  We  are 
bound  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  to  a  haunted 
house — a  house  that  has  been  nailed  and 
boarded  up  since  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and 
which  must  be  consequently  rather  dark  and 
gloomy  inside." 

Now,  if  you  be  anything  of  an  amateur  in 
haunted  houses,  a  connoisseur  in  domestic 
ghosts,  you  will,  doubtless,  begin  to  form  in 
imagination  some  very  charming  pictures  of 
Elizabethan  chambers,  mouldy  tapestry,  and 
a  stain  of  blood  on  the  oak  flooring  which  ail 
the  scrubbing  and  washing,  the  scouring, 
scraping,  and  planing  in  the  universe  will  not 
efface.  You  will  be  disappointed.  You  will  at 
least  conjure  up  a  house  of  passable  antiquity, 
dating  from  Queen  Anne's  reign,  we  will  say. 
You  will  again  be  disappointed.  Passing 
through  a  beautiful  park,  and  over  what  was 
once  a  lawn,  but  is  now  ploughed  up  and 


sown  with  wheat,  you  come  suddenly  on  a 
substantial  brick  mansion,  so  fresh,  so  neat,  so 
comfortable  in  appearance,  that,  but  for  the 
doorstep  overgrown  with  weeds,  the  heavy 
chains  and  padlocks  on  the  gates,  and  a  dismal 
screen  of  planking  before  every  window,  you 
would  take  it  to  be  in  full  occupancy  now. 
In  good  sooth,  it  has  not  been  built  more  than 
seventy  years  ;  and  Mr.  Caps's  father-in-law, 
an  apple-cheeked  veteran,  some  ninety  odd, 
helped  to  make  the  bricks  from  which 
the  House  was  built.  It  belongs  to  the 
lord  of  the  manor  ;  it  has  been  shut  up  nearly 
forty  years,  and  it  is  haunted.  These  balft 
and  unsatisfactory  fragments  are  its  whole 
history.  The  very  ghost  of  Dumbledowndeary 
is  a  disappointment.  There  is  no  authenticated 
legend  of  a  spectre  in  a  white  sheet,  of  an 
apparition  carrying  its  head  under  its  arm — 
no  deaths'-heads,  no  cross-bones,  no  blood,  no 
groans.  Everybody  agrees,  though,  that  it  is 
haunted.  Mr.  Caps's  father-in-law  says  that 
there  were  "  noises  "  heard  in  the  year  '32. 
Mr.  Caps,  the  gamekeeper,  has  himself  heard 
"  noises."  "  Were  they  ghosts  ? "  we  ask, 
breathlessly.  Mr.  Caps  scratches  the  knee 
of  his  corduroys,  and  says  simply,  "  Poachers." 
Even  as  we  wait  for  his  answer,  a  pheasant 
gets  up  with  a  whirr,  near  us,  and  we  shudder. 

Mr.  Caps,  who  is  master  of  the  ceremonies 
pro  tern.,  has  the  key  of  the  haunted  mansion 
with  him,  and  we  enter.  We  pass  through 
room  after  room,  dark  and  sombre,  in  which 
our  lanterns  conjure  up  fantastic,  Eembrandt- 
like  effects.  We  see  the  gay  paper  torn  from 
the  walls,  and  the  flooring  gradually  yielding 
to  the  dry  rot — the  nests  which  the  jackdaws 
have  built  in  the  fire-places.  Now  and  then 
mine  host  punches  out  a  plank  from  the 
window  with  his  walking-stick,  and  shows  us 
a  glorious  view  of  the  country  side.  We 
descend  into  the  kitchens,  stumbling  over  a 
decapitated  rabbit  at  the  stair-head ;  we 
sigh  over  the  mighty  kitchen  range,  where 
the  mark  of  the  meat-jack  still  shows  on  the 
mantel-side  ;  we  peep  into  the  larder,  where 
the  ropes  to  which  the  joints  were  hung  still 
remain  ;  into  the  scullery,  the  deserted  wine- 
ellars,  the  bins  looking  like  the  shelves  in  a 
vault.  The  house  is  young  and  lusty,  and 
strongly  built — why  should  it  go  thus  to 
Jecay  'I  Mine  host  whispers  something 
xbout  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  and  the 
awyers,  and  the  long  minority  of  the  young 
ord.  So  we  extinguish  our  lanterns  in  the 
3ntrance-hall,  thinking  that  when  the  House 
s  occupied  again,  the  spell  may  be  taken  off 
Dumbledowndeary,  and  it  may  be  no  longer 
i  town  to  let. 

Small  as  the  commerce  of  Dumbledown- 
deary may  be,  it  is  amazingly  fertile,  and 
uccessful  in  one  respect — in  ghosts  !  There 
s  the  vaguely  haunted  house  to  begin  with, 
liere  is  Lady  Ruff ;  who,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
ies  in  marble  in  the  church,  but  who  was 
iccustomed  to  ride  nightly  (headless,  of 
ourse)  in  a  coach  and  four,  round  about 


ChRrle»  Dickens.] 


THE  SCHAH'S  ENGLISH  GAEDENEE. 


317 


Hollyhill  House.  All  the  navvies  saw  her 
while  making  the  railroad,  which  accounts  for 
their  obstinately  refusing  to  work  after  sun- 
down, and  drinking  till  past  two  in  the  morn- 
ing at  the  "Bull  and  Bagpipes."  Happily,  she 
is  laid  in  the  Eed  Sea  now,  the  Dumbledown- 
dearians  averring  that  it  took  thirteen  clergy- 
men to  perform  the  operation,  and  that  she  is 
laid  till  "  as  long  as  oaken  ash  grows." 
There  is  another  ghost,  by  the  way,  who  was 
,  only  laid  for  ten  years  and  a  day,  and,  as  his 
time  is  nearly  up,  may  be  expected  shortly. 
There  is  the  legend — which  no  true  Dumble- 
downdearian  dare  gainsay — of  a  demon 
chicken  always  running  before  you  at  night, 
which  you  may  fall  over,  twist  the  neck  of 
even,  occasionally,  but  which  still  continues 
to  run.  There  is  a  white  rabbit,  with  never 
a  head,  which  leaps  palings  in  an  astonishing 
manner.  There  was  "  Toby  Munns  afore  he 
was  drounded,"  who,  being  of  a  loose  and 
dissipated  habit,  met  his  mother  (dead  half-a- 
dozen  years  before)  "  full  butt "  in  the  back 
lane,  and,  going  on  board  his  barge,  said  to 
his  mate,  "  Bill,  I'm  done  ;  "  then,  going  up 
the  river  to  St.  Katherine's  Docks  with  a 
cargo  of  bricks,  was  "  drounded  "  accordingly. 
There  is  the  undoubtedly  true  legend  of  Jack 
Cripps  and  the  snake.  How  Jack  Cripps 
saw  the  snake  crawl  from  the  churchyard 
into  his  mother's  house  ;  how  it  changed  into 
a  cat,  and  jumped  out  of  the  window  ;  and 
how  Jack  Cripps  thereupon  went  "  off  his 
head,"  or  stark-staring  mad,  and  is  now  in 
a  lunatic  asylum  at  Barnardo  Heath,  which 
is  indeed  an  additional  confirmation  of  the 
story.  Teddy  Beadle,  the  bargee,  has  seen 
scores  of  ghosts  :  one,  that  unaccountably 
sunk  into  the  pavement  close  by  a  gas-lamp 
at  Woolwich  ;  one,  that  struck  three  distinct 
blows  on  his  shoulder  "  as  he  was  a  smoking 
his  pipe  aboard,  going  with  ashes  to  Peck- 
ham."  Teddy  Beadle  is,  indeed,  the  here- 
ditary ghost-seer  of  Dumbledowndeary.  None 
of  his  family  ever  "  died  in  their  bed,"  he  says, 
and  he  supposes  he  shan't.  "  Drounded  "  is 
the  lamentable  summary  of  all  his  an- 
cestors' careers. 


THE  SCHAH'S  ENGLISH  GAEDENEE. 


THE  facts  of  the  following  narration  were 
communicated  to  me  by  Mr.  Burton,  the 
head  gardener  at  Teddesley  Park,  in  Stafford- 
shire. I  had  previously  been  told  that  he  had 
been  for  a  year  or  two  in  the  service  of  the 
Schah  of  Persia,  which  induced  me  to  question 
him  concerning  the  motives  which  took  him 
so  far  from  England,  and  the  kind  of  life  which 
he  led  at  Teheran.  I  was  so  much  interested  in 
the  details  he  gave  me,  that  I  made  notes  at 
the  time,  which  have  enabled  me  to  draw  up 
the  following  account : — 

Mr.  Burton  is  a  fine-looking  healthy  man, 
in  the  prime  of  life,  whose  appearance  would 
announce  his  nation  all  the  world  over.  He 


had  completed  his  education  as  a  gardener  at 
Knight's,  when,  in  1848,  an  application  was 
made  to  him,  on  behalf  of  the  Schah  of  Persia, 
by  Colonel  Shell,  the  English  envoy  at  the 
court  of  Teheran,  who  proposed  to  Mr. 
Burton  that  he  should  return  to  Persia  with 
the  second  Persian  secretary  to  the  embassy,  j 
Mirza  Oosan  Koola,  and  take  charge  of  the 
Eoyal  Gardens  at  Teheran,  at  a  salary  of  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year,  with  rooms  provided 
for  him,  and  an  allowance  of  two  shillings 
a  day  for  the  food  of  himself  and  the  native  ser- 
vant whom  he  would  find  it  necessary  to 
employ.  This  prospect,  and  the  desire  which 
is  so  natural  to  young  men,  to  see  countries 
beyond  their  own,  led  Mr.  Burton  to  accept  the 
proposal.  The  Mirza  Oosan  Koola  and  he  left 
Southampton  on  the  twenty-ninth  of  Sep- 
tember, 1848,  and  went  by  steam  to  Constan- 
tinople. Thence  they  journeyed  without  ac- 
cident to  the  capital  of  Persia.  The  seat  of 
government  was  removed  to  Teheran  about 
seventy  years  ago,  when  the  Kujur  dynasty 
became  possessed  of  the  Persian  throne. 
Their  faction  was  predominant  in  the  North 
of  Persia,  and  they,  consequently,  felt  more 
secure  in  Teheran  than  in  the  ancient 
southern  capital.  Teheran  is  situated  in  the 
midst  of  a  wide  plain,  from  two  to  three 
hundred  miles  long,  which  has  a  most  dreary 
appearance,  being  totally  uncultivated,  and 
the  soil  of  which  is  a  light  kind  of  reddish 
loam,  that  becomes  pulverised  after  a  long 
continuance  of  dry  weather,  and  then  rises 
as  great  clouds  of  sand,  sometimes  even 
obscuring  the  sun  several  hours  in  a  day  for 
several  successive  days. 

Bad  news  awaited  Mr.  Burton  on  his  arrival 
at  Teheran.  The  Schah,  who  had  commis- 
sioned Colonel  Sheil  to  engage  an  English 
gardener,  was  dead.  His  successor  cared  little 
either  about  gardening  or  his  predecessor's 
engagements.  Colonel  Sheil  was  in  England. 
Mr.  Burton's  heart  sunk  a  little  within  him  ; 
but,  having  a  stout  English  spirit,  and  great 
faith  in  the  British  embassy,  he  insisted  on 
a  partial  fulfilment  of  the  contract.  Until 
this  negotiation  was  completed,  Mr.  Burton 
was  lodged  in  the  house  of  Mirza  Oosan 
Koola.  Mr.  Burton  was,  therefore,  for  a 
month,  a  member  of  a  Persian  household 
belonging  to  one  of  the  upper  middle  class. 

The  usual  mode  of  living  in  one  house 
seemed  pretty  nearly  the  same  in  all  that  fell 
under  the  range  of  Mr.  Burton's  observation. 
They  get  up  at  sunrise,  when  they  have  a 
cup  of  coffee.  The  few  hours  in  the  day  in 
which  the  Persians  condescend  to  labour  in 
any  way,  are  from  sunrise  until  seven  or  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  that,  the  heat 
becomes  so  intense  (frequently  one  hundred 
and  eight  or  one  hundred  and  nine  degrees  in 
the  shade)  that  all  keep  within  doors,  lying 
about  on  mats  in  passages  or  rooms.  At 
ten  they  have  their  first  substantial  meal ; 
which  consists  of  mutton  and  rice,  stewed 
together  in  a  rude  saucepan  over  a  charcoal 


318 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


fire,  built  out  of  doors.  Sometimes,  in  addition 
to  this  dish,  they  have  a  kind  of  soup,  or 
ler-meat"  (which  is  the  literal  translation 
of  the  Persian  name),  made  of  water,  mutton, 
onions,  parsley,  fowls,  rice,  dried  fruits, 
apricots,  almonds,  and  walnuts,  stewed 
together.  But  this,  as  we  may  guess  from 
the  multiplicity  of  the  ingredients,  was  a 
dainty  dish.  At  four  o'clock,  the  panting 
Persians,  nearly  worn  out  by  the  heat  of  the 
day,  take  a  cup  of  strongly  perfumed  tea, 
with  a  little  bitter-orange  juice  squeezed  into 
it  ;  and  after  this  tonic  they  recover  strength 
enough  to  smoke  and  lounge.  Dinner  was 
the  grand  meal  of  the  da}',  to  which  they 
invited  friends.  It  was  not  unlike  breakfast, 
but  was  preceded  by  a  dessert,  at  which  wine 
was  occasionally  introduced,  but  which  always 
consisted  of  melons  and  dried  fruits.  The 
dinner  was  brought  in  on  a  pewter  tray ; 
but  Mr.  Burton  remarked  that  the  pewter 
dishes  were  very  dingy.  A  piece  of  common 
print  was  spread  on  the  ground,  and  cakes  of 
bread  put  on  it.  They  had  no  spoons  for  the 
soup,  "water-meat,"  but  soaked  their  bread 
in  it,  or  curled  it  round  into  a  hollow  shape, 
and  fished  up  what  they  could  out  of  the 
abyss.  At  the  Mirza's  they  had  spoons  for 
the  sour  goat's  milk,  with  ice,  which  seemed 
to  be  one  of  their  delicacies.  The  ice  is  brought 
down  from  the  mountains,  and  sold  pretty 
cheaply  in  the  bazaars.  Sugar  and  salt  are 
eaten  together  with  this  iced  sour  goat's  milk. 
Smoking  narghilahs  beguiles  the  evening 
hours  very  pleasantly.  They  pluck  a  quantity 
of  rose-blossoms  and  put  them  into  the  water 
through  which  the  smoke  passes  ;  but  the 
roses  last  in  season  only  a  month.  Mirza 
Oosan  Koola  had  a  few  chairs  in  the  house 
for  the  use  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Embassy. 

At  last  the  negotiation  respecting  Mr. 
Burton's  engagement  was  ended.  His  friends 
at  the  Embassy  had  insisted  that  the  present 
Schah  should  install  him  in  the  office  of 
royal  gardener  at  the  salary  proposed  by  his 
predecessor.  Accordingly,  about  a  month 
after  his  arrival  at  Teheran,  he  took  pos- 
session of  two  rooms,  appropriated  to  his 
use,  in  the  garden  of  El  Kanai.  This 
garden  consisted  of  six  acres,  with  a  mud 
wall  all  round.  There  were  avenues  of  fruit 
trees  planted,  with  lucerne  growing  under 
them,  which  was  cut  for  the  food  of  the 
horses  in  the  royal  stable  ;  but  the  lucerne 
and  the  trees  gave  this  royal  garden  very 
much  the  aspect  of  an  English  orchard,  and 
must  have  been  a  very  disenchanting  prospect 
for  a  well-trained  gardener,  accustomed  to 
our  flower  beds,  and  vegetable  gardens.  The 
fruit  trees  were  apricots,  apples,  pears,  and 
cherries — the  latter  of  the  same  description 
as  ours,  but  finer  in  quality  ;  the  apricots 
were  of  a  kind  which  Mr.  Burton  had  never 
seen  before,  with  large  sweet  kernels.  He 
brought  some  of  the  stones  with  him  to 
England,  and  gave  them  to  his  old  master, 
Mr.  Knight,  if  this  square  plot  of  orchard- 


ground,  surrounded  by  a  mud-wall,  was  the 
cheerless  prospect  outside,  the  two  rooms 
which  Mr.  Burton  was  to  inhabit  were  not 
much  more  attractive.  Bare  of  all  fur- 
niture, with  floors  of  mud  and  chaff  beaten 
together,  they  did  not  even  contain  the  mats 
which  play  so  many  parts  in  Persian  houses. 
Mr.  Burton's  first  care  was  to  purchase  mats, 
and  hire  a  servant  to  market  and  cook  for 
him.  The  people  at  the  Embassy  sent  him 
the  various  bales  of  seeds,  roots,  and  imple- 
ments, which  he  had  brought  with  him  from 
England  ;  and  he  hoped  before  long  to  in- 
troduce some  improvements  into  Persian 
gardening  ;  so  little  did  he  as  yet  know  the 
nature  of  the  people  with  whom  he  had  to 
deal.  But  before  he  was  well  settled  in  his 
two  rooms,  while  he  was  yet  unpacking  his 
English  bales,  some  native  plasterers  told  him 
that,  outside  of  his  wooden  door  (which 
fastened  only  with  a  slight  chain),  six  men 
lay  in  wait  for  him  to  do  him  evil,  partly 
prompted  by  the  fact  of  his  being  a  foreigner, 
partly  in  hopes  of  obtaining  possession  of 
some  of  the  contents  of  these  bales. 

It  was  two  miles  to  the  Embassy,  and 
Mr.  Burton  was  without  a  friend  nearer  ;  his 
very  informants  would  not  stand  by  him,  but 
would  rather  rejoice  in  his  discomfiture.  But 
being  a  brave,  resolute  man,  he  picked 
out  a  scythe  from  among  his  English  im- 
plements, threw  open  the  door,  and  began 
to  address  the  six  men  (who,  sure  enough,  lay 
couched  near  the  entrance)  in  the  best  Persian 
he  could  muster.  His  Persian  eloquence,  or- 
possibly  the  sight  of  the  scythe  wielded  by  a 
stout,  resolute  man,  produced  the  desired 
effect :  the  six  men,  fortunately,  went  away, 
without  having  attacked  him,  for  any  effort 
at  self-defence  on  his  part  would  have 
strengthened  the  feeling  of  hostility  already 
strong  against  him.  Once  more  he  was  left 
in  quiet  to  unpack  his  goods,  with  such  shaded 
light  as  two  windows  covered  over  with  paper 
and  calico  could  give.  But  when  his  tools 
were  unpacked — tools  selected  with  such  care 
and  such  a  hoping  heart  in  England — who 
were  to  use  them  ?  The  men  appointed  as 
gardeners  under  him  would  not  work,  because 
they  were  never  paid.  If  Mr.  Burton  made 
them  work,  he  should  pay  them,  they  said. 
At  length  he  did  persuade  them  to  labour, 
during  the  hours  in  which  exertion  was 
possible,  even  to  a  native.  Mr.  Burton 
began  to  inquire  how  these  men  were  paid, 
or  if  their  story  was  true,  that  they  never 
were.  It  was  true  that  wages  for  labour 
done  for  the  Schah  were  most  irregularly 
given.  And  when  the  money  could  no  longer 
be  refused,  it  was  paid  in  the  form  of  bills 
upon  some  gate  to  a  town,  or  some  public 
bath,  a  hundred  or  a  hundred  and  twenty 
miles  away,  such  gates  and  baths  being  royal 
property.  Honest  payment  of  wages  being 
rare,  of  course  stealing  is  plentiful ;  and  it 
is  even  winked  at  by  the  royal  officers.  The 
gardeners  under  Mr.  Burton,  for  instance, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  SCHAH'S  ENGLISH  GARDENER 


would  gather  the  flowers  he  had  cherished 
with,  care,  and  present  them  to  any  chief  who 
came  into  the  Baugh-el-Kanai  ;  and  the  pre- 
sent they  received  in  turn  constituted  their  only 
means  of  livelihood.  Sometimes  Mr.  Burton 
was  the  sole  labourer  in  this  garden  ;  and  he 
had  the  charge  of  Baugh-el-Colleza,  twenty 
square  acres  in  size,  and  at  some  distance 
from  El  Kanai,  where  he  lived.  When  the 
hot  weather  came  on,  he  fell  ill  of  diarrhoea, 
and  for  three  months  lay  weary  and  ill  on  his 
mat,  unable  to  superintend,  if  there  had  been 
gardeners,  or  to  work  himself,  if  there  were 
none. 

After  he  recovered,  he  seems  to  have  been 
hopeless  of  doing  any  good  in  such  a  climate, 
and  among  such  a  people.  The  Schah  took 
little  interest  in  horticulture.  He  some- 
times came  into  the  gardens  of  El  Kanai  (in 
which  his  palace  was  situated),  and  would 
ask  some  questions,  through  an  interpreter, 
in  a  languid,  weary  kind  of  way.  Sometimes, 
when  Mr.  Burton  had  any  vegetables  ready, 
he  requested  leave  to  present  them  himself  to 
the  Schah  ;  when  this  was  accorded,  he  wove 
the  twigs  of  the  white  poplar  (the  tree  which 
most  abounded  on  the  great  barren  plain  sur- 
rounding Teheran),  and  filling  this  with 
lettuces,  or  peas,  or  similar  garden  produce, 
he  was  ushered  with  much  ceremony  into  one 
of  the  courts  ("  small  yards,"  as  Mr.  Burton 
once  irreverently  called  them)  belonging  to 
the  palace.  There,  in  a  kind  of  balcony  pro- 
jecting from  one  of  the  windows,  the  Schah  sat ; 
and  the  English  gardener,  without  shoes,  but 
with  the  lamb's-skin  "  fez  "  covering  his  head, 
bowed  low  three  times,  as  he  gave  up  his 
basket  to  be  handed  to  the  Schah.  Mr. 
Burton  did  not  perform  the  Persian  salaam, 
considering  such  a  slave-like  obeisance  un- 
befitting a  European.  The  Schah  received 
these  baskets  of  vegetables,  some  of  which 
were  new  to  him,  with  great  indifference,  not 
caring  to  ask  any  questions.  The  spirit  of 
curiosity,  however,  was  alive  in  the  harem, 
if  nowhere  else  ;  and  one  day  Mr.  Burton  was 
surprised  to  receive  a  command  to  go  and 
sow  some  annuals  in  one  of  the  courts  of  the 
harem,  for  such  was  the  Queen-mother's 
desire.  So,  taking  a  few  packets  of  common 
flower-seeds,  he  went  through  some  rooms  in 
the  palace  before  he  arrived  at  the  courts, 
which  open  one  out  of  another.  These  rooms 
Mr.  Burton  considered  as  little  better,  either 
in  size,  construction,  or  furniture,  than  his 
own  garden-dwelling ;  but  there  are  some 
apartments  in  this  royal  palace  which  are  said 
to  be  splendid  ;  one  lined  with  plate-glass,  and 
several  fitted  up  with  the  beautiful  painted 
windows  for  which  Persia  is  celebrated.  On 
entering  the  courts  belonging  to  the  harem, 
Mr.  Burton  found  himself  attended  by  three 
or  four  soldiers,  and  two  eunuchs — all  with 
drawn  swords,  which  they  made  a  little 
parade  of  holding  above  him,  rather  to  his 
amusement,  especially  as  he  seems  to  have 
had  occasional  glimpses  of  peeping  ladies,  who 


ought  rather  to  have  had  the  swords  held 
over  them.  Before  passing  from  one  yard  to 
another,  one  or  two  soldiers  would  precede 
him,  to  see  that  the  coast  was  clear.  *-And  if 
a  veiled  lady  chanced,  through  that  ignorance 
which  is  bliss  all  the  world  over,  to  come  into 
the  very  yard  where  he  was,  the  soldiers 
seized  him,  huddled  him  into  a  dark  corner, 
and  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  •  she,  mean- 
while, passing  through  under  the  cover  of  her 
servant's  large  cloak,  something  like  a  chicken 
peeping  from  under  the  wing  of  the  hen. 
Whatever  might  have  been  their  danger  from 
the  handsome  young  Englishman,  he,  at  least, 
was  not  particularly  attracted  by  their  appear- 
ance. The  utmost  praise  he  could  bestow 
was,  that  "  one  or  two  were  tolerably  good- 
looking  ; "  and,  on  being  pressed  for  details, 
he  said  that  those  ladies  of  the  harem  of 
whom  he  caught  a  glimpse  resembled  all  other 
Persian  women,  in  having  very  large  features, 
very  coarse  complexions,  with  large  eyes. 
They  (as  well  as  the  men)  paint  the  eyebrows, 
so  as  to  make  them  appear  to  meet.  They 
are  stout-made.  Such  were  the  observations 
which  Mr.  Burton  made,  as  he  was  passing 
through  the  yards,  or  courts,  which  led  into 
the  small  garden  where  he  was  to  sow  his 
flower-seeds.  Here  the  Queen-mother  sat  in 
a  projecting  balcony  ;  but  as  soon  as  she  saw 
the  stranger  she  drew  back.  She  is  about 
ihirty-five  years  of  age,  and  possesses  much 
influence  in  the  country  ;  which,  as  she  is  a 
cruel  and  ambitious  woman,  has  produced 
great  evils. 

One  day,  Mrs.  Shell's  maid,  who  had  accom- 
panied her  mistress  on  a  visit  to  the  ladies  in 
the  harem,  fell  in  with  a  Frenchwoman  who 
had  been  an  inhabitant  there  for  more  than 
twenty  years.  She  seemed  perfectly  con- 
tented with  her  situation,  and  had  no  wish  to 
exchange  it  for  any  other. 

Every  now  and  then  Mr.  Burton  sent  flowers 
to  the  harem ;  such  as  he  could  cultivate  in 
the  dry  hot  garden,  with  no  command  of 
labour.  Marvel  of  Peru,  African  marigolds, 
single  stocks,  and  violets  planted  along  the 
sides  of  the  walks  between  planes  and  poplars, 
were  the  flowers  he  gathered  to  form  his  nose- 
gays. But  all  gardening  was  weary  and 
dreary  work  ;  partly  owing  to  the  great  heat 
of  the  climate,  partly  to  the  scarcity  of  water, 
but  most  especially  because  there  was  no 
service  or  assistance  to  be  derived  from  any 
other  man.  The  men  appointed  to  assist  him 
grew  more  careless  and  lazy  than  ever  as  time 
rolled  on  ;  he  had  no  means  of  enforcing 
obedience,  or  attention,  and  if  he  had  had,  he 
would  not  have  dared  to  use  it,  and  so  to 
increase  the  odium  that  attached  to  him  as  a 
foreigner.  Moreover,  no  one  cared  whether 
the  gardens  flourished  or  decayed.  If  it  had 
not  been  for  the  kindness  of  some  of  the 
English  residents,  among  whom  he  especially 
mentioned  Mr.  Reade,  his  situation  would 
have  been  utterly  intolerable. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  external  life  of 


320 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  place  which  could  compensate  for  his 
individual  disappointment ;  at  least,  he  per- 
ceived nothing.  One  day,  in  crossing  the 
market-place,  he  saw  eight  men  lying  with 
their  heads  cut  off ;  executed  for  being 
religious  fanatics,  who  had  assumed  the  cha- 


racter of  prophets, 
were   six   men    put 


At  another  time,  there 
to    death    for    highway 


robbery ;  and  the  mode  of  death  was  full  of 
horror,  whatever  their  crimes  might  be.  They 
were  hung  head  downwards,  with  the  right 
arm  and  leg  cut  off ;  one  of  them  dragged  out 
life  in  this  state  for  three  days.  Even  the 
minor  punishments  are  cruel  and  vindictive, 
as  they  always  are  where  the  power  and 
execution  of  the  laws  is  uncertain.  One  of 
the  penalties  inflicted  for  slight  offences,  is 
to  have  a  string  passed  through  the  nostrils, 
and  be  led  for  three  successive  days  through 
the  bazaars  aud  market-places  by  a  crier, 
proclaiming  the  nature  of  his  misdemeanour. 
Blindness  is  very  common  ;  Mr.  Burton  has 
often  seen  six  or  eight  blind  men  walking  in 
a  string,  each  with  his  right  arm  on  the 
shoulder  of  his  precursor;  partly  caused  by 
ophthalmia  produced  by  the  dust,  and  partly 
because  the  Schah  has  it  in  his  power  to  inflict 
the  punishment  of  pulling  both  or  one  of  the 
eyes  out.  The  great-grandfather  of  the  pre- 
sent Schah,  Aga  Mohammed,  the  founder  of 
the  Kujur  dynasty,  had  large  baskets-full  of 
the  eyes  of  his  enemies  presented  to  him  after 
his  accession  to  the  throne. 

Let  us  change  the  subject  to  attar  of  roses  ; 
though  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not 
sweeten  the  memory  of  that  last  sentence. 
Attar  of  roses  is  made  and  sold  in  the  bazaars  ; 
the  rose  employed  is  the  common  single  pink, 
which  must  be  gathered  before  the  sudden 
rise  of  the  hot  sun  causes  the  dew  to  evaporate. 
By  the  side  of  the  attar  sellers  may  be  seen 
the  Jew,  selling  trinkets ;  the  Armenians 
(Christians  in  name,  and,  as  such,  bound  by 
no  laws  of  Mahomet),  selling  a  sweetish  red 
wine,  and  arrakee,  a  spirit  made  from  the 
refuse  of  grapes,  and  resembling  gin  ;  while 
through  the  bazaars  men  go,  having  leathern 
bags  on  their  backs  containing  bad,  dirty 
water,  and  a  lump  of  ice  in  a  basin,  into 
which  they  pour  out  draughts  for  their  cus- 
tomers. Ice  is  brought  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  sold  at  the  rate  of  a  large  lump  for 
two  or  three  pools — a  pool  being  a  small 
copper  coin,  of  which  thirty  make  one  koraun 
(silver),  value  eleven-pence  ;  and  ten  korauns 
make  one  tomaun,  a  gold  coin  of  the  value  of 
nine  shillings.  The  drinking-water  is  pro- 
cured from  open  drains,  or  from  tanks,  in 
which  all  the  washing  the  Persians  ever  give 
their  clothes  is  done.  They  use  no  soap  even  for 
shaving  ;  but  soapy  water  would  be  preferable 
to  the  vermin  which  float  on  the  surface  of 
the  beverage  obtained  from  these  sources. 
No  wonder  that  the  cholera  returns  every 
three  years,  and  is  a  fatal  scourge  ;  especially 
when  we  learn  that  the  doctors  and  barbers 


worth,    at    Teheran,    one    hundred 
apiece.     There  are  also  lamb's-skin 


two  professions  and  that  the  great  resource 
in  all  cases  of  illness  is  the  lancet. 

Besides  the  shops  in  the  bazaars,  where 
provisions  and  beverages  of  various  kinds  are 
sold,  there  are  others  for  silks,  carpets,  em- 
broidered pieces,  something  like  the  Indian 
shawls,  but  smaller  in  size,  and  purchased  by 
the  Europeans  for  waistcoats  ;  and  Cashmere 
shawls,  which  even  there,  and  not  always  new, 
bear  the  high  prices  of  from  fifty  pounds  to 
one  hundred  pounds.  Those  which  were  pre- 
sented to  the  ladies  of  the  Embassy  were 

pounds 
caps,  or 

fezes,  about  half  a  yard  high,  conical  in  shape, 
and  open,  or  crownless,  at  the  top ;  heavier 
than  a  hat,  but  much  cooler,  owing  to  the 
ventilation  produced  by  this  opening.  No 
Europeans  wear  hats,  except  one  or  two 
at  the  Embassy.  Cotton  materials  are  used 
for  dresses  by  the  common  people,  manufac- 
tured at  Teheran.  There  are  very  few  articles 
of  British  manufacture  sold  in  the  bazaars ; 
but  French,  German,  and  Russian  things 
abound.  A  fondness  for  watches  seems  to  be 
a  Persian  weakness ;  some  of  the  higher 
classes  will  wear  two  at  a  time,  like  the 
English  dandies  sixty  years  ago ;  and  some- 
times both  these  watches  will  be  in  the  state 
of  stand-still.  It  is  therefore  no  wonder 
that  a  little  German  watchmaker,  who  is 
settled  at  Teheran,  is  making  his  fortune. 
The  mode  of  reckoning  time  is  from  sunrise 
to  sunset — prayers  being  said  by  the  faithful 
before  each  of  these.  The  day  and  night  are 
each  divided  into  "  watches  "  of  three  hours 
long ;  subdividing  the  time  between  sunrise 
and  mid-day,  mid-day  and  sunset. 

Mr.  Burton  saw  little  of  the  religious  cere- 
monies of  the  Persians,  He  had  never  been 
inside  a  mosque  ;  but  had  seen  people  saying 
their  prayers  at  the  appointed  times  (at  the 
expiration  of  every  watch  through  the  day,  he 
believed),  on  raised  platforms,  erected  for  the 
purpose,  up  and  down  the  town.  The  form  of 
washing  the  hands  before  they  say  their 
prayers  is  gone  through  by  country-people  on 
the  dusty  plain,  using  soil  instead  of  water ; 
the  more  purifying  article  of  the  two,  one 
would  suppose,  after  hearing  Mr.  Burton's 
account  of  the  state  of  the  drains  and  tanks  in 
Teheran.  The  priests  are  recognised  by  the 
white  turbans  which  they  wear  as  a  class 
distinction  ;  and  our  English  gardener  does 
not  seem  to  have  come  in  contact  with  any  of 
them,  excepting  in  occasional  rencontres  in 
the  streets ;  where  the  women,  veiled  and 
shrouded,  shuffle  along — their  veils  being 
transparent  just  at  the  eyes,  so  as  to  enable 
them  to  see  without  being  seen  ;  while  their 
clumsy,  shapeless  mantles  effectually  prevent 
all  recognition  even  from  husband  or  father. 
The  higher  class  (the  wives  of  Mirzas,  or 
noblemen)  are  conveyed  in  a  kind  of  covered 
hand-barrow  from  place  to  place.  This  species 
of  rude  carriage  will  hold  two  ladies  sitting 


in  Teheran^  as  formerly  in  England,  unite  the  I  upright,  and  has  a  small  door  on  either  side  ; 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BEEAD  OF  LIFE. 


321 


it  is  propelled  by  one  mule  before  and  one 
behind. 

As  long  as  these  national  peculiarities  were 
novel  enough  to  excite  curiosity,  Mr.  Burton 
had  something  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  his 
life,  which  was  very  hopeless  in  the  horticul- 
tural line.  By-and-bye  it  sank  into  great 
sameness.  The  domestic  changes  were  of 
much  the  same  kind  as  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's 
migration  from  the  blue  bed  to  the  brown : 
for  three  or  four  months  in  the  hot  season,  Mr. 
Burton  conveyed  his  mat  up  the  mud  staircase 
which  led  from  his  apartments  through  a 
trap-door  on  to  the  flat  roof,  and  slept  there. 
When  the  hot  weather  was  over,  Mr.  Burton 
came  down  under  cover.  He  felt  himself 
becoming  utterly  weary  and  enervated  ;  and 
probably  wondered  less  than  he  had  done  on 
his  first  arrival  at  the  lazy  way  in  which  the 
natives  worked  :  sitting  down,  for  instance,  to 
build  a  wall.  Indifference,  which  their  religion 
may  dignify  in  some  things  into  fatalism, 
seemed  to  prevail  everywhere  and  in  every 
person.  They  ate  their  peas  and  beans  un- 
shelled,  rather  than  take  any  unnecessary 
trouble ;  a  piece  of  piggism  which  especially 
scandalised  him. 

Twice  in  the  year  there  were  great  religious 
festivals,  which  roused  the  whole  people  into 
animation  and  enthusiasm.  One  in  the 
spring  was  the  Noorooz,  when  a  kind  of 
miracle-play  was  acted  simultaneously  upon 
the  various  platforms  in  the  city ;  the  grandest 
representation  of  all  being  in  the  market- 
place, where  thirty  or  forty  thousand  attended. 
The  subject  of  this  play  is  the  death  of  the 
sons  of  Ali  ;  the  Persians  being  Sheeah,  or 
followers  of  Ali,  and,  as  such,  regarded  as 
schismatics  by  the  more  orthodox  Turks, 
who  do  not  believe  in  the  three  successors  of 
Mohammed.  This  "  mystery  "  is  admirably 
performed,  and  excites  the  Persians  to  passion- 
ate weeping.  A  Frank  ambassador  is  in- 
variably introduced,  who  comes  to  intercede 
for  the  sous  of  Ali.  This  is  the  tradition  of 
the  Persians  ;  and  although  not  corroborated 
by  any  European  legend,  it  is  so  faithfully 
believed  in  by  the  Persians,  that  it  has  long 
procured  for  the  Europeans  a  degree  of  kindly 
deference,  very  different  from  the  feeling  with 
which  they  are  regarded  by  the  Ali-hating 
Turks.  The  other  religious  festival  occurs  some 
time  in  August,  and  is  of  much  the  same  de- 
scription ;  some  event  (Mr.  Burton  believed  it 
was  the  death  of  Mohammed)  being  drama- 
tised, and  acted  in  all  the  open  public  places. 
The  weeping  and  wailing  are  as  general  at 
this  representation  as  the  other.  Mr.  Burton 
himself  said,  "  he  was  so  cut  up  by  it  he  could 
not  help  crying ;"  and  excused  himself  for  what 
he  evidently  considered  a  weakness,  by  saying 
that  everybody  there  was  doing  the  same. 

Sometimes  the  Schah  rode  abroad  ;  he  and 
his  immediate  attendants  were  well  mounted  ; 
but  behind,  around,  came  a  rabble  rout  to  the 
number  of  one,  two,  or  even  three  thousand, 
on  broken-down  horses,  on  mules,  on  beggarly 


donkeys,  or  running  on  foot,  their  rags  waving 
in  the  wind,  everybody,  anybody,  anyhow. 
The  soldiers  in  attendance  did  not  contribute 
to  the  regularity  or  uniformity  of  the  scene,  as 
there  is  no  regulation  height,  and  the  dwarf  of 
four  feet  ten  jostles  his  brother  in  arms  who 
towers  above  him  at  the  stature  of  six  feet  six. 

In  strange  contrast  with  this  wild  tumult 
and  disorderly  crowd  must  be  one  of  the 
Schah's  amusements,  which  consists  in  listening 
to  Mr.  Burgess  (the  appointed  English  inter- 
preter), who  translates  the  Times,  Illustrated 
News,  and,  occasionally,  English  books,  for 
the  pleasure  of  the  Schah.  One  wonders  what 
ideas  certain  words  convey,  representative  of 
the  order  and  uniform  regularity  of  England. 

In  October,  1849,  Colonel  Shiel  returned  to 
Teheran,  after  his  sojourn  in  England  ;  and 
soon  afterwards  it  was  arranged  that  Mr. 
Burton  should  leave  Persia,  and  shorten  his 
time  of  engagement  to  the  Schah  by  one-half. 
Accordingly,  as  soon  as  he  had  completed  a 
year  in  Teheran,  he  began  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  returning  to  Europe  ;  and  about 
March,  1850,  he  arrived  at  Constantinople, 
where  he  remained  another  twelvemonth. 
The  remembrance  of  Mr.  Burton's  Oriental 
life  must  be  in  strange  contrast  to  the 
regular,  well-ordered  comfort  of  his  present 
existence. 


BEEAD  OF  LIFE. 

ALBEIT  for  lack  of  bread  we  die, 

Die  in  a  hundred  nameless  ways — 
'Tis  not  for  bread  alone  we  cry, 

In  these  our  later  days. 

It  is  not  fit  that  man  should  spend 

His  strength  of  frame,  his  length  of  years, 

In  toiling  for  that  daily  end — 
Mere  bread,  oft  wet  with  tears. 

That  is  not  wholly  good  or  gain 

Which  seals  the  mind  and  sears  the  heart> 
The  life-long  labour  to  sustain 

Man's  perishable  part. 

His  is  the  need,  and  his  the  right 

Of  leisure,  free  from  harsh  control, 
That  he  may  seek  for  mental  light, 

And  cultivate  his  soul ; 

Leisure  to  foster  into  bloom 

Affections  struggling  to  expand  ; 
So  shall  his  thought,  with  ampler  room, 

Improve  his  skill  of  hand. 

And  he  should  look  with  reverent  eyes, 
Sometimes,  on  Nature's  open  page  ; 

Not  solely  are  the  wondrous  skies 
For  school-man  and  for  sage. 

Earth's  flower-hues  blush,  heav'n's  star-lights  burn, 

Not  only  for  the  happy  few  ; 
To  them  the  toiling  man  should  turn, 

For  lofty  pleasure,  too. 

But  if  ye  take  his  blood  for  bread, 
And  drive  him  in  one  dreary  round, 

Since  he  and  his  must  needs  be  fed, 
Ye  crush  him  to  the  ground. 


322 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


IConducted  by 


His  mind  can  grow  no  soaring  wing, 
Ills  heart  can  feel  no  goii-TMi 

Yn  make  of  him  that  wretched  thing — 
A  slave,  and  yet  a  foe. 


THE  WIDOW  OF  SIXTEEN. 


MADAME  DE  BUFFON,  niece  of  Daubenton 
raid  widow  of  the  only  son  of  the  greal 
naturalist,  is  just  now  dead — so  the  news- 
papers of  the  day  announce — at  her  country 
seat  of  Montbard,  in  Bui-gundy.  Until 
the  railway  from  Paris  to  Dijon  was  pro- 
jected, few  persons,  even  in  France,  knew 
more  of  Montbard  than  its  name  ;  and  as  the 
French,  up  to  a  very  recent  date,  were 
singularly  ignorant  of  the  situation  of  any 
place  removed  from  the  capital,  they  troubled 
their  heads  but  little  to  ascertain  the  where- 
about of  the  shabby  village-town  where  the 
illustrious  Buffon  was  born,  and  where  he 
died.  It  is  different  now  ;  for  Montbard,  as 
well  as  Tonnerre,  has  a  railway  station,  and 
its,  name  is  shouted  out  by  the  zealous  officers 
of  the  great  Dijon  line  ;  whence  the  pretty 
spire  of  the  rural  church,  and  the  majestic 
form  of  the  Great  Tower  de  1'Aubespin  can 
be  plainly  seen.  The  stranger's  curiosity  is 
excited,  when  he  hears  that  the  huge  building, 
apparently  uninjured  by  time,  which  peers 
haughtily  over  the  surrounding  country  from 
the  height  of  its  woody  hill,  stands  in  the 
grounds  of  the  house  where  Buffon  the  natu- 
ralist formerly  lived. 

It  has  fallen  in  my  way  to  visit  this  spot 
three  several  times.  The  first  time  I  came 
upon  it  was  during  a  rambling  excursion 
through  Champagne  and  Burgundy,  before  I 
reached  Auvergne,  which  was  my  destination ; 
My  reason  for  turning  out  of  the  road  was 
rather  a  sentimental  one.  A  friend  in  England 
had  related  to  me  a  history  of  her  acquaintance 
with  the  niece  of  Daubenton,  the  great  na- 
turalist and  comparative  anatomist,  whose 
fame  is  only  eclipsed  by  that  of  his  colla- 
borator. 

My  friend  was  sent,  when  just  emerging 
into  womanhood,  with  two  sisters  to  Paris, 
to  be  placed  under  the  care  of  Madame 
Daubenton,  the  sister-in-law  of  the  natu- 
ralist, who,  being  a  widow  in  indifferent 
circumstances,  was  not  sorry  to  accept  the 
charge  of  a  few  English  girls,  belonging  to  a 
rich  family,  to  be  educated  with  her  own 
daughter  Betsy.  A  strict  friendship  sprung 
up  between  my  friend  and  the  pretty,  round, 
rosy,  cheerful,  and  affectionate  little  girl,  who 
learned  English  readily  "  from  lips  that  she 
loved,"  and  imparted  in  return  her  own 
animated  accent  to  the  French  of  her  "  dear 
Sophy."  When  the  time  came  for  them  to 
part,  both  being  then  about  fifteen,  little 
love  tokens  were  exchanged  amidst  their 
tears  ;  and  the  then  broad  ocean,  unknown 
to  narrowing  steam,  separated  them.  The 
marriages  of  Sophy  and  Betsy  took  place 
almost  immediately  after ;  the  latter  had  be- 


come the  bride  of  young  de  Buffon.  Then 
came,  before  she  had  been  a  wife  a  twi 
mouth,  the  terrible  consequences  of  several 
ages  of  oppression  and  misrule;  Buffon 
himself  did  not  see  the  Eevolution,  and  the 
young  couple  were  living  tranquilly  in  their 
charming  and  happy  country-house  at  Mont- 
bard, when  the  Eeign  of  Terror  burst  upon 
them.  In  the  madness  and  confusion  of  the 
time,  the  friends  of  humanity  suffered  alike 
with  tyrants,  and  the  young  bridegroom  was 
torn  from  his  home  and  dragged  to  the  guillo- 
tine. Poor  Betsy  was  also  destined  to  suffer, 
and  had  already  gone  through  hardships  and 
terrors  which  might  appall  the  most  cou- 
rageous ;  had  lain  in  damp  dungeons,  been 
exposed  whole  nights  in  a  cart  full  of  con- 
demned prisoners,  and  had  given  up  all  but 
the  hope  of  rejoining  her  husband,  when  a  turn 
of  the  wheel  set  her  free. 

After  a  time,  the  widow  of  sixteen  regained 
part  of  her  property  and  returned  to  Mont- 
bard, where  little  remained  that  had  formerly 
adorned  her  home,  except  one  room,  the  walla 
of  which  were  covered  with  coloured  drawings 
of  birds,  executed  under  the  eye  of  the  great 
Buffon  himself — the  originals  of  those  engra- 
vings published  in  his  great  work.  These  liad 
been  condemned  to  add  to  the  bonfire  which, 
kindled  in  the  market-place  of  Montbard,  had 
devoured  almost  all  the  carved  chairs,  tables, 
and  curious  cabinets  with  their  contents, 
which  had  belonged  to  the  chateau  ;  but, 
luckily,  it  was  difficult  to  get  these  feathered 
friends  from  the  walls,  and  delay  saved  them. 

Here,  till  her  seventy-seventh  year,  suffering 
in  health  and  sight  in  consequence  of  the 
treatment  she  had  experienced,  lived  Bets 
de  Buffon,  as  far  as  her  slender  means 
allowed,  the  Lady  Bountiful  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

Once,  twenty  years  ago,  the  friends  met  in 
Paris.  I  was  charged,  many  years  after  that, 
not  to  pass  Montbard  without  paying  a  visit, 
and  bearing  a  portrait  of  her  beloved  Sophy 
to  the  Countess.  My  welcome  was  the 
warmer  for  my  errand,  and  as  a  surprise  to 
tier  friend  I  sketched  the  likeness  of  Betsy  ; 
who,  even  at  her  advanced  age  still  retained 
much  of  her  former  beauty,  and  whose  ancient 
lieerfuluess  was  renewed  while  she  told  me 
stories  of  her  days  of  childhood. 

"  See  here,"  she  said,  opening  a  little  ca- 
binet ;  "  look  at  this  relic,  and  tell  my  Sophy 
low  faithful  to  our  childhood  I  have  been 
throughout  my  life.  I  shall  never  part  with 
;his  little  needle-case  and  these  small  drawings, 
;iven  me  when  we  first  parted,  by  Sophy  and 
icr  sisters." 

When  I  considered  that  the  minute  red 
norocco,  old-fashioned  article  she  prized  so 
much,  must  have  been  preserved  from 
tillage,  and  fire,  and  blood,  and  ruin  of 
ill  kinds,  I  could  not  but  look  with 
reverence  on  the  little  old  lady  -whose 
ier  heart  had  been  able  to  keep  an  early 
friendship  so  long  warm  and  glowing.  Betsy 


Charle«  Dickens.] 


THE  WIDOW  OF  SIXTEEN. 


323 


delighted  in  speaking  English,  and  was  not 
a  little  proud  to  show  off  that  accomplish- 
ment in  her  circle,  where  not  a  word  but 
pure  Burguudiau  was  understood.  She  had 
forgotten  almost  all  she  had  ever  known  of 
our  language  ;  but,  the  few  sentences  she  spoke 
were  in  an  almost  perfect  accent,  and  so  nearly 
in  the  tone  of  her  friend  Sophy,  as  to  be 
startling  to  my  ear.  I  indulged  her  in  the 
notion  that  she  had  lost  none  of  her  former 
facility,  and  never  reminded  her  of  the  fact 
that  the  greatest  part  of  her  words  were 
French,  as  she  ran  on  laughing  and  talking  to 
the  amazement  of  her  friends. 

"  How  well  she  must  speak  !"  exclaimed 
one  of  the  demoiselles  Bussy,  as  the  two  an- 
tiquated sisters,  her  especial  favourites  and 
frequent  visitors,  sat  elevating  their  hands  at 
her  prowess — "  how  very  well !  I  declare  it 
seems  to  me  that  even  I  understand  half  she 
says  ;  after  all,  English  is  not  such  a  barbarous 
jargon  when  Betsy  speaks  it !  " 

These  ladies,  who  were  so  impressed  with 
respect  for  her  acquirements,  lived  in  the 
village,  and  spent  every  evening  of  their  lives 
at  the  chateau  ;  possessing  the  key  of  a  certain 
garden  gate,  which  admitted  them  without 
question  or  trouble  to  the  terrace  on  to  which 
the  drawing-room  opened.  The  fourth  hand 
at  the  invariable  "  whisk,"  in  which  Betsey 
delighted,  and  without  which  she  could  not 
have  slept,  was  supplied  by  Doctor  Le  Franc, 
who,  as  regularly  as  the  time  came,  entered 
also  unannounced,  and  took  his  seat  at  the 
table.  The  Doctor  had  lived  all  his  life  at 
Montbard,  and  had  never  found  time  to  leave 
the  province.  What  he  may  or  might  have 
been  induced  to  do  when  the  then  dreaded  rail- 
road cut  up  his  native  valley,  I  know  not ; 
but,  if  he  be  still  living,  he  can  run  up  to 
Paris  once  a  week  without  the  inconvenience 
that  a  journey  to  Dijon,  the  only  metropolis  he 
knew,  used  to  cause  him. 

The  Doctor  was  almost  the  only  eligible 
single  man  to  be  found  in  that  secluded 
region  ;  and  report  said — indeed  the  Countess 
with  numerous  sly  winks  and  nods  herself 
hinted  to  me — that  there  was  some  truth 
in  the  rumour  that  Mademoiselle  Clorinde 
Bussy  had  laid  siege  to  his  heart  for  at 
least  forty  years.  Why  it  had  been  in 
vain  I  afterwards  conjectured — but  if  my 
suspicions  were  true,  the  ambitious  aspirings 
of  the  good  and  obedient  doctor  had  been 
forced  to  subdue  themselves  into  the  purest 
platonism.  Beyond  these  guests  the  widow 
had  no  society  ;  and  her  infirmities  rendering 
it  impossible  for  her  to  enjoy  the  beautiful 
hanging  gardens  of  her  domain — which  almost 
exclusively  belonged  to  the  peasantry  and  the 
towns-people — she  seldom  left  the  house 
«xce'pt  for  her  yearly  visit  to  the  capital, 
where  she  always  passed  the  winter — Mont- 
•bard  being  too  damp  a  residence.  In  fact  the 
situation  of  the  house  is  peculiar.  It  stands  at 
the  foot  of  a  very  high  hill,  the  chief  entrance 
being  in  the  street  of  the  slovenly  little  ragged 


town ;  behind  it,  a  well-like  court  is  sur- 
rounded by  wings  on  three  sides,  and  the 
mountain  rises  sheer  from  a  lofty  terrace,  the 
first  of  several  which  reach  to  the  summit, 
crowned  with  the  fine  old  tower  and  a  few 
walls  of  the  ancient  feudal  castle  that  once 
occupied  the  site.  Buffon  laid  out  the  whole 
of  these  charming  gardens  himself,  and  was 
the  first  to  throw  them  open  for  the  conveni- 
ence of  the  townspeople  ;  a  custom  continued 
to  the  end  by  the  Countess  Betsy. 

The  benevolent  naturalist  had  first  con- 
ceived the  idea.of  thus  beautifying  his  ground 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  employment  to  the 
people:  many  hundreds  of  whom  derived  their 
support  from  the  works  which  he  watched 
and  directed  with  extreme  interest.  He  fitted 
up  a  part  of  the  old  tower  as  a  study ;  and 
there,  most  of  his  great  labours  were  carried 
on.  At  the  revolution  his  chair  and  table  were 
burnt  ;  and,  some  feeling  not  to  be  conquered, 
prevented  his  daughter-in-law  from  ever  re- 
furnishing "  Buffon's  study,"  although  the  bare 
walls  are  still  one  of  the  lions  of  the  place. 

Scarcely  a  week  passed  without  the  gai'dens 
of  Montbard  being  enlivened  by  a  fete  of 
some  kind.  Before  her  infirm  health  obliged 
her  to  relinquish  the  custom,  it  was  usual  for 
Madame  de  Buffon  to  sit  out  on  the  first 
terrace  in  an  easy  chair  and  witness  the 
gaieties ;  but,  of  late  years,  she  had  discon- 
tinued to  do  so,  and  sometimes,  from  her 
windows,  looked  out  at  the  lively  parties 
who  made  her  grounds  their  own,  and  whose 
hilarity  and  pleasure  she  enjoyed  as  much 
as  they.  I  saw  several  wedding  processions 
ascend  the  numerous  steps  to  the  terraces ; 
and  very  gay  and  bright  all  the  peasants  in. 
their  finery  looked,  as  they  went  laughingly 
along,  preceded  by  their  violin,  scattering 
themselves  in  groups  amongst  the  orange 
trees  and  flowering  shrubs,  with  which  the 
garden  walks  are  bordered,  in  the  usual 
formal  style  of  French  gardening  taste.  When 
these  parties  reached  the  solitary  spot  where 
the  antique  tower  rears  its  giant  height 
amongst  the  huge  grey  rocks,  of  which  it 
seems  a  part,  they  unpacked  their  pic-nic 
baskets,  uncorked  their  bottles,  and  regaled 
themselves  at  their  leisure  ;  after  which  they 
danced  on  the  green  sward  shaded  by  the 
fine  trees,  beneath  the  castle  walls. 

Every  Sunday  the  gardens  are  filled  with 
the  residents  of  the  town  and  its  vicinity ; 
and  the  Countess  used  to  ask,  with  great 
interest,  how  many  had  come  to  visit  her  from 
week  to  week.  When  stray  travellers  ap- 
peared, which  was  not  unusual,  they  wrote 
their  names  in  a  book  in  the  porter's  lodge, 
and  then  it  was  that  the  eloquence  of  the 
female  gardener,  who  had  chief  charge  of,  and 
who  exhibited  and  boasted  of  the  flower 
gardens,  came  into  notice.  This  functionary 
is  the  daughter  of  the  worthy  likeness  of 
Adam  wholived  there  in  the  time  of  Buffon 
himself,  and  who  died  at  the  age  of  ninety : 
she  apologizes  for  a  good  deal  of  slovenliness 


324 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


by  observing  that  she  has  not  hands  enough 
to  do  the  parterres  justice,  and  is  very  jealous 
of  the  personage  who  has  charge  of  the 
kitchen  garden,  on  which  all  the  care  of  the 
establishment  is  showered,  the  truth  being, 
that  part  of  the  revenue  of  the  chateau  de- 
pends on  its  cultivation  and  productiveness. 
The  fruit  is  certainly  magnificent  here  ;  the 
peaches  in  particular  being  of  an  incredible 
size,  and  the  flavour,  as  well  as  the  aspect  of 
the  grapes,  admirable. 

Of  all  the  statues,  monuments,  fountains, 
and  ornamental  buildings,  which  the  taste  of 
Buffon  erected  in  his  favourite  bowers  and 
groves,  nothing  remains  but  a  simple  column, 
which  the  filial  attention  of  his  son  raised 
close  to  the  study  of  the  naturalist,  once,  on 
occasion  of  his  absence  from  home.  The 
widowed  Betsy  never  failed  to  ask  all  visitors, 
if  they  had  observed  that  memorial,  which 
she  had  caused  to  be  re-erected,  after  it  had 
been  thrown  down  by  the  unthinking  rabble, 
to  whose  love  of  destruction  the  chateau  and 
grounds  had  been  given  up  as  a  prey. 

The  death  of  the  widow  will  probably 
change  everything  at  Montbard  :  as  she  has 
no  direct  heirs,  the  house  and  grounds  will 
perhaps  be  sold,  and  the  estate  divided.  It 
would  take  a  good  deal  of  trouble  to  destroy 
the  old  tower  which,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  be 
left  as  a  point  of  view  from  the  railroad,  and, 
as  it  could  not  serve  any  utilitarian  purpose, 
there  is  no  reason  why  it  should  not  be 
left  to  its  own  reflections  of  the  mutability 
of  things ;  for  the  grand  old  ruin  has  seen 
a  variety  of  changes,  since  Eoman  brick 
and  mortar  were  employed  to  seat  it  so 
firmly  on  the  rock  in  which  it  is  embedded. 
The  lords  of  Montbard,  who  looked  out 
from  its  loopholes,  were  some  of  the  most 
powerful  of  their  time,  and  served  their 
sovereign  masters,  the  Dukes  of  Burgundy,  in 
many  a  war,  regardless  of  the  will  of  the 
vassals  whose  arms  and  lives  were  their  pro- 
perty to  do  what  they  pleased  with.  One  of 
them,  a  certain  Hugues  the  Fourth,  was,  in 
the  thirteenth  century,  a  great  benefactor  to 
his  native  town,  reserving  for  himself,  in 
consequence  of  want  of  money — an  excuse 
acknowledged  in  all  ages  —  fifteen  days' 
credit  with  the  bankers  and  wine  merchants, 
beyond  which  time  they  were  not  bound 
to  supply  him,  until  he  had  paid  his  debts. 
How  many  of  his  tradespeople  disputed 
their  rights  with  a  lord  who  lived  in  such  a 
domicile,  is  not  recorded  ;  but  it  would  have 
been  rather  an  imprudent  act  to  send 
up  the  bill  too  often  to  a  spot,  whence  not 
only  a  precipice  descended,  but  where  nu- 
merous dungeons  completed  the  architecture. 
Philip  the  Bold,  of  Burgundy,  lived  occa- 
sionally in  this  castle,  and  there  received  his 
bride,  the'  mother  of  his  violent  son,  Charles 
the  Rash,  whose  frantic  ambition  an  army  of 
Swiss  peasants  put  an  end  to — scattering  his 
jewels  beneath  the  wheels  of  their  rough 
waggons,  and  cutting  up  his  golden  tapestry 


into  aprons  for  their  wives.  Henry  the  Fourth 
besieged  Montbard  and  took  it,  and  here  he 
drank  confusion  to  the  League,  in  some  of  the 
best  wines  of  the  best  wine  district  in  France. 
The  modern  hero  of  the  village  is  doubtless 
the  barber.  In  his  old  age  he  boasted  to  me 
that,  on  one  memorable  morning,  he  shaved 
before  breakfast,  the  chins  of  "  three  men  ca- 
pable of  ruling  a  world  " — Buifon,  Rousseau, 
and  Voltaire  !  Rousseau,  who  had  been  invited 
by  the  master  of  the  chateau  to  meet  his  great 
rival,  in  the  hope  that  the  two  spirits  would  be- 
come reconciled,  was  seized,  on  that  occasion, 
with  a  fit  of  sentimental  enthusiasm  as  he  was 
conducted  to  the  study  in  the  grove,  where 
his  host  was  wont  to  write,  and,  prostrating 
himself  on  the  threshold,  kissed  the  steps 
which  so  often  gave  support  to  his  feet. 

"  What  a  pity  a  man  of  such  exquisite  notions 
Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling,  my 
dear ! " 

Both  the  Countess  Betsy  and  her  beloved 
Sophy  are  no  more ;  and  the  episode  of  this 
friendship  between  the  English  and  French 
woman  is  at  an  end.  Two  more  amiable, 
faithful,  and  true-hearted  beings  never  ex- 
isted. The  memory  of  their  virtues  should 
add  another  charm  to  the  locality. 

CHIPS. 


HIGHLAND    EMIGRATION. 

IN  alluding  to  the  special  instance  of  the 
Isle  of  Skye,  we  have  already  called  attention 
to  the  subject  of  emigration  from  the  High- 
lands and  Islands  of  Scotland.  That  families 
should  hunger  on  one  side  of  the  world,  while 
on  the  other  side  mutton  for  want  of  mouths 
goes  to  the  tallow-boiler,  is  an  absurd  fact  in 
social  economy.  On  one  side  of  the  world 
men  cry  for  labour,  and  on  the  other  side  men 
cry  for  labourers.  The  work  cannot  come  to 
the  workmen  by  the  very  nature  of  the  case  ; 
and  the  workmen,  starving  here,  cannot  get 
over  to  the  work  without  assistance.  In  our 
present  modes  of  furnishing  assistance  of  this 
kind,  there  are  many  things  fairly  calculated 
to  excite  discussion,  but  while  we  are  talking 
we  need  not  be  idle  :  we  may  keep  our  hands 
employed.  Whatever  ought  to  be  done  by 
the  mother  country,  and  whatever  ought  to 
be  done  by  the  colonies,  whatever  ought  to 
be  done  by  the  government,  and  whatever 
ought  to  be  done  by  private  enterprise,  it  is 
quite  certain  that  there  now  exists  among  us 
a  great  deal  of  wretchedness  that  will  con- 
tinue to  be  wretchedness  for  years  to  come  if 
private  energies  be  not  exerted. 

In  the  Scotch  Highland  and  Island  districts 
the  breaking  down  of  the  system  of  srmdl 
holdings,  and  the  failure  of  potato  cultivation, 
have  left  a  large  part  of  the  population  in  a 
destitute  condition,  dependent  upon  charitable 
gifts  during  a  considerable  part  of  the  year, 
or  hungrily  searching  for  cockles  on  the  shore. 
With  strong  predilection  and  complete  fitness 


Charles  Dickens.] 


DARKNESS  IN  DEVONSHIRE. 


325 


for  a  pastoral  life,  these  people  are  the  very 
men  and  women  needed — and  most  needed  at 
the  present  hour — in  our  Australian  colonies. 
Gold  diggings  would  scarcely  tempt  them  from 
the  charge  of  cattle  ;  they  are  strongly  at- 
tached to  their  homes  and  families,  are  not 
people  of  gregarious  habits  otherwise,  and 
know  little  or  nothing  of  English.  To  assist 
them  in  conveying  themselves,  with  their 
own  free  will,  accompanied  by  their  families, 
to  a  scene  of  life-long  activity  and  comfort, 
is  a  work  commenced  by  Scotchmen  in  the 
afflicted  districts,  which  has  of  late  met  with 
a  great  deal  of  co-operation  in  this  country. 

A  "  Society  for  Assisting  Emigration  from 
the  Highlands  and  Islands  of  Scotland,"  has 
recently  obtained  the  patronage  of  the  Prince 
Consort,  and  looks  abroad  for  general  support. 
It  will  promote,  as  much  as  possible,  the  emi- 
gration of  entire  families,  in  accordance  with 
the  rules  of  the  Colonial  Land  and  Emigration 
Commissioners.  Requiring,  in  the  first  place, 
that  each  emigrant  who  asks  for  aid,  shall 
assist  himself  to  the  full  extent  of  his  avail- 
able resources,  the  Society  proposes  then  to 
advance,  as  a  loan,  the  sum  that  may  be 
necessary  for  the  outfit  and  deposit  stipu- 
lated for  by  the  Commissioners — who  de- 
fray other  expenses  of  the  passage,  justly  or 
unjustly,  from  colonial  funds.  One-third 
of  the  amount  lent  to  each  emigrant  will  be 
expected  to  come  from  the  owner  or  trustees 
of  the  property  vacated.  The  money  repaid 
by  the  emigrant,  after  he  shall  have  settled 
prosperously  in  Australia,  will  be  spent  in 
assisting  others  to  pass  over.  Any  emigrant, 
when  he  shall  have  repaid  the  whole  of  the 
amount  borrowed  from  the  Society,  will  be 
entitled  to  claim  priority  of  assistance  for  one 
friend  at  home,  whom  he  may  name. 

When  the  surplus  population  of  the  High- 
lands shall  have  been  quietly  settled  in 
Australia,  and  live,  for  their  own  part, 

"From  the  dark  chambers  of  dejection  freed, 
Spurning  the  unprofitable  yoke  of  cave," 

they  who  remain  behind  may  live  al  peace  in 
districts  that  suffice  for  their  support.  At 
present  there  is  in  the  north  of  Scotland  a 
great  multitude  sitting  down  on  the  grass  and 
waiting  in  vain  to  be  fed  with  the  five  loaves 
and  two  fishes  that  belong  to  them  in  their 
own  right.  They  satisfy  their  cravings  upon 
garbage,  or  they  eat  bread  from  charitable 
hands,  when,  if  they  could  but  cross  to  the 
other  side  of  the  water,  from  which  they  are 
so  eagerly  beckoned,  each  man  might  be  lord 
of  his  own  pantry.  To  step  across  the  pool, 
however,  these  men  need  a  bridge — just  such 
a  bridge,  in  fact,  as  that  which  is  now  being 
built  under  the  name  of  the  Highland  and 
Island  Emigration  Fund. 


DARKNESS  IN  DEVONSHIRE. 
OUR    Devonshire   is    a   delightful   county. 
At  rest  after  a  day's  shooting  in  the  cottage 
of  a  labourer,  the   eldest  girl  being  at  her 


lace-pill  (so  they  call  lace-pillow),  I  asked) 
"How  many  of  you  are  there,  Mary?" 
"  Five  of  us  children,  sir,  besides  father  and 
mother."  "  What  are  your  father's  wages  1 " 
"  Seven  shillings  a  week ;  but  he  pays  a 
shilling  a  week  to  the  farmer  for  this 
cottage,  and  he  is  obliged  to  buy  his  wheat 
of  him  at  six  shillings  a  bushel,"  (the  price 
at  the  time  was  under  five  shillings,)  "  and 
we  eats  a  matter  of  three  peck  a  week. 
I  gets  eighteenpence  a  week  at  my  lace-pill, 
that  is,  I  get  sugar  and  butter  ;  for  if  they 
pay  me  in  money  they  expect  seven  penny- 
worth of  lace  for  sixpence,  and  fourteen  penny- 
worth of  lace  for  a  shilling."  Will  anybody 
by  a  process  of  arithmetic  discover  how  much 
labourers  in  Devonshire  are  able  to  expend  on 
education  ? 

The  sun  is  very  bright  in  Devonshire  upon 
our  leaves  and  flowers.  Our  myrtles  flower, 
and  our  magnolias  climb  to  the  house-top,  but 
our  human  minds — nothing  enlightens  them, 
they  do  not  flower,  they  do  not  rise  above  the 
level  of  the  dust.  There  are  to  be  found 
amongst  us  even  farmers,  paying  rent  at  the 
rate  of  three  or  four  hundred  a  year,  who  cannot 
spell  or  write,  better  than  dogs  or  horses  can, 
the  names  to  which  they  answer.  There  is 
among  us  much  vague  religious  feeling,  and 
that,  added  to  ignorance,  makes  superstition. 
Nothing  is  more  common  here  than  to  con- 
sult the  White  Witch  when  a  sheep  or  a  spoon 
has  vanished ;  assaults  against  some  poor  old 
woman  who  has  been  suspected  of  Black 
witchcraft  are  of  continual  occurrence.  I 
speak  advisedly,  as  one  who,  being  a  magis- 
trate, has  for  twenty  years,  had  the  best 
means  of  becoming  acquainted  with  these 
things. 

"  If  your  Honour  please,  will  you  see  me 
righted,"  said  a  feeble  crone.  "  I  am  seventy 
years  old,  and  as  I  was  a  walking  on  the 
Queen's  highway  last  evening,  a  man  and 
woman  whom  I  did  not  know  came  tip  and 
asked  me  why  I  hurt  the  daughter.  I  said 
I  don't  know  your  daughter  ;  with  that  she 
said  that  she  must  have  my  blood,  and  so  she 
failed  at  me,  and  tore  my  face  all  over,  till  I 
could  not  see  for  blood,  and  the  man  drove  a 
great  nail  into  the  ground  under  me  at  the 
same  time."  The  parties  accused  confessed 
the  truth  of  the  whole  statement :  the  woman 
observing  that  it  was  necessary  she  should 
have  the  witch's  blood,  and  the  man  saying 
that  he  had  himself  forged  the  nail,  which  he 
had  driven  into  the  ground  to  stop  the 
witchery.  The  daughter  was  suffering  from 
epileptic  fits. 

This  is  the  fourth  instance  of  this  kind 
which  has  come  under  my  notice  within  the  last 
few  months.  In  another  case  an  old  woman 
had  looked  into  her  neighbour's  pigstye,  and 
stroking  the  back  of  a  young  porker,  had 
remarked,  that  "  she  did  not  know  when  she 
had  seen  so  fine  a  pig."  The  pig  died  on  the 
succeeding  day,  and,  on  the  day  after  that, 
there  died  another  little  pig  in  the  same  stye. 


326 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


{Conducted  by 


The  bereaved  owner,  meeting  the  old  woman 
in  the  street,  deliberately  knocked  her  down, 
for  having  "  witched  his  pigs." 

Some  time  since,  a  woman  applied  to  me  for  a 
summons  against  her  husband.  She  said,  "My 
husband  is  on  his  death-bed — the  parish  doctor 
says  he  cannot  live  a  week  ;  so  I  told  him,  as 
soon  as  he  was  dead,  I  should  marry  again  : 
and  he  says,  so  sure  as  I  do,  he  will  come 
down  the  chimney  and  tear  me  abroad ; 
so  I  wants  a  summons  against  him,  your 
Honour  !  " 

Our  sky  is  propitious,  and  our  orchards 
bear  much  fruit,  but  the  human  orchard  does 
not  quite  grow  or  flourish,  as  one  might  desire, 
in  Devonshire. 


BOLD  ADMIEAL  BLAKE. 


IT  has  often  excited  my  wonder  that  we 
have  never  had,  until  to-day,  for  the  benefit 
of  Her  Majesty's  navy,  anything  like  a  com- 
petent and  copious  account  of  the  life  and 
career  of  the  renowned  Admiral  Blake.  Little 
is  really  known  about  him  in  the  navy,  or 
out  of  it.  In  the  navy  (and  I  appeal  to  my 
old  messmates  in  the  Bustard,  two  obstacles 
interfere  with  his  due  reputation.  One  of 
these  is  the  glory  of  our  latest  batch  of  heroes 
— the  Nelsons  and  Collingwoods — which  is  too 
brilliant  for  it  to  be  easy  to  see  back  through 
it.  The  other  obstacle  is,  that  the  times 
are  so  very  different.  Benbow  (who  repre- 
sents the  period  between  Blake  and  Nelson) 
is  as  dead  as  the  Dodo,  and  now  enjoys  a 
semi-facetious  reputation,  something  like 
that  of  his  pig-tail.  And  still  more  is  it 
difficult  to  picture  to  one's  self  the  old  Puritan 
officers  and  the  old  sailors  of  the  Civil  War 
times.  It  is  particularly  difficult  to  do  so  in 
a  midshipman's  mess,  with  a  cask  of  Madeira 
in  the  corner ;  or  when  leaning  against  the 
orange-coloured  bulwarks  of  a  dandy  brig, 
you  listen  to  the  polka  which  is  being  played 
in  the  captain's  cabin,  by  that  captain  himself, 
the  Honourable  Alfred  de  la  BaylifFe,  son  of 
Earl  Gruntis.  You  find  your  notions  of  the 
Blake  period  particularly  vague,  I  say,  when 
you  are  dodging  off  the  town  of  Naples, 
waiting  for  De  la  Bayliffe's  cousin  the  duke, 
who  is  about  to  take  a  passage  in  the  Patchouli 
with  you  to  Sicily.  Nor  can  you  readily 
fancy  a  grand,  grim,  worn-out  old  admiral, 
with  scurvy  devouring  him,  when  you  pass 
the  admiral's  house  at  Malta,  and  reflect  on 
the  amount  of  his  "  table-money."  Neverthe- 
less, the  very  "  swellest "  uniforms  of  this 
period  have  English  hearts  under  them  still, 
and  will  be  glad  to  hear  once  again  of  an 
admiral  of  the  "old  school."  We  purpose, 
therefore,  to  give  a  sketch  (merely  in  water- 
colours)  of  the  life  and  story  of  the  "  Puritan 
Sea-King,"  dipping  our  pencil  frequently  into 
the  tints  supplied  by  Mr.  Hepworth  Dixon, 
in  his  recently  published  life  of  the  good  old 
admiral.  Blake,  as  we  shall  see,  was  some- 


thing more  than  a  mere  great  captain,  either 
by  land  or  sea,  and  indicated  repeatedly  the 
capability  of  being  anything  that  was  wanted 
of  him — being  a  scholar,  theologian,  adviser 
of  his  friends  and  neighbours,  according  as 
his  duty  seemed  to  dictate ;  and  having, 
especially,  a  faculty  for  waiting,  which  murk 
the  man  who  ripens  and  "bides,"  and  of  whom 
anything  may  with  confidence  be  expected  in 
an  easy,  natural  way,  at  a  future  period. 

EGBERT  BLAKE  was  the  eldest  son  of 
Humphrey  Blake,  gentleman  by  birth,  and 
merchant  by  profession,  and  Sara  Williams,  a 
lady  of  good  descent ;  and  was  born  in  Bridge- 
water,  in  August,  1599 — "  Cromwell's  year." 
There  were  several  children,  and  Blake  senior 
was  not  a  particularly  prosperous  man  ;  but 
Robert,  having  been  duly  brought  up  at 
the  town's  grammar-school,  proceeded  at 
sixteen  years  of  age  to  the  University  of  Ox- 
ford. He  was  of  highly  intellectual  promise, 
from  his  youth  upwards,  and  with  a  decided 
turn  for  reading,  which  his  father  naturally 
hoped  high  things  from.  As  he  lived  his  youth 
in  a  comfortable,  honourable  old  house,  his 
mind  fed  by  old  traditions  of  past  times  iu 
England,  and  paternal  anecdotes  of  the 
wonders  of  foreign  lands,  both  elements  to  feed 
the  natural  wonder  of  a  fine- minded  youngster, 
Blake's  youth  was  surely  a  happy  one.  The 
house  in  which  he  lived,  it  seems,  still  exists, 
in  a  venerable  and  beautiful  age,  and  you  see 
the  site  of  the  two  acres  of  garden  which 
belonged  to  it,  and  in  which  Robert  played  as 
a  boy,  and  afterwards  paced  about  seriously 
enough  as  a  man.  As  a  boy,  one  does  not, 
however,  picture  him  as  very  particularly 
vivacious  ;  but,  though  genial  enough,  com- 
posed, thoughtful,  and  mild.  The  fine  dark 
eyes,  which  his  portrait  shows,  have  much 
capability  of  tender  and  inquiring  softness, 
and  help  us  to  fancy  him  listening  to  Father 
Humphrey's  stories  of  his  mercantile  cruises  in 
his  vessel  with  curiosity  tempered  by  awe. 
The  world  round  him  was  so  wonderful,  and 
all  so  holy  to  young  Blake,  as  he  grew  into 
Puritanism  ;  and  here  was  Father  Humphrey 
with  stories  about  new,  far-off  wonders  and 
beauties — of  a  Spain  where  Cervantes  was 
still  alive  ;  of  the  dusky  pirates  of  Africa 
dashing  about  the  Mediterranean ;  of  the 
stern,  mailed  knights  of  Malta  ;  and  the  slave- 
markets  of  the  South. 

Blake  went  to  college,  and  there  studied 
hard — whether  by  way  of  recreation,  also 
indulging  in  "  stealing  of  swans,"  is  doubtful 
— and  to  the  present  writer  highly  improbable. 
Blake  ripened  into  scholarship,  and  it  seems, 
always  retained  a  certain  turn  for  a  literary 
species  of  sarcasm — delighting  to  launch  a 
quotation  from  Horace  and  Juvenal  as  heartily 
as  a  shot,  when  it  seemed  the  proper  wenpon. 
He  failed  in  his  contest  for  a  scholarship  at 
Christ  Church,  but  stuck  to  the  College  of 
Wadham,  where  they  still  show  his  portrait. 
In  the  interim,  his  father's  prospects  had 
been  darkening ;  Robert  resolved  to  try  to 


Charles  Diclent.] 


BOLD  ADMIRAL  BLAKE. 


327 


mend  matters  by  getting  a  fellowship  at 
Merton  College  ; — did  try,  and  missed.  There 
seems  no  doubt  that  he  did  not  get  fair  play  ; 
indeed,  the  predominant,  the  all-important 
fact  about  the  youth  was  now,  we  may  say, 
grown.  He  was  known  to  "  profess  Puritan 
sentiments."  For,  by  this  time,  in  all  parts 
of  England,  in  colleges,  inns  of  court,  in  polite 
circles,  in  country  towns,  a  certain  number  of 
the  young  men  began  to  be  distinctly  no- 
ticeable for  what  was  called  "Puritanism." 
What  was  it  1  Whence  came  it.  Nobody 
could  tell  exactly,  though  everybody  had  his 
explanation  somehow.  One  thing  was  clear, 
they  had  a  decided  objection  to  anything 
u  Papistical,"  loved  not  the  Rubric  according 
to  the  pedant  Laud — were  an  earnest,  melan- 
choly, high-aspiring  set  of  men.  Most  people 
could  judge  about  the  surface,  and  there  was 
great  laughter  at  the  movement  from  many 
quarters,  and  much  persecution,  especially 
from  head-quarters.  But  still  the  movement 
grew,  and  the  young  sucking  Cavaliers — bril- 
liant boys  with  love-locks  like  the  "  little 
rings  of  the  vine  "  (to  use  an  expression  of 
Jeremy  Taylor's) — laughed  on,  and  were 
getting  more  angry.  Blake,  although  not 
"  Fellow,"  became  Master  of  Arts,  remained 
five  years  at  Oxford,  indeed,  after  missing  the 
fellowship.  He  had  been  at  college  nine  years, 
and  was  twenty-seven  years  old,  when  his 
father  was  taken  with  his  death-illness  ;  and 
he  became  head  of  the  family,  with  a  sadly 
wrecked  property  to  manage  for  the  widow 
and  the  children. 

Blake  was  now  a  fully-developed  man,  and 
taking  up  his  residence  at  home  at  Bridge- 
water,  was  soon  a  very  noticeable  man  among 
his  townsmen.  And  the  towns  of  England 
wanted  noticeable  men,  then.  The  Revolu- 
tion was  coming  on.  Organisations,  on  one 
side  or  another,  were  forming  themselves  all 
over  the  country.  And  surely  there  was  no 
more  deep-hearted  man  thanBlake,  who,  seeing 
all  this  movement  going  on  from  his  quiet 
Bridgewater  retreat,  had  quite  made  up  his 
mind  to  his  duty.  He  was  soon  potent  in 
Somersetshire,  in  opposition  to  the  now  in- 
fatuated Court.  There  is  nothing  more  clearly 
evident  about  Blake,  be  it  said,  than  a  fact 
well  known  about  others  of  his  party  ;  than  a 
natural  earnest  tranquillity  !  Anywhere  he 
would  have  stayed  iii  peace  ;  where  a  holy 
peace  was  possible.  But  when  the  ear-clip- 
ping, nose-slitting,  &c.,  and  other  "  cookery  " 
(as  Swift  would  call  it)  was  rampant,  he 
could  only  say  with  Oliver,  "  What  are  we  to 
expect  1 "  All  England  was  anxiously  asking 
the  same  question. 

Blake  sat  in  Parliament  for  Bridgewater  in 
the  Short  Parliament ;  sat  in  Parliament  for 
Taunton  in  the  "  Say  Parliament,"  to  which 
he  was  elected  in  1645.  When  the  Revolution 
fairly  began,  his  troop  was  one  of  the  first  in 
the  field  ;  and  he  fought  in  "  almost  every 
action  of  importance  in  the  western  counties." 
Dashing  across  the  country  with  his  dragoons, 


his  blow  and  his  flash  fell  terribly  together. 
But  there  was  always  about  Blake  a  reputa- 
tion distinct  from  his  military  one.  People 
early  learned  that  he  was  a  good,  high- 
minded  man,  spotlessly  beautiful  in  character  ; 
who  might  be  trusted  by  friends  and  enemies. 
Fighting  was  not  a  task  he  was  born  for. 
He  had  quiet  habits  of  business  which  were 
ready  to  go  through  all  manner  of  disagree- 
able duties,  such  as  sequestrations  of  delin- 
quents' estates,  and  so  on.  Especially,  one 
sees  him  to  be  a  man  of  excellent  temper 
and  singularly  modest,  so  that  his  genius, 
displaying  itself  always,  always  came  in  a 
shape  so  attractive,  so  homely,  that  you  may 
say  that  the  royalty  of  his  nature  seemed 
inclined  to  travel  incog.  He  went  about  like 
Thor  on  his  travels,  leaving  great  things  done 
if  there  were  need  of  them,  but  superficially 
noticeable  only  as  a  homely  voyager. 

Rupert  of  the  Rhine  came  thundering 
down  to  the  West — a  man  of  the  fiery,  dash- 
ing temperament  needful  to  war  ;  but  his 
was  not  the  splendid  sort  of  terror.  He  did 
not  gleam  like  lightning — rather  volcanically, 
and  scattering  mud  and  ashes.  There  was 
something  unholy  about  his  apparitions  ;  he 
was  a  kind  of  "  headless  horseman,"  and  sug- 
gested thoughts  of  sulphur.  When  he  at- 
tacked Bristol,  Captain  Blake  commanded 
the  fort  called  Prior's  Hill,  and  kept  it  to  the 
last,  an  impregnable  little  spot,  alive  with 
fire  when  enemies  approached.  Rupert  had 
an  intention,  so  he  said,  of  hanging  Blake  ; 
which  to  Blake,  from  Rupert,  was  a  high 
compliment.  After  Bristol  had,  in  spite  of 
Blake,  surrendered,  Parliament  gave  him  new 
appointments.  He  was  made  lieutenant- 
colonel  to  Popham's  regiment,  the  finest 
militia  in  the  country.  It  was  about  this 
time  that  his  brother  Samuel  lost  his  life. 
The  daring  young  Samuel,  hotly  chasing  two 
Royalist  ofiicers,  came  up  with  them  at 
Strenchill,  and  was  killed.  When  the  news 
came  to  Bridgewater,  the  ofiicers  hesitated  to 
tell  their  colonel  ;  but  of  course  the  news  had 
to  come  out.  "  He  had  no  business  there," 
was  the  first  sentence.  And  then  Blake 
retired  to  a  room  in  the  Swan  inn,  and  poured 
out  his  heart  in  such  tears  as  we  may  fancy. 
"  Died  Abuer  as  a  fool  dieth,"  he  said,  in  the 
grim  Puritan  language  — "  Died  Abner  as  a 
fool  dieth  !  " 

His  next  feat  was  the  defence  of  Lyme 
against  Maurice  ;  one  of  the  most  splendid 
achievements  of  the  war.  The  Cavaliers  lost 
two  thousand  men  here,  and  were  unable  to 
take  the  town.  Blake  was  now  made  fuD 
colonel,  and  had  the  highest  reputation  in  the 
west  country.  In  the  west  country  the  king 
had  still  a  stronghold,  when  it  occurred  to 
Blake  that  now  was  the  time  to  take  Taunton. 
Taunton  being  a  central  place,  and  controlling 
the  great  western  highway  ;  standing  like  an 
island  of  Malta — a  key  of  a  place — which, 
once  in  proper  hands  would  be  invaluable. 
Down  swooped  Blake  to  the  gates ;  offered 


328 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


capitulation ;  marched  Colonel  Reeves  out,  and 
liimself  and  Sir  Robert  Pye  in,  amidst  the 
puuliug  of  bells,  on  the  eighth  of  July,  1644, 
six  days  after  Cromwell  had  defeated  Rupert 
at  Marston  Moor. 

This  was  an  achievement  done  "  cleanly," 
in  proverbial  phrase.  Blake  by  this  had  got 
snugly  into  the  very  heart  of  the  king's  best 
country.  Unfortunately,  the  Earl  of  Essex's 
capitulation  was  to  be  put  against  it,  but 
Blake  could  make  up  for  many  failings.  He 
was  quite  determined  to  hold  Taunton,  come 
what  might.  Colonel  Wyndham  came,  with 
his  Royalist  forces,  and  really  appealed  quite 
pathetically  to  our  hero  to  surrender.  "  I 
neither  fear  your  menaces  nor  accept  your 
proffers,"  answers  Blake  (no  doubt  "  curling 
his  whiskers,"  which  was  his  rather  oriental 
habit,  when  excited)  ;  and  the  storm  began. 

The  defence  of  Taunton  ranks  among  our 
best  English  military  achievements.  It  was 
defended  against  superior  forces,  assaults, 
starvations,  cordons,  concentrations,  and  mili- 
taiy  expedients  of  all  sorts,  until  relief  came 
from  London.  The  succouring  forces  found 
Taunton  black,  battered,  and  with  inhabit- 
ants starving  among  ruins  ;  but  still  impreg- 
nable ;  unconquerable  by  the  world,  the 
flesh,  and  the  devil,  as  a  Puritan's  will ! 
Next  spring,  Blake  blew  open  Dunster 
Castle,  a  "  virgin  fortress "  of  royalty,  so 
called. 

The  Revolution  was  by  this  time  at  its 
critical  period.  As  usual  nothing  is  so  remark- 
able in  Blake  as  his  utter  personal  moderation. 
Returned  as  a  member  to  Parliament,  he  pre- 
ferred his  quiet  government  at  Taunton.  The 
"  suspicions  "  we  hear  of,  about  his  treatment 
by  this  party  or  that  party,  never  came  from 
himself.  Others  have  supplied  them  for  him, 
gratuitously.  But  Blake,  whatever  were  his 
speculative  "  opinions  "  on  government  (con- 
cerning which  it  is  not  easy  to  get  definite 
knowledge),  had  the  sentiment  of  duty  to  the 
cause  predominant  in  his  heart,  and  assumed 
the  "  naval  command,"  when  he  was  or- 
dered, with  his  usual  quiet  loyalty.  We 
know  that  he  was  opposed  to  the  execution 
of  Charles  ;  we  may  suppose,  if  we  please, 
that  he  would  have  preferred  a  republic 
to  the  rule  of  Cromwell.  But  Blake  was 
no  system-monger ;  Blake  did  not  come 
into  the  strife  with  any  little  bundle  of 
theories  which  the  facts  of  the  movement  were 
to  be  made  to  suit.  He  was  pre-eminently 
loyal  and  open-hearted  to  the  duty  which  the 
day  brought  with  it.  For  instance,  when  his 
captains  were  for  some  opposition  to  Cromwell 
and  the  army :  "  No,"  said  Blake  ;  "  it  is  not 
for  us  to  mind  affairs  of  state,  but  to  keep 
foreigners  from  fooling  us."  How  like  a  sen- 
tence of  Nelson's  or  Collingwood's  that  reads  ! 
The  same  pious  loyalty  distinguishes  them  all. 
No  matter  who  was  running  after  pudding, 
places,  or  republics.  They  were  always  at 
their  duty. 

Blake  went  to  sea  at  the  middle  age  of  life 


as  a  "  General  of  the  Fleet."  He  cannot  have 
been  a  sailor  in  the  sense  in  which  Nelson  was 
one.  But  neither  had  Cromwell  been  bred  a 
soldier.  Blake  had,  however,  the  talent  and 
practice  of  governing  ;  the  heart  of  a  brave 
man  ;  and  an  eye  for  sweeping  the  horizon  ! 
Then,  may  we  not  say  that  he  was  a  born 
sailor  1  Born  with  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
humming  in  him,  did  he  not  revel  on  it,  like 
a  wild  sea-bird,  that  has  reached  it  at  last, 
across  long  tracts  of  the  dull-coloured  hard 
land  1  There  is  no  violent  improbability 
in  supposing  him  born  with  a  turn  for 
being  afloat,  as  the  oak  is  ;  ready  to  strip  his 
leaves  and  bark,  and  swim,  unconquerable, 
anywhere. 

The  navy  seems  to  have  been  almost  neutral, 
hitherto.  But  the  time  was  come  when  the 
navy  was  to  be  a  very  important  arm,  and 
there  needed  important  preliminary  reforms. 
For  dockyards  were  infamously  conducted, 
and  ships  were  scarcely  seaworthy  ;  as, 
indeed,  people  say  of  some  of  them  even  in 
our  own  enlightened  days.  Rupert  and 
Maurice  were  blooming  into  piracy,  and  as 
lively  afloat  as  water-rats.  So  Blake  had  to 
begin,  in  his  own  quiet,  determined  way,  re- 
forming the  fleet ;  removing  idle,  vicious,  dis- 
sipated fellows,  and  seeking  out  able  captains. 
He  hoisted  his  flag  on  the  18th  April,  1649, 
at  the  age  of  fifty.  Fancy  him  passing  down 
the  Channel  with  his  division  of  ships  that 
summer  ;  not  a  dandy  squadron  ;  but  clumsy- 
looking  and  seedy  vessels,  with  a  certain 
semi-barbarous  gorgeousness  too  ;  the  plain 
white  flag  with  a  red  cross  flying  from  the 
mast-head. 

First,  Blake  began  by  blockading  Rupert 
in  Kinsale,  and  kept  him  there  the  whole 
summer.  Rupert  was  in  a  pretty  position 
by  winter  time,  with  Cromwell  advancing 
southward  by  land,  and  the  immoveable  Blake 
waiting  for  him  at  sea.  Heavy  gales  scattered 
Blake's  fleet,  blowing  them  away  in  the 
offing,  and  by  the  end  of  October,  Rupert 
got  to  sea  with  seven  vessels,  and  made 
for  Portugal,  picking  up  vessels,  corsair- 
fashion,  of  all  nations  as  prizes,  with  a 
swoop  like  an  albatross's.  Blake,  after  co- 
operating with  the  land  forces  in  Ireland 
some  time,  was  sent  on  a  winter  cruise  after 
the  prince  with  five  ships,  with  names 
that  sound  eccentric  now-a-days  :  Tiger, 
John,  Tenth  Whelp,  Signet,  and  Constant 
Warwick.  Blake  was  in  the  Tiger.  More 
vessels  joined  him  in  the  beginning  of  the 
year.  Rupert  went  up  the  Tagus  with  his 
squadron ;  the  Portuguese  court  were  inclined 
to  aid  him  ;  but  here  was  the  famous  admiral, 
representing  that  the  said  piratical  squadron 
of  Rupert's  belonged  to  the  "  Parliament  of 
England,"  and  waiting  in  that  beautiful  river 
(where  we  so  lately  had  a  fleet  enjoying  the 
opera  !)  to  lay  rude  hands  upon  it !  The  Court 
temporised  ;  at  last  Blake,  now  tired  of  talk- 
ing, seized  the  "  Brazil  fleet  of  nine  sail,"  and 
put  trusty  men  into  them,  sam  phrase.  The 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BOLD  ADMIRAL  BLAKE. 


329 


fact  was,  that  mild,  modest  way  of  Blake's 
quite  deceived  his  majesty,  who  thought  he 
could  tickle  the  lion's  nose  as  he  pleased — he 
looked  so  good-natured.  Blake  attacked 
another  of  the  Brazil  fleets  at  the  river's 
mouth  ;  suuk  the  admiral's  ship  like  a  stone  ; 
captured  the  vice-admiral,  and  eleven  vessels 
laden  with  cargoes  of  great  value.  At  last, 
Rupert  came  out  with  the  fleet,  and  got 
away ;  the  king  glad  enough  to  get  rid  of  so 
dangerous  a  guest. 

Rupert  seems  now  to  have  become  a  corsair 
by  profession,  and  to  have  pursued  it,  to  do 
him  justice,  like  a  Byronic  hero.  His  first 
wish  was  to  make  the  Scilly  Islands  his 
"  pirate's  isle,"  where  he  could  have  plenty  of 
supplies  to  return  to  after  each  cruise.  The 
obstinate  Puritanism  of  the  Council  of  State 
made  them  oppose  this  project.  Rupert  was 
chased  to  the  Mediterranean  ;  and,  finally,  the 
home  branch  of  his  business  being  knocked 
on  the  head,  fled  to  the  West  Indies  with  his 
brother.  Blake  having  achieved  this,  also 
subdued  the  "  pirate's  isle,"  and  was  now 
ready  for  the  next  achievement  ready  for 
him — the  DUTCH  WAR. 

We  come  now  to  the  war  with  the  fleets  of 
that  great  people,  the  fleets  which  figure 
on  the  canvas  of  Vaudevelde.  The  Dutch 
were  great  sailors,  with  a  splendid  commerce  ; 
whose  recent  history  had  been  all  triumph  ; 
every  acre  of  whose  land  was  a  victory. 
They  had  admirals,  such  as  Van  Tromp 
and  De  Ruyter,  of  a  fame  that  spread 
wherever  there  was  a  sea-breeze.  In  truth, 
the  Republic,  fat  with  immeasurable  com- 
merce, was  beginning  to  "kick."  They  did 
not  like  the  notion  of  our  sovereignty  of 
the  narrow  seas  ;  still  less  our  Navigation 
Act.  They  declined  to  strike  to  our  flag ; 
and  Van  Tromp  took  the  Channel  with  a 
fleet  of  forty-two  sail.  That  fleet  showed  in 
the  Downs.  Blake  stood  to  sea  too,  and  there, 
like  two  lightning-charged  clouds,  the  fleets 
streamed  over  the  blue  water  together. 
Blake's  eye  lights  on  the  Dutch  flag.  No 
dip !  The  halyards  remain  still.  Then,  there 
is  a  flash,  and  a  wreath  of  smoke,  and  a  boom- 
ing sound,  for  Blake  calls  attention  to  the 
necessity  of  dipping  the  colours.  Still  no 
such  politeness  !  And  at  last  Van  Tromp 
"  wears,"  —  as  they  call  it  at  sea  —  swims 
round  to  leeward.  He  approaches  the  En- 
glish squadron  with  a  steady  onward  pace. 
The  English  "lay-to,"  backing  the  main-top 
sails  in  the  orthodox  way  ;  and  now  the 
thunder-clouds  are  coming  together.  Blake 
was  standing  out  from  his  squadron  to 
hail  the  Dutch  admiral,  when  there  is  a 
thunder  and  a  crash.  His  own  cabin  windows 
shatter  beside  him.  He  twirls  his  whiskers 
ominously,  with  a  bitter  saying  about  Tromp  ; 
and  now  the  thunder -clouds  have  met ! 
Broadsides  began  to  roar  about  four  o'clock  ; 
shot  plashed  into  the  hulls ;  through  the 
smoke,  as  it  clears  away,  you  see  the  torn 
rigging  dangling  about,  and  the  masts  shattered 


and  raw.  The  action  was  a  very  sharp  one  ; 
Van  Tromp  had  the  advantage  in  numbers  ; 
but  the  squadrons  parted  after  a  drawn  battle. 
Blake  anchored  that  night  off  the  Ness,  with 
his  vessel,  the  James,  much  cut  up  ;  but  next 
morning  the  Channel  was  clear. 

There  was  some  diplomatic  shilly-shallying 
even  after  this,  but  with  no  success.  Blake 
was  lord  in  the  Channel ;  his  cruisers  darting 
from  the  squadron  brought  in  prizes  daily. 
Both  nations  made  gigantic  struggles  for  the 
campaign  ;  and  there  were  splendid  pickings 
for  privateers.  Blake  sailed  northwards  to 
catch  the  Dutch  horde  of  herring-ships.  While 
he  was  on  this  mission,  Van  Tromp  put  to 
sea  from  the  Texel,  and  hovering  over  the 
coast  of  England  spread  great  anxiety  there. 
Blake  returned,  and  the  squadrons  met  ;  but 
a  gale  of  the  most  terrible  character  blew 
friends  and  enemies  away  from  each  other. 
The  Dutch  suffered  more  than  Blake  ;  and 
Van  Tromp  soon  after  retired  into  private 
life  in  disgust.  Soon  afterwards  De  Witt 
joined  De  Ruyter.  About  this  time  Blake 
made  a  dexterous  backhanded  blow  at  a 
French  fleet  under  the  Duke  of  Vendome, 
and  brought  them  into  Dover  Roads.  This 
was  a  uoteable  instance  of  his  terrible  prompt- 
ness ;  for  it  was  an  evolution  only  justified  to 
the  authorities  by  supreme  success  ;  but 
seen  into  by  Blake,  decided  on,  and  done,  at 
once. 

He  wM  now  off  again  after  De  Witt  and 
De  Ruyter,  and  came  up  with  them  off  the 
North  Foreland,  on  the  28th  September ; 
both  squadrons  had  a  terrible  dose  of  shot, 
for  they  were  at  close  quarters.  In  the  very 
outset  two  of  the  Dutchmen  went  down  ;  and 
the  Dutch  were  defeated  with  severe  loss  ot 
life.  As  may  be  supposed,  Blake  was  now  of 
the  highest  naval  reputation,  had  made  his 
laurels  look  brighter  and  fresher  than  ever, 
from  the  salt  water.  The  Dutch  found  it 
necessary  to  call  out  Van  Tromp  again,  and 
put  him>at  the  head  of  their  fleet. 

The  two  great  admirals  began  the  war  over 
again  on  k  cold  and  stormy  night,  and  Blake, 
in  the  Triumph,  with  a  small  fleet,  got  a 
check ;  the  matter  was  a  suspicious  one,  for 
Blake  was  obliged  to  complain  of  misconduct 
among  some  of  his  officers,  and  he  even  desires 
a  "  discharge  from  this  employment,"  as  "  far 
too  great  for  me  ....  so  that  I  may  spend 
the  remainder  of  my  days  in  private  retire- 
ment, and  in  prayers  to  tiie  Lord  for  blessings 
on  you  and  on  this  nation."  As,  indeed — he 
had  led  a  life  of  storm  and  fire  by  sea  and 
land,  and  was  not  in  good  health,  and  in- 
wardly had  his  solemn  sorrows,  and  wished 
for  a  time  of  prayer,  other  than  in  his  black 
old  ships  on  the  high  sea  !  The  Council  of 
State  paid  extreme  attention  to  his  suggestions 
(of  course  excepting  his  request  for  retire- 
ment), and  disciplinary  movements  were 
carried  on,  according  to  his  judgment. 

Meanwhile,  Van  Tromp  had  been  per- 
forming that  curious  exploit  of  sailing  down 


330 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  Channel  with  a  broom  at  his  mast-head. 
There  was  a  dash  of  humour  in  the  Dutch- 
man ;  and  they  were  wont,  as  the  old 
pamphlets  constantly  assert,  to  keep  up  their 
courage  with  "  brandy-wine  ;"  whence  came 
the  phrase  "Dutch  courage,"  and  whence, 
doubtless,  Van  Tromp  was  "  elevated  "  as  well 
ns  his  broom.  But  there  was  a  very  awful 
day  coming  off  soon,  for  the  battle  of  Portland 
took  place  in  February — it  being  now  the 
spring  of  1653 — in  which  the  English  and 
Dutch  had  the  most  terrible  naval  contest  of 
modern  times.  The  Dutch  had  their  Van 
Tromp,  Evertz,  De  Ruyter,  Floritz,  and  De 
Wilde,  present  ;  the  English,  their  Blake, 
Deane,  Penn,  and  Lawson.  This  battle  lasted 
three  days.  The  Dutch  lost  seventeen  or 
eighteen  men-of-war  and  a  large  fleet  of 
merchant-ships.  The  English  loss  in  ships 
was  slight.  But  both  sides  lost  men  terribly  ; 
the  Dutch  had  seven  captains  killed,  for  ex- 
ample, and  the  English,  three.  Blake  himself 
was  wounded  severely. 

Such  were  the  exploits  which  Blake  per- 
formed in  the  Channel,  and  no  man  did  his 
work  more  thoroughly  ;  for,  after  one  more 
fight,  De  Witt  told  the  Assembly  of  the  States 
that  the  English  were  masters  both  of  them, 
and  of  the  seas.  The  Dutch  had  calculated  that 
some  disruption  would  follow  after  Cromwell's 
seizure  of  power  ;  but,  "  to  prevent  foreigners 
from  fooling  us,"  was,  as  has  been  said  already, 
Blake's  leading  notion — and  his  emiaence  and 
our  English  success  he  owed  to  the  noble 
fidelity  with  which  he  stuck  to  it.  After 
blockading  the  coasts  of  Holland  in  an  ill- 
provided  squadron,  he  was  carried  on  shore 
and  lay  at  home,  ill  with  a  dangerous  fever. 
The  western  breezes  gradually  brought  him 
round,  and  he  had  an  interval  of  seclusion  near 
Bridgewater,  where  the  imaginative  eye  may 
behold  him,  loitering  about  the  fields,  pensive, 
taciturn,  waking  into  good-humour  out  of  his 
meditative  and  somewhat  gloomy  abstraction. 
On  the  whole  Blake  was  a  melancholy  man, 
with  all  beautiful,  affectionate  qualities,  but 
with  them  all  saddened  somewhat.  We  may 
think  of  him  as  with  a  shade  of  pedantry,  but 
with  the  pedantry  of  a  Shandy.  It  ran  in  him 
like  the  thread  in  the  centre  of  the  dock- 
yard rope,  which  is  of  one  colour  in  one 
dockyard,  and  one  in  another.  There  was  a 
black  thread  in  the  centre  of  his  strong, 
fine  nature,  which  gave  gloominess  to  his 
piety,  taciturnity  to  his  manner.  When  he 
was  facetious  he  quoted  the  classics  ;  doubt- 
less loving  them  for  what  Stoicism  and 
Puritanism  have  in  common.  Juvenal's  grim 
humour  must  have  suited  him  admirably,  and 
the  beautiful  flashes  of  stoicism  in  Horace's 
Odes. 

When  Cromwell  determined  to  strike  a 
blow  at  Spain,  Blake  was  sent  southward  in 
the  St.  George,  with  twenty-four  other  sail, 
carrying  four  thousand  one  hundred  men,  and 
eight  hundred  and  seventy-four  guns.  Penn 
and  Venables  sailed  for  the  West  Indies. 


Blake  anchored  at  Cadiz,  sailed  to  Leghorn, 
and  dragged  from  the  terrified  authorities 
"instant  redress"  for  the  owners  of  vessels 
which  had  been  piratically  sold  there  by 
-Rupert  and  Maurice.  The  very  Pope's 
Fiscal  had  to  come  down  with  twenty-thou- 
sand pistoles.  He  brought  the  Dey  of  Tunis 
to  his  senses  in  a  terrible  manner,  and  put 
the  whole  Mediterranean  to  rights.  The 
Spanish  War  was  now  ripe  ;  and  on  Blake's 
return  to  England,  he  was  appointed  to  the 
Nazeby  (February,  1656),  and  sailed  again  to 
the  southward.  He  had  a  most  tedious 
blockade  to  go  through  in  hopes  of  catching 
the  Spanish  silver  fleets.  At  last  they  turned 
up,  and  were  taken  after  six  hours  contest, 
under  the  eyes  of  their  countrymen.  Eight- 
and-thirty  waggon-loads  of  silver  went  rolling 
along  London  streets,  among  universal  jubilee, 
and  in  due  time  were  satisfactorily  "coined 
into  money." 

Blake's  last  great  victory  at  Santa  Cruz, 
was  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  action  of  his 
career.  The  narrow  harbour  was  like  one 
huge  dragon's  mouth.  It  was  fortified  by 
line  upon  line  of  forts,  by  a  regular  castle,  and 
by  men-of-war ;  it's  horse-shoe-shaped  en- 
trance bristled  with  power.  Blake  looked  at 
it — sailed  right  up  to  the  mouth  of  it ;  and 
stormed  it  with  fire  and  shot,  till  it  all  burned 
like  one  blazing  house.  It  was  a  crowning 
effort  of  supreme  human  daring,  and  ended 
in  triumphant  victory,  being  received  with 
immense  joy  in  London  at  a  time  when  Eng- 
land was  supremely  glorious  in  the  eyes  of  all 
Europe. 

Blake  received  a  letter  from  Cromwell, 
the  thanks  of  Parliament,  and  a  jewel,  as  a 
present  of  honour.  But  his  health  was  now 
gone  ;  and  he  had  lost  everything  but  his 
piety,  that  belonged  to  his  power.  Languish- 
ing in  a  cabin,  which  was  less  comfortable 
than  admirals'  cabins  are  now-a-days — he 
frequently  asked  if  England  were  yet  in  sight ; 
and  the  vessel  was  just  entering  Plymouth 
Sound  when  he  breathed  his  last.  One  may 
suppose  that  a  man  so  pious  was  anxious  to 
leave  his  bones  in  his  native  land  :  they  did 
lie  there  till  the  Restoration,  when  they  were 
disinterred,  and  "  flung"  somewhere,  in  con- 
formity with  the  manners  of  the  period. 

The  following  paragraph  from  the  writer 
of  his  "  History,"  a  "  gentleman"  who  had 
"been  bred  in  liis  family,"  and  whose  book 
was  published  before  the  middle  of  the 
last  century,  gives  a  curious  picture  of  his 
manners : — 

"  The  last  thing  he  did,  after  he  had  given 
his  commands  and  word  to  his  men,  was  to 
pray  with  the  above-mentioned  Mr.  Bear 
(his  servant)  ;  when  that  was  done,  he  was 
wont  to  say,  '  Thomas,  bring  me  the  pretty 
cup  of  sack  ;'  he  would  then  sit  down,  and 
give  Thomas  liberty  to  do  the  same,  and 
inquire  what  news  he  had  heard  of  his 
Bridgewater  men  that  day,  and  talk  of  the 
people  and  affairs  of  the  place.  Then,  eating 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHINAMAN'S  BALL. 


331 


a  little  bread,  with  two  or  three  glasses  of 
canary,  he,  with  Thomas's  assistance,  went 
to  bed." 


A  CHINAMAN'S   BALL. 

Singapore,  February  21st,  1852. 

SUCH  of  your  readers  as  have  visited  the 
Golden  Chersonese,  with  the  pretty  and 
thriving  little  island  situated  at  its  southern 
extremity,  must  have  observed  with  some 
curiosity  the  confluence  on  that  spot  of  a  hun- 
dred different  streams  of  population.  From 
the  west  and  from  the  east,  from  the  south 
and  from  the  north,  strangers  are  perpetually 
arriving  in  search  of  health,  pleasure,  or  profit. 
Chief  among  these  immigrants  are  the  natives 
of  the  Celestial  Empire  ;  who,  allured  by 
rupees  (although  an  emigrant  from  China 
makes  an  outlaw  of  himself),  would,  at  any 
time  of  the  day  or  night  undertake  the  cir- 
cumnavigation of  the  globe.  At  Singapore 
they  have  long  formed  the  most  active  and 
important  class  of  inhabitants.  Arriving  fre- 
quently with  an  empty  purse,  they  apply  them- 
selves fearlessly  and  without  the  least  fasti- 
diousness to  any  kind  of  labour  that  presents 
itself.  They  live  sparely,  lie  on  boards,  and  dis- 
play an  example  of  economy  which  in  Western 
Europe  would  inspire  even  misers  with 
despair.  The  consequence  of  all  this,  is,  that 
in  some  cases  they  amass  large  fortunes,  and 
either  return  to  China,or  remain  where  they  are 
already  comfortable,resolvingforthe  remainder 
of  their  days  to  feast  on  the  juiciest  of  dogs. 

Yet,  though  these  hardy  ad  venturers  abound 
not  only  here  in  Singapore,  but  in  every  other 
part  of  the  East,  few  things  appeal'  to  be  .less 
understood  than  their  real  habits  and  charac- 
ter. Sometimes,  one  finds, them  represented 
as  a  pacific  and  timid,  but  industrious  people, 
with  little  of  the  spirit  of  enterprise,  and  no 
feeling  of  independence.  Elsewhere  they 
are  regarded  as  fierce,  turbulent,  insatiable  ; 
addicted  to  material  indulgences  ;  faithless, 
cruel,  and  seldom  touched  with  sympathy  for 
other  men. 

There  are  certainly  some  contradictions  in 
the  character  of  the  Chinese,  which  will  sup- 
ply colour  to  either  of  these  sketches.  Vain 
they  certainly  are,  of  being,  according  to  their 
own  theory,  the  only  nation  that  is  gifted 
with  two  eyes.  At  the  same  time,  they  often 
condescend  to  use,  in  a  most  servile  way,  the 
eyes  of  Europeans.  Until  the  present  time, 
however,  they  would  seem  to  have  resisted  all 
temptation  to  indulge  in  balls  and  routs,  to 
enliven  their  time  by  familiar  social  colloquies 
with  ladies,  or  to  give  champagne  suppers. 
At  length,  however,  even  in  this  respect  the 
time  has  come  when  the  ethics  of  Confucius 
have  proved  too  weak  to  resist  the  demoral- 
ising impulse  of  example.  Civilisation  makes 
sad  havoc  among  the  principles  of  Buddhism. 
Instead  of  approaching  through  opium  the 
joys  of  Nibban,  or  absolute  quietude,  the  men 
of  long  tails  and  angular  physiognomy  have 
entered  with  a  horrible  energy  upon  the 


career  of  Western  dissipation  :  late  hours,  fid- 
dling, dancing,  and  rich  collations  liberally 
sprinkled  with  champagne. 

Kim  Sing,  a  merchant  well-known  as  an 
Antonio  on  the  Bialto  of  Singapore,  con- 
ceived a  few  weeks  ago  the  intrepid  design 
of  giving  the  first  Chinese  ball  ever  beheld 
in  this  part  of  the  world.  Having  recently 
erected  a  spacious  Godown,  or  suite  of 
chambers  and  warehouses,  he  resolved  to 
convert  one  of  these  into  a  magnificent  ban- 
queting-hall  and  dancing-room.  Europeans 
probably  aided  him  in  organising  the  prelimi- 
naries of  the  entertainment,  in  selecting  the 
musicians,  and  in  the  judicious  provision  of 
refreshment  for  his  guests.  Numerous  invi- 
tations were  issued  to  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  all  tribes  and  tongues,  who  were  requested 
to  be  present  in  their  respective  costumes  on 
the  appointed  evening  at  the  Godown  of  Kim 
Sing.  A  detail  of  the  ethnological  display 
made  at  this  party  might  be  taken  for  a  bad 
joke,  but  I  am  perfectly  serious  and  deliberate 
in  stating  generally  that  the  company  included 
Englishmen,  Frenchmen,  Dutchmen,  Scotch- 
men, Irishmen,  Germans,  Portuguese  from 
Malacca,  Spaniards  from  the  Philippines, 
Malays,  Klings,  Bombayises,  Cambodians, 
Tonquinese,  Mandarins  from  Cochin  China, 
Siamese,  Peguans,  Arabs,  Javanese,  Jews, 
Parsees,  Chinese,  and  half-castes. 

I  considered  myself  extremely  fortunate  to 
have  arrived  just  in  time  to  be  present  at  this 
entertainment.  I  had  of  course  about  me  (as 
every  body  else  had)  the  usual  prejudices  of  my 
own  race,  and  therefore,  on  being  presented  to 
the  master  of  the  house,  with  his  pig- tail,  sharp 
features,  and  Mongolian  eyes,  it  was  with  much 
difficulty  that  I  kept  my  mirth  under  polite 
restraint.  I  had  been  introduced  under  the 
best  possible  auspices,  and  soon  felt  myself 
quite  at  home,  both  with  the  Celestial  and 
the  terrestrial  visitors.  The  ladies  of  the 
company  being  in  a  decided  minority,  each 
having  about  two  gentlemen  to  her  fair  share, 
I,  being  quite  a  stranger,  began  to  apprehend 
a  paucity  of  partners.  I  was  mistaken :  a 
young  lady  of  Dutch  descent,  but  dark  in 
complexion  as  a  Malay,  soon  found  herself,  I 
know  not  how,  my  vis-a-vis,  and  away  we 
went,  whirling  and  pirouetting  down  the 
apartment,  to  the  great  amazement  of  the 
Asiatic  neophytes.  I  must  pause  here  to  ob- 
serve, by  way  of  parenthesis,  that  the  ball- 
room was  not  smaller  than  the  body  of  a  good- 
sized  English  church,  with  a  row  of  pillars  on 
each  side  under  the  galleries,  behind  which 
the  spectators  thronged.  Next  after  us,  fol- 
lowed a  Jew  in  the  costume  of  Bengal  with  a 
delicate  young  damsel  fresh  from  England. 
Then,  came  a  fire-worshipper  with  a  Parisian 
belle,  and  then  a  multitude  of  unimaginable 
combinations,  until  the  floor  was  crowded  with 
dancers  glancing  hither  and  thither  beneath, 
the  glitter  of  the  splendid  chandeliers. 

The  harmony  of  dance  and  music  was,  how- 
ever, presently  disturbed  by  an  uncivil  French- 


332 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


man  (a  rare  creature),  who  suddenly  discover- 
ing that  he  had  lost  his  partner,  plunged 
about  the  room  in  search  of  her,  and  found 
her  actively  pointing  her  toes  at  a  young  En- 
glish lieutenant  of  gigantic  stature.  Jacques 
Bonhomme,  being  small,  had  some  trouble  to 
strike  his  rival  in  the  face ;  the  rival  with 
much  courtesy  requested  him  to  walk  down- 
stairs, and  promised  a  sufficient  explanation 
when  the  dance  was  over.  Jacques  remained 
upstairs,  wandering  about  the  room  like  a 
wolf  in  a  cage.  A  duel  impended,  and  the 
Asiatics  very  much  enjoyed  the  prospect  of 
this  unexpected  addition  to  their  evening's 
entertainment.  Somebody,  however,  procured 
uhe  intervention  of  police,  and  in  a  corner  of 
a  ball-room  there  took  place  the  episode  of 
arrest,  bail,  aiid  those  other  details  preliminary 
to  civil  action  against  Jacques  Bonhomme  for 
assault  and  battery. 

Having  shared  several  dances  with  my 
young  Asiatic  Netherlander,  I  next  found 
myself  opposite  a  Spanish  lady,  from  Manilla, 
who  smoked  between  the  figures,  and  spoke 
very  bad  English.  This,  however,  she  declared 
to  me  was  her  favourite  language,  though  she 
knew  both  Malay  and  French  ;  I  was  there- 
fore bound,  in  politeness,  to  conceal  my  ignor- 
ance as  to  the  import  of  about  two  words  in 
every  three  with  which  she  favoured  me. 

The  cluster  of  faces  peering  out  from 
between  the  pillars  was  now  and  then 
lighted  up  with  laughter,  as  odd  groups  of 
dancers  whirled  past ;  even  the  dancers  them- 
selves often  found  it  impossible  to  preserve 
their  gravity.  Some  little  awkwardness, 
moreover,  was  occasionally  displayed  by  the 
strangely  united  couples.  For  example,  a 
young  lady  from  Calcutta,  dressed  after  the 
most  elaborate  fashion  of  the  city  of  palaces, 
got  fearfully  entangled  in  a  Schottische  with  a 
Chinese  Mandarin,  whose  large,  jet-black 
tail  descended  considerably  below  his  waist. 
As  he  hopped  and  frisked,  the  tail  flew  about 
iu  the  most  dangerous  manner.  No  doubt 
could  be  entertained,  however,  that  the  gen- 
tleman had  been  taking  lessons  for  a  fortnight 
or  three  weeks,  because  he  really  went  through 
the  business  of  the  dance  very  respectably. 
At  length,  however,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it, 
one  of  his  red  slippers  came  off.  A  burst  of 
laughter,  which  it  was  impossible  to  restrain, 
shook  the  fat  sides  of  the  host  at  this  disaster, 
•while  the  unhappy  How-Guim-Foo  quitted 
his  partner,  and  rushed,  with  his  long  tail  like 
a  comet,  to  regain  the  shoe — for  to  be  shoeless 
is  to  be  disgraced  in  Celestial  eyes. 

At  another  time,  and  in  another  part  of  the 
room,  the  tails  of  two  of  the  Chinese,  as  they 
passed  one  another,  back  to  back,  hooked 
together :  perhaps  by  the  strings  which  tied 
them.  While  the  gentlemen  butted  forward 
with  their  heads,  after  the  manner  of  rams,  to 
dissolve  their  involuntary  partnership,  their 
chosen  partners  ran  into  each  other's  arms, 
and  whirled  on  in  the  waltz  without  them. 

Becoming  by  degrees  a  little  tired,  I  slipped 


behind  the  pillars  fur  rest.  Here  I  observed 
neat  little  tables  in  front  of  luxurious  sofas, 
on  which  several  Celestials  reclined  at  their 
full  length,  smoking  opium.  They  appeared 
to  be  iu  a  delicious  state  of  dreaminess, 
imagining  themselves,  perhaps,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Lake  of  Lilies,  with  orange  and  tea- 
trees  blossoming  around  them.  Near  these, 
were  two  or  three  Hindoos  smoking  the 
hookah  ;  in  their  neighbourhood  a  solitary 
Turk,  who  bore  in  his  countenance  an  expres- 
sion of  infinite  disdain  for  the  infidels  of 
all  colours  whom  he  saw  around  him.  As 
I  had  recently  come  from  his  part  of  the 
world,  I  accosted  him  at  once,  and  great  was 
his  delight,  when  he  heard  a  greeting  in  the 
language  of  Stamboul.  The  whole  economy 
of  his  features  immediately  underwent  a  com- 
plete change.  He  would  gladly  have  pro- 
longed our  conversation  until  morning,  had 
I  not  been  reminded  of  an  engagement  to 
waltz  with  a  houri  from  Manilla. 

To  describe  fitly  the  supper  which  followed, 
I  ought  to  have  studied  for  three  years  under 
some  Parisian  gastronome.  It  was  a  chaos  of 
dainties,  each  more  tempting  than  the  other. 
All  the  fruits  of  the  Indian  Archipelago,  of 
India,  China,  and  the  West — some  in  their 
natural  state,  others  exquisitely  preserved, 
were  piled  around  us.  There  were  birds' 
nest  soups,  puppy  ragouts,  pillaus  of  kanga- 
roos' tails,  fish  of  all  kinds,  and  pastry  in 
profusion.  And  then  for  the  wines — all 
the  wines  that  France,  Germany,  and  Hun- 
gary could  produce,  sparkled  on  the  board, 
and  the  most  anxious  care  was  taken  that 
every  one  should  be  supplied  with  what 
he  most  desired.  While  we  were  regaling  our- 
selves, delicious  strains  of  music,  issuing  from 
I  know  not  where,  stole  into  the  apartment. 
This  I  thought  much  better  than  a  noisy  band, 
destroying  or  bewildering  one's  appetite  from 
a  gallery  immediately  over-head.  In  this  case, 
the  music  seemed  to  form  part  of  the  flavour  of 
the  fruits  and  wines,  so  finely  did  it  steal  into 
the  air.  Two  or  three  songs,  sung  by  female 
singers  from  Italy,  forcibly  carried  me  back  by 
assi  iciation  to  old  happy  days  in  Europe.  By 
way  of  variety,  we  had  a  little  Asiatic  music 
also,  which  several  of  the  Europeans  present 
thought  themselves  compelled,  by  the  laws  of 
taste,  to  pronounce  detestable.  I  differed  from 
them  greatly.  Though  inartificial,  it  seemed 
to  me  full  of  sweetness,  and  strikingly  charac- 
teristic of  wild,  fierce,  and  impassioned  races. 
Not,  however,  being  a  connoisseur  in  these 
matters,  I  may  of  course  be  wrong.  Besides, 
I  judged  (after  such  a  supper)  in  a  spirit  of 
extreme  good  humour  towards  all  the  world. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  when  we  separated  ;  and  as  I 
had  to  take  a  ride  of  three  or  four  miles 
into  the  country  before  going  to  bed,  I  felt  so 
refreshed  by  the  cool  night  air,  that  on 
reaching  home,  I  lay  down  to  rest  as  tran- 
quilly as  a  child  might,  after  no  more  fatiguing 
pleasure  than  a  frolic  in  the  garden. 


Published  »t  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  bjr  BKADBUBT  &  ETAHH.  White/riare,  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS:'— SHAKESPEABE. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOUKNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


N°-H8.] 


SATURDAY,  JUNE  26,  1852. 


[PRICE  2d. 


BETTING-SHOPS. 


IN  one  sporting  newspaper  for  Sunday, 
June  the  fourteenth,  there  are  nine-and- 
twenty  advertisements  from  Prophets,  who 
have  wonderful  information  to  give — for 
a  consideration  ranging  from  one  pound 
one,  to  two-and-sixpence — concerning  every 
"  event "  that  is  to  come  off  upon  the 
Turf.  Each  of  these  Prophets  has  an  un- 
rivalled arid  unchallengeable  "  Tip,"  founded 
on  amazing  intelligence  communicated  to  him 
by  illustrious  unknowns  (traitors  of  course, 
but  that  is  nobody's  business)  in  all  the  racing 
stables.  Each,  is  perfectly  clear  that  his 
enlightened  patrons  and  correspondents  must 
win  ;  and  each,  begs  to  guard  a  too-confiding 
world  against  relying  on  the  other.  They  are 
all  philanthropists.  One  Sage  announces 
"that  when  he  casts  his  practised  eye  on 
the  broad  surface  of  struggling  society,  and 
witnesses  the  slow  and  enduring  perseverance 
of  some,  and  the  infatuous  rush  of  the  many 
who  are  grappling  with  a  cloud,  he  is  led 
with  more  intense  desire  to  hold  up  the  lamp 
of  light  to  all."  He  is  also  much  afflicted, 
because  "  not  a  day  passes,  without  his 
witnessing  the  public  squandering  away  their 
money  on  worthless  rubbish."  Another, 
heralds  his  re-appearance  among  the  lesser 
stars  of  the  firmament  with  the  announce- 
ment, "Again  the  Conquering  Prophet 
comes ! "  Another  moralist  intermingles  with 
his  "  Pick,"  and  "  Tip,"  the  great  Christian 
precept  of  the  New  Testament.  Another, 
confesses  to  a  small  recent  mistake  which  has 
made  it  "a  disastrous  meeting  for  us,"  but 
considers  that  excuses  are  unnecessary  (after 
making  them),  for,  "  surely,  after  the  unpre- 
cedented success  of  the  proofs  he  has  lately 
afforded  of  his  capabilities  in  fishing  out  the 
most  carefully-hidden  turf  secrets,  he  may 
readily  be  excused  one  blunder."  All  the 
Prophets  write  in  a  rapid  manner,  as  receiv- 
ing their  inspiration  on  horseback,  and  noting 
it  down,  hot  and  hot,  in  the  saddle,  for  the 
enlightenment  of  mankind  and  the  restora- 
tion of  the  golden  age. 

This  flourishing  trade  is  a  melancholy 
index  to  the  round  numbers  of  human  donkeys 
who  are  everywhere  browzing  about.  And 
it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  great  mass 
of  disciples  were,  at  first,  undoubtedly  to 


be  found  among  those  fast  young  gentle- 
men, who  are  so  excruciatingly  knowing  that 
they  are  not  by  any  means  to  be  taken  in  by 
SHAKESPEARE,  or  any  sentimental  gammon 
of  that  sort.  To  us,  the  idea  of  this 
would-be  keen  race  being  preyed  upon  by 
the  whole  Betting-Book  of  Prophets,  is  one 
of  the  most  ludicrous  pictures  the  mind  can 
imagine  ;  while  there  is  a  just  and  pleasant 
retribution  in  it  which  would  awaken  in  us 
anything  but  animosity  towards  the  Prophets, 
if  the  mischief  ended  here. 

But,  the  mischief  has  the  drawback  that  it 
does  not  end  here.  When  there  are  so  many 
Picks  and  Tips  to  be  had,  which  will,  of  a 
surety,  pick  and  tip  their  happy  owners  into  the 
lap  of  Fortune,  it  becomes  the  duty  of  every 
butcher's  boy  and  errand  lad  who  is  sensible 
of  what  is  due  to  himself,  immediately  to 
secure  a  Pick  and  Tip  of  the  cheaper  sort, 
and  to  go  in  and  win.  Having  purchased 
the  talisman  from  the  Conquering  Prophet, 
it  is  necessary  that  the  noble  sportsman 
should  have  a  handy  place  provided  for 
him,  where  lists  of  the  running  horses  and  of 
the  latest  state  of  the  odds,  are  kept,  and 
where  he  can  lay  out  his  money  (or  some- 
body else's)  on  the  happy  animals  at  whom 
the  Prophetic  eye  has  cast  a  knowing 
wink.  Presto  !  Betting-shops  spring  up 
in  every  street !  There  is  a  demand  at 
all  the  brokers'  shops  for  old,  fly-blown, 
coloured  prints  of  race-horses,  and  for  any 
odd  folio  volumes  that  have  the  appearance 
of  Ledgers.  Two  such  prints  in  any  shop- 
window,  and  one  such  book  on  any  shop- 
counter,  will  make  a  complete  Betting-office, 
bank,  and  all. 

The  Betting-shop  may  be  a  Tobacconist's, 
thus  suddenly  transformed ;  or  it  may  be 
nothing  but  a  Betting-shop.  It  may  be  got 
up  cheaply,  for  the  purposes  of  Pick  and  Tip 
investment,  by  the  removal  of  the  legitimate 
counter,  and  the  erection  of  an  official  par- 
tition and  desk  in  one  corner  ;  or,  it  may  be 
wealthy  in  mahogany  fittings,  French  polish, 
and  office  furniture.  The  presiding  officer,  in 
an  advanced  stage  of  shabbiness,  may  be  acci- 
dentally beheld  through  the  little  window — 
whence  from  the  inner  mysteries  of  the 
Temple,  he  surveys  the  devotees  before  enter- 
ing on  business — drinking  gin  with  an 
admiring  client ;  or  he  may  be  a  serenely 


118 


334 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


condescending  gentleman  of  Government  Office 
appearance,  who  keeps  the  books  of  the  esta- 
blishment with  his  glass  in  his  eye.  The 
Institution  may  stoop  to  bets  of  single  shillings, 
or  may  reject  lower  ventures  than  half-crowns, 
or  may  draw  the  line  of  demarcation  between 
itself  and  the  snobs  at  five  shillings,  or  seven- 
and-sixpeuce,  or  half-a-sovereign,  or  even  (but 
very  rarely  indeed),  at  a  pound.  Its  note  of 
the  little  transaction  may  be  a  miserable  scrap 
of  limp  pasteboard  with  a  wretchedly  printed 
form,  worse  filled  up  ;  or,  it  may  be  a  gen- 
teelly tinted  card,  addressed  "  To  the  Cashier 
of  the  Aristocratic  Club,"  and  authorising 
that  important  officer  to  pay  the  bearer  two 
pounds  fifteen  shillings,  if  Greenhorn  wins 
the  Fortunatus's  Cup  ;  and  to  be  very  par- 
ticular to  pay  it  the  day  after  the  race.  But, 
whatever  the  Betting-shop  be,  it  has  only  to 
be  somewhere — anywhere,  so  people  pass  and 
repass — and  the  rapid  youth  of  England,  with 
its  slang  intelligence  perpetually  broad  awake 
and  its  weather  eye  continually  open,  will 
walk  in  and  deliver  up  its  money,  like  the 
helpless  Innocent  that  it  is 

Pleased  to  the  last,  it  thinks  its  wager  won, 
And  licks  the  hand  by  which  it 's  surely  Done  ! 

We  cannot  represent  the  head  quarters  of 
Household  Words  as  being  situated  peculiarly 
in  the  midst  of  these  establishments,  for,  they 
pervade  the  whole  of  London  and  its  suburbs. 
But,  our  neighbourhood  yields  an  abundant 
crop  of  Betting-shops,  and  we  have  not  to  go 
far  to  know  something  about  them.  Passing, 
the  other  day,  through  a  dirty  thoroughfare, 
much  frequented,  near  Drury  Lane  Theatre, 
we  found  that  a  new  Betting-shop  had  sud- 
denly been  added  to  the  number  under  the 
auspices  of  MR.  CHEERFUL. 

Mr.  Cheerful's  small  establishment  was  so 
very  like  that  of  the  apothecary  in  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  unfurnished,  and  hastily  adapted 
to  the  requirements  of  secure  and  profitable 
investment,  that  it  attracted  our  particular 
notice.  It  burst  into  bloom,  too,  so  very  shortly 
before  the  Ascot  Meeting,  that  we  had  our 
suspicions  concerning  the  possibility  of  Mr. 
Cheerful  having  devised  the  ingenious  specu- 
lation of  getting  what  money  he  could,  up  to 
the  day  of  the  race,  and  then — if  we  may  be 
allowed  the  harsh  expression — bolting.  We 
had  no  doubt  that  investments  would  be  made 
with  Mr.  Cheerful,  notwithstanding  the  very 
unpromising  appearance  of  his  establishment ; 
for,  even  as  we  were  considering  its  exterior 
from  the  opposite  side  of  the  way  (it  may 
have  been  opened  that  very  morning),  we  saw 
two  newsboys,  an  incipient  baker,  a  clerk, 
and  a  young  butcher,  go  in,  and  transact 
business  with  Mr.  Cheerful  in  a  most  con- 
fiding manner. 

We  resolved  to  lay  a  bet  with  Mr.  Cheerful, 
and  see  what  came  of  it.  So,  we  stepped  across 
the  road  into  Mr.  Cheerful's  Betting-shop,  and, 
having  glanced  at  the  lists  hanging  up  therein, 


while  another  noble  sportsman  (a  boy  with  a 
blue  bag)  laid  another  bet  with  Mr.  Cheerful, 
we  expressed  our  desire  to  back  Tophana  for 
the  Western  Handicap,  to  the  spirited  amount 
of  hal  f-a-crown.  In  making  this  advance  to 
Mr.  Cheerful,  we  looked  as  knowing  on  the 
subject,  both  of  Tophana  and  the  Western 
Handicap,  as  it  was  in  us  to  do :  though,  to 
confess  the  humiliating  truth,  we  neither  had, 
nor  have,  the  least  idea  in  connexion  with 
those  proper  names,  otherwise  than  as  we 
suppose  Tophana  to  be  a  horse,  and  the 
Western  Handicap  an  aggregate  of  stakes. 
It  being  Mr.  Cheerful's  business  to  be  grave 
and  ask  no  questions,  he  accepted  our  wager, 
booked  it,  and  handed  us  over  his  railed  desk 
the  dirty  scrap  of  pasteboard,  in  right  of 
which  we  were  to  claim — the  day  after  the 
race ;  we  Avere  to  be  very  particular  about 
that — seven-and-sixpence  sterling,  if  Tophana 
won.  Some  demon  whispering  us  that  here 
was  an  opportunity  of  discovering  whether 
Mr.  Cheerful  had  a  good  bank  of  silver  in  the 
cash-box,  we  handed  in  a  sovereign.  Mr. 
Cheerful's  head  immediately  slipped  down 
behind  the  partition,  investigating  imaginary 
drawers  ;  and  Mr.  Cheerful's  voice  was  pre- 
sently heard  to  remark,  in  a  stifled  manner, 
that  all  the  silver  had  been  changed  for  gold 
that  morning.  After  which,  Mr.  Cheerful 
reappeared  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  called 
in  from  a  parlour  the  sharpest  small  boy  ever 
beheld  by  human  vision,  and  dispatched  him 
for  change.  We  remarked  to  Mr.  Cheerful 
that  if  he  would  obligingly  produce  half-a- 
sovereign  (having  so  much  gold  by  him)  we 
would  increase  our  bet,  and  save  him  trouble. 
But,  Mr.  Cheerful,  sliding  down  behind  the 
partition  again,  answered  that  the  boy  was  gone, 
now — trust  him  for  that ;  he  had  vanished  the 
instant  he  was  spoken  to — and  it  was  no 
trouble  at  all.  Therefore,  we  remained  until 
the  boy  came  back,  in  the  society  of  Mr. 
Cheerful,  and  of  an  inscrutable  woman  who 
stared  out  resolutely  into  the  street,  and  was 
probably  Mrs.  Cheerful.  When  the  boy  re- 
turned, we  thought  we  once  saw  him  faintly 
twitch  his  nose  while  we  received  our  ch*,nge, 
as  if  he  exulted  over  a  victim ;  but,  he  was  so 
miraculously  sharp,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
be  certain. 

The  day  after  the  race,  arriving,  we  returned 
with  our  document  to  Mr.  Cheerful's  estab- 
lishment, and  found  it  in  great  confusion.  It 
was  filled  by  a  crowd  of  boys,  mostly  greasy, 
dirty,  and  dissipated  ;  and  all  clamouring  for 
Mr.  Cheerful.  Occupying  Mr.  Cheerful's 
place,  was  the  miraculous  boy  ;  all  alone,  and 
unsupported,  but  not  at  all  disconcerted. 
Mr.  Cheerful,  he  said,  had  gone  out  on 
"  tickler  bizniz  "  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  would'nt  be  back  till  late  at  night. 
Mrs.  Cheerful  was  gone  out  of  town  for  her 
health,  till  the  winter.  Would  Mr.  Cheerful 
be  back  to-morrow  1  cried  the  crowd.  "  He 
won't  be  here,  to-morrow,"  said  the  mira- 
culous boy.  "  Coz  it 's  Sunday,  and  he  always 


Charles  Dickens,  j 


BETTING-SHOPS. 


335 


goes  to  church,  a'  Sunday."  At  this,  even 
the  losers  laughed.  "Will  he  be  here 
a'  Monday,  then  1 "  asked  a  desperate  young 
green-grocer.  "A' Monday  ?"  said  the  miracle, 
reflecting.  "  No,  I  don't  think  he  '11  be  here, 
a'  Monday,  coz  he  's  going  to  a  sale  a'  Monday." 
At  this,  some  of  the  boys  taunted  the  un- 
moved miracle  with  meaning  "  a  sell  instead 
of  a  sale,"  and  others  swarmed  over  the  whole 
place,  and  some  laughed,  and  some  swore, 
and  one  errand-boy,  discovering  the  book — 
the  only  thing  Mr.  Cheerful  had  left  behind 
him — declared  it  to  be  "  a  stunning  good  'un." 
We  took  the  liberty  of  looking  over  it,  and 
found  it  so.  Mr.  Cheerful  had  received  about 
seventeen  pounds,  and,  even  if  he  had  paid  his 
losses,  would  have  made  a  profit  of  between 
eleven  and  twelve  pounds.  It  is  scarcely 
necessary  to  add  that  Mr.  Cheerful  has  been 
so  long  detained  at  the  sale,  that  he  has  never 
-come  back.  The  last  time  we  loitered  past 
his  late  establishment  (over  which  is  inscribed 
Boot  and  Shoe  Manufactory),  the  dusk  of 
evening  was  closing  in,  and  a  young  gentle- 
man from  New  Inn  was  making  some  rather 
particular  enquiries  after  him  of  a  dim  and 
dusty  man  who  held  the  door  a  very  little 
way  open,  and  knew  nothing  about  anybody, 
and  less  than  nothing  (if  possible)  about  Mr. 
Cheerful.  The  handle  of  the  lower  door-bell 
was  most  significantly  pulled  out  to  its  utmost 
extent,  and  left  so,  like  an  Organ  stop  in  full 
action.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  poor  gull 
who  had  so  frantically  rung  for  Mr.  Cheerful, 
derived  some  gratification  from  that  expendi- 
ture of  emphasis.  He  will  never  get  any 
other,  for  his  money. 

But  the  public  in  general  are  not  to  be  left 
a  prey  to  such  fellows  as  Cheerful.  O,  dear 
no !  We  have  better  neighbours  than  that, 
in  the  Betting-shop  way.  Expressly  for  the 
correction  of  such  evils,  we  have  THE 
TRADESMENS'  MORAL  ASSOCIATIVE  BETTING 
CLUB  ;  the  Prospectus  of  which  Institution 
for  the  benefit  of  tradesmen  (headed  in  the 
original,  with  a  racing  woodcut),  we  here 
faithfully  present  without  the  alteration  of 
a  word. 

"  The  Projectors  of  the  Tradesmen's  Moral 
Associative  Betting  Club,  in  announcing  an 
addition  to  the  number  of  Betting  Houses  in 
the  Metropolis,  beg  most  distinctly  to  state 
that  they  are  not  actuated  by  a  feeling  of 
rivalry  towards  old  established  and  honourably 
conducted  places  of  a  similar  nature,  but 
in  a  spirit  of  fair  competition,  ask  for 
the  support  of  the  public,  guaranteeing  to 
them  more  solid  security  for  the  invest- 
ment of  their  monies,  than  has  hitherto 
been  offered. 

"  The  Tradesmen's  Moral  Associative  Bet- 
ting Club  is  really  what  its  name  imports, 
viz.,  an  Association  of  Tradesmen,  persons  in 
business,  who  witnessing  the  robberies  hourly 
inflicted  upon  the  humbler  portion  of  the 
sporting  public,  by  parties  bankrupts  alike  in 
character  and  property,  have  come  to  the 


conclusion  that  the  establishment  of  a  club 
wherein  their  fellow -tradesmen,  and  the  spe- 
culator of  a  few  shillings,  may  invest  their 
money  with  assured  consciousness  of  a  fair 
and  honourable  dealing,  will  be  deemed 
worthy  of  public  support. 

"The  Directors  of  this  establishment  feel 
that  much  of  the  odium  attached  to  Betting 
Houses,  (acting  to  the  prejudice  of  those  which 
have  striven  hard  by  honourable  means  to 
secure  public  confidence)  has  arisen  from  the 
circumstance,  that  many  offices  have  been, 
fitted  up  in  a  style  of  gaudy  imitative  magni- 
ficence, accompanied  by  an  expense,  which,  if 
defrayed,  is  obviously  out  of  keeping  with  the 
profits  of  a  legitimate  concern.  Whilst,  in. 
singular  contrast,  others  have  presented  such 
a  poverty  stricken  appearance,  that  it  is  evi- 
dent the  design  of  the  occupant  was  only  to 
receive  money  of  all,  and  terminate  in  paying 
none. 

"  Avoiding  these  extremes  of  appearance, 
and  with  a  determination  never  to  be  induced 
to  speculate  to  an  extent,  that  may  render  it 
even  probable  that  we  shall  be  unable  "to 
pay  the  day  after  the  race." 

"  The  business  of  the  club  will  be  carried 
on  at  the  house  of  a  highly  respectable  and 
well-known  tradesman,  situate  in  a  central 
locality,  the  existence  of  an  agreement  with 
whom,  on  the  part  of  the  director,  forms  the 
strongest  possible  guarantee  of  our  intention 
to  keep  faith  with  the  public. 

"  The  market  odds  will  be  laid  on  all  events, 
and  every  ticket  issued  be  signed  by  the 
director  only,  the  monies  being  invested," 
&c.  &c. 

After  this,  Tradesmen  are  quite  safe  in 
laying  out  their  money  on  their  favourite 
horses.  Aud  their  families,  like  the  people  in 
old  fireside  stories,  will  no  doubt  live  happy 
ever  afterwards  ! 

Now,  it  is  unquestionable  that  this  evil  has 
risen  to  a  great  height,  and  that  it  involves 
some  very  serious  social  considerations.  But, 
with  all  respect  for  opinions  which  we  do  not 
hold,  we  think  it  a  mistake  to  cry  for  legis- 
lative interference  in  such  a  case.  In  the  first 
place,  we  do  not  think  it  wise  to  exhibit  a  legis- 
lature which  has  always  cared  so  little  for  the 
amusements  of  the  people,  in  repressive  action 
only.  If  it  had  been  an  educational  legis- 
lature, considerate  of  the  popular  enjoyments, 
and  sincerely  desirous  to  advance  and  extend 
them  during  as  long  a  period  as  it  has  been 
exactly  the  reverse,  the  question  might  assume 
a  different  shape ;  though,  even  then,  we  should 
greatly  doubt  whether  the  same  notion  were 
not  a  shifting  of  the  real  responsibility.  In 
the  second  place,  although  it  is  very  edifying 
to  have  honorable  members,  and  right  honor- 
able members,  and  honorable  and  learned 
members,  and  what  not,  holding  forth  in  their 
places  upon  what  is  right,  and  what  is 
wrong,  and  what  is  true,  and  what  is  false— 
among  the  people — we  have  that  audacity 
in  us  that  we  do  not  admire  the  present 


336 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Parliamentary  standard  and  balance  of  such 
questions ;  and  we  believe  that  if  those  be 
not  scrupulously  just,  Parliament  cannot  in- 
vest itself  with  much  moral  authority.  Surely 
the  whole  country  knows  that  certain  chival- 
rous public  Prophets  have  been,  for  a  pretty 
long  time  past,  advertising  their  Pick  and  Tip 
in  all  directions,  pointing  out  the  horse  which 
was  to  ruin  all  backers,  and  swearing  by  the 
horse  which  was  to  make  everybody's  fortune  ! 
Surely  we  all  know,  howsoever  our  political 
opinions  may  differ,  that  more  than  one  of 
them  "  casting  his  practised  eye,"  exactly  like 
the  Prophet  in  the  sporting  paper,  "  on  the 
broad  surface  of  struggling  society,"  has  been 
possessed  by  the  same  "  intense  desire  to  hold 
up  the  lamp  of  light  to  all,"  and  has  solemnly 
known  by  the  lamp  of  light  that  Black  was 
the  winning  horse — until  his  Pick  and  Tip  was 
purchased  ;  when  he  suddenly  began  to  think 
it  might  be  White,  or  even  Brown,  or  very 
possibly  Grey.  Surely,  we  all  know,  however 
reluctant  we  may  be  to  admit  it,  that  this  has 
tainted  and  confused  political  honesty ;  that 
the  Elections  before  us,  and  the  whole  Govern- 
ment of  the  country,  are  at  present  a  great 
reckless  Betting-shop,  where  the  Prophets 
have  pocketed  their  own  predictions  after 
playing  fast  and  loose  with  their  patrons  as 
long  as  they  could  ;  and  where,  casting  their 
practised  eyes  over  things  in  general,  they 
are  now  backing  anything  and  everything  for 
a  chance  of  winning  ! 

No.  If  the  legislature  took  the  subject  in 
hand  it  would  make  a  virtuous  demonstration, 
we  have  no  doubt,  but  it  would  not  present 
an  edifying  spectacle.  Parents  and  employers 
must  do  more  for  themselves.  Every  man 
should  know  something  of  the  habits  and 
frequentings  of  those  who  are  placed  under 
him ;  and  should  know  much,  when  a  new  class 
of  temptation  thus  presents  itself.  Appren- 
tices are,  by  the  terms  of  their  indentures, 
punishable  for  gaming ;  it  would  do  a 
world  of  good,  to  get  a  few  score  of  that 
class  of  noble  sportsmen  convicted  before 
magistrates,  and  shut  up  in  the  House  of 
Correction,  to  Pick  a  little  oakhum,  and  Tip 
a  little  gruel  into  their  silly  stomachs.  Betting 
clerks,  and  betting  servants  of  all  grades, 
once  detected  after  a  grave  warning,  should 
be  firmly  dismissed.  There  are  plenty  of 
industrious  and  steady  young  men  to  supply 
their  places.  The  police  should  receive  in- 
structions by  no  means  to  overlook  any  gentle- 
man of  established  bad  reputation — whether 
"wanted"  or  not — who  is  to  be  found  con- 
nected with  a  Betting-shop.  It  is  our  belief 
that  several  eminent  characters  could  be  so 
discovered.  These  precautions;  always  sup- 
posing parents  and  employers  resolute  to 
discharge  their  own  duties  instead  of  vaguely 
delegating  them  to  a  legislature  they  have  no 
reliance  on ;  would  probably  be  sufficient. 
Some  fools  who  are  under  no  control,  will 
always  be  found  wandering  away  to  ruin  ;  but, 
the  greater  part  of  that  extensive  department  [ 


of  the  commonalty  are  under  some  control, 
and  the  great  need  is,  that  it  be  better 
exercised. 


FOUR  STOEIES. 


I  MUST  express  my  belief  that  a  French- 
man's rooms  have  far  greater  claim  to  be 
considered  his  castle  than  an  Englishman's 
house  has.  There  are  no  landladies,  there 
are  no  maids-of-all-work,  there  are  no  door 
knockers  (none  are  used  at  least),  and  no 
parish  fire  engines.  The  law,  as  repre- 
sented by  the  Commissary  of  Police,  is  the 
only  visitor  you,  as  an  occupant  of  a  French 
house,  are  compelled  to  admit ;  and,  though 
in  times  of  commotion  you  are  certainly 
subject  to  an  irruption  of  cocked  hats> 
jack  boots,  and  clinking  sabres  into  your 
domicile,  a  general  turning  over  of  your 
papers,  and  ripping  up  of  your  feather  beds, 
to  facilitate  the  discovery  of  treasonable  docu- 
ments, you  may  at  all  other  seasons  proudly 
call  your  house  (whether  it  consists  of  saloon, 
bedroom,  antechamber,  and  boudoir,  or  simply 
of  a  mansards  au  sixieme,  or  garret  on 
the  sixth  floor,)  your  castle.  You  have  the 
key  of  it,  and  as  long  as  you  pay  your  rent 
you  are  absolutely  master  therein.  If  you 
choose  to  have  your  bed  made,  the  lodge 
keeper  will  make  it  for  the  consideration  of 
tweutypence  paid  monthly  ;  if  you  choose  to 
make  it  yourself  you  can  do  so  ;  if  you  prefer 
it  not  made  at  all,  and  choose  to  keep  pigs 
and  a  few  live  rabbits  under  the  pillow,  you 
may.  Only,  if  your  concierge,  or  porter,  doesn't 
see  you  pass  the  lodge  once  in  a  week  or  so, 
he  smells  a  rat,  and  fetches  a  Commissary  of 
Police.  The  Commissary  arrives  ;  makes  the 
customary  summons  in  the  name  of  the  law, 
and  breaks  the  door  open,  legally.  Suppose 
you  have  died  of  starvation  :  suppose  you 
have  suffocated  yourself  with  the  fumes  of 
charcoal :  justice  informs  itself,  a  proces  verbal 
is  drawn  up,  and  if  you  have  no  relations  and 
no  friends,  you  are  put  into  a  wooden  box  and 
driven  off  in  a  something  like  an  omnibus 
with  the  sides  knocked  out,  by  a  driver  in  a 
cocked  hat,  and  put  into  a  grave  in  the 
cemetery  of  Montmartre. 

The  house  I  live  in  is  four  stories  high  and 
a  perfect  citadel  of  separate  little  fortalices. 
The  inhabitants  are  subjected,  it  is  true,  to 
domiciliary  visits,  and  to  the  complaints  of 
their  neighbours  should  they  practise  the  big 
drum,  or  the  Sax-horn,  rather  too  loud  or  too 
often ;  but  setting  these  little  matters  aside, 
they  are  as  completely  masters  at  home,  as 
ever  baron  of  old  was  in  his  battlemented 
barbican.  There  is  a  staircase  common  to  the 
whole  house  (and  not  very  clean)  which  is 
neutral  ground  ;  a  very  place  of  reunion  for 
the  cats  of  the  different  stories,  and  for  quiet 
afternoon  gossips,  should  number  twelve  feel 
conversationally  inclined  towards  number  five. 
But  the  castles  themselves  are  inviolable. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  social  kindliness,  and 


Ch»rl*«  Dickens.] 


FOUB  STOEIES. 


337 


cheerful  neighbourship  in  our  four  stories  ; 
tut  our  castles  are  our  castles  irrevocably  and 
intact,  and  we  have  our  more  than  Eleusinian 
mysteries.  In  an  English  lodging-house,  a 
tenant  could  not  reside  three  weeks  without 
his  avocations,  his  friends,  and  general  social 
position  being  more  or  less  known,  or  certainly 
assumed.  But  in  our  four-storied  house,  the 
first-floor  might  be  occupied  by  a  wild  beast 
tamer  (with  his  menagerie  occupying  the 
boudoir),  the  second  by  a  secret  society  of 
Illuminati,  and  the  third  by  a  private  lunatic 
asylum,  for  aught  the  fourth-floor  knew,  and 
so  vice  versa.  Sometimes,  after  a  three  or 
four  years'  sojourn,  it  is  bruited  about  that  in 
one  of  the  garrets  lives  an  old  lady  who  has 
known  Voltaire,  Eousseau,  and  Pilatre  de 
.Rosier,  has  supped  with  Sophie  Arnauld,  and 
danced  with  M.  de  Mirabeau.  Sometimes  (as 
happened  the  other  day),  a  little  old  gentle- 
man belonging  to  the  second  floor,  very  fond 
of  snuff -taking,  and  leaning  on  a  stick,  dies ; 
and  the  neighbours  hear,  amazed,  that  the 
defunct  is  such  a  person  as  Don  Manuel 
Godoy,  prince  of  the  peace,  a  man  whose 
fame  has  filled  all  Europe,  whose  name  (for 
good  or  evil)  is  in  every  mouth,  whose 
memoirs  are  on  every  bookstall  on  every 
quay  in  Paris.  Everybody  has  heard  of 
the  Hermit  of  the  Chausse"  d'Antin,  and 
Paris  is  the  only  place  where  such  a  hermit 
could  dwell.  I  should  like  to  see  a  hermit  in 
High  Holborn,  or  New  Bond  Street !  Though 
the  street  door  of  our  four-storied  house 
stands  wide  open,  the  porter  and  the 
police  are  the  sole  depositaries  of  the  secret 
of  our  whereabouts  ;  for  which  reason  I  would 
specially  recommend  one  of  our  four  stories  to 
all  persons  fond  of  retirement  or  encumbered 
with  too  numerous  an  acquaintance. 

But  I,  the  indigent  philosopher,  whose  voca- 
tion is  to  observe,  and  from  the  kennel  of  social 
peculiarities,  fish,  with  the  crook  of  reflection, 
queer  fragments  of  life  and  manners — I,  the 
ragged  moralist,  may  know  more  about  my 
neighbours  than  my  neighbours  about  me. 
Perhaps  I  have  won  the  porter  over  to  my 
interests,  perhaps  I  am  one  of  that  numerous, 
astute,  indefatigable,  but  ill-paid  class,  the 
subordinate  police  spies  of  Paris.  At  all 
events  I  know  my  four  stories  by  heart,  and 
can  (and  hereby  do)  present  a  prose  paraphrase 
of  Beranger's  jovial  lyric,  les  quatres  etayes. 

To  begin  at  the  beginning :  the  house  itself 
It  is  an  hotel  with  a  small  court-yard  in  the 
Hue  Coquelet,  which,  as  everybody  ought  to 
know,  is  in  the  historical  Faubourg  St 
Germain.  The  Rue  Coquelet  is  a  silent  street 
made  up  of  similar  hotels,  interspersed  with 
little  milk  shops,  fruiterers',  bakers',  anc 
wine  shops.  For  a  mile  on  every  side 
extend  equally  silent  streets,  some  half  shops 
half  hotels,  as  ours  ;  others  occupied  solely  by 
gloomy  portes  cocheres,  through  which,  whei 
they  open  (which  is  rarely),  you  may  catcl: 
glimpses  of  gloomy  hotels.  Silent  streets 
little  shrunken  shops,  gloomy  gates,  shabby 


ittle  carriages,  street-porters  sleeping  in  the 
mi,  devout  old  ladies  trotting  to  early  mass, 
stealthy  priests  gliding  along  in  the  shadow 
of  the  walls,  Dukes  and  Marquises,  che- 
valiers and  abbes,  yet  abide  there  —  black 
ilk  small  clothes,  hair-powder,  pig- tails,  and 
satin  calashes  yet  linger  in  its  solemn  hotels— 
)ut  the  ancien  regime,  the  old  school  is  dying 
fast,  oh  !  how  fast  away. 

Our  house,  in  the  old  times  of  wigs  and 
rapiers,  petit  soupers  and  the  droit  de  jambage, 
aelonged  to  a  Farmer-General  of  the  French 
inances.  John  Law  and  the  Mississippi 
scheme  were  the  ruin  of  him,  and  he  was 
forced  to  sell'  his  house  to  Mademoiselle  Catin 
of  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  who  suffered  three 
months'  imprisonment  at  the  Madelonnettes 
for  refusing  to  sup  with  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishop of  Carpentras,  and  who  subsequently 
married  Milord  Peef,  " gentilhomme  anglais" 
who  was  no  other  than  Tom  Pilfer,  who  turned 
tiis  wife's  four-storied  hotel  into  a  gambling 
bouse,  and  had  here  that  famous  duel  with 
the  Chevalier  de  Rougeperd  which  compelled 
him  to  fly  to  America  (with  Mademoiselle 
Catin's  diamonds),  where  the  war  of  independ- 
ence had  just  commenced,  and  where  he  was 
hanged  at  Saratoga  springs  for  deserting 
seven  times  backwards  and  forwards,  in  three 
campaigns.  The  community  of  St.  Bumptious 
afterwards  settled  down  in  the  hotel,  where 
they  set  a  brilliant  example  of  orthodoxy  to 
the  neighbourhood,  and  burnt  an  octavo 
edition  of  the  works  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau 
with  great  solemnity  ;  but  the  revolution  of 
1789  supervening,  they  were  summarily 
ejected  by  a  Republican  chief  of  the  sections, 
who  gave  a  lecture  every  evening  to  a  select 
assembly  of  fish-women,  and  administered 
justice  to  the  aristocrats  on  the  premises. 
He  however  retired,  alleging  that  the  monks 
had  left  so  many  fleas  behind  them  that  the 
place  had  become  unbearable ;  and  as  the 
house  had  by  this  time  got  a  bad  name,  it 
remained  shut  up  and  deserted  till  1806,  when, 
as  it  belonged  to  nobody  in  particular,  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  conferred  it  on  one  of  his 
senators,  who  furnished  it  from  head  to  foot 
in  marble,  mahogany,  crimson,  and  gold,  had 
gilt  eagles  stuck  on  all  the  ceilings  and  over 
all  the  doors,  and  a  portrait  of  the  "  Emperor  " 
hung  in  every  room.  Came  1815,  notwith- 
standing, and  the  downfall  of  the  empire. 
The  senator  sold  his  house  to  a  boarding- 
school  master,  who  sold  it  to  a  dyer,  to  let  it 
to  a  retired  perfumer,  who  converted  it  into 
what  it  is  now — an  Hotel  Garni,  or  furnished 
lodging-house,  let  out  in  separate  floors  and 
tenements  like  the  "  Flats  "  of  a  house  in  the 
old  town  of  Edinburgh. 

Our  house  is  of  no  particular  form  or  shape, 
the  four  stories  being  piled  one  a-top  of 
another,  very  much  in  the  fashion  of  packing 
cases  in  a  railway  booking-office.  A  certain 
number  of  rooms  was  what  the  architect 
seemingly  had  in  view,  preferably  to  sym- 
metry of  arrangement,  so  that  if  any  order  of 


338 


HOUSEHOLD  WOUD*. 


[Conducted  by 


architecture  does  prevail  in  our  house,  it  is 
the  higgle-piggledy.  We  have  rather  a  super- 
abundance of  lath  and  plaster,  too,  compared 
•with  party  walls,  and  in  wet  weather  you  had 
better  look  out  of  window  as  seldom  as  pos- 
sible, as  there  is  a  species  of  Penelope's  we 
of  waterspouts  outside,  which  produce  per- 
plexing cascades  from  window  to  window. 

There  is  a  porter's  lodge  just  inside  the 
ports  cockere,  within  whose  marble  hulls 
(stuccoed  brick,  in  plain  prose)  the  porter 
of  the  hotel  has  his  abode.  His  name  is 
Monsieur  Stidmann,  and  to  his  high  and 
responsible  post  of  porter,  he  adds  the  sup- 
plementary calling  of  tailor.  A  print  of  the 
fashions  for  1824  hangs  over  his  porcelain 
stove,  which,  if  the  illustrative  portraits 
thereof  are  to  be  taken  as  evidence,  would 
prove  him  to  be  an  adept  in  the  confection  of 
habiliments  for  the  dignitaries  of  the  Clmrch, 
the  State,  and  the  Army,  of  ladies'  riding 
habits,  and  of  liveries  of  the  highest  style 
and  fashion.  I  rather  think,  though,  that 
Monsieur  Stidmanu,  if  he  ever  exercised  the 
above-named  branches  of  the  profession,  has 
long  since  abandoned  them  ;  for  I  cannot 
discover  that  he  exercises  any  more  important 
branch  of  the  sartorial  art,  now,  than  the 
repair  of  dilapidated  galligaskins,  and  other 
garments  rent  by  accident  or  by  age.  I  have 
even  heard  his  skill  as  a  "  botcher "  (if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  apply  that  familiar  term 
to  the  mystery  of  clothes'  mending)  called 
into  question ;  for  M.  Adolphe,  the  notary's 
clerk,  on  the  fourth  floor,  assures  me  that, 
confiding  to  him,  on  an  emergency,  a  dress 
coat  for  purposes  of  repair,  he  absolutely 
sewed  a  green  cuff  on  to  a  black  sleeve, 
besides  leaving  a  box  of  lucifer  matches  in  the 
left  tail  pocket,  which  together  were  the 
means  not  only  of  M.  Adolphe's  becoming  a 
subject  for  universal  risibility  to  a  select 
society  in  the  quarter  of  the  Marais,  but  also 
very  nearly  caused  him  to  set  fire  to  himself 
and  the  company  in  the  most  critical  portion 
of  the  Pastorale.  Adolphe,  to  be  sure, 
laughed  at  the  mistake  and  forgave  it  ;  but 
for  reasons  which  I  may  afterwards  feel 
invxt  If  called  upon  to  explain. 

This  unsuccessful  tailor  is  always  known  as 
Father  Stidmann,  probably  from  the  habit  the 
Parisians  have  of  attributing  paternity  to 
every  man  above  the  middle  age,  but  he 
also  rejoices  in  the  appellation  of  father  to 
Mademoiselle  Eulalie  Stidmann,  a  remarkably 
pretty  little  blonde  (Stidmaun  is  an  Alsatian), 
eighteen  years  of  age,  who,  to  the  confusion 
and  envy  of  all  the  grisettes  of  the  quarter, 
has  lately  abandoned  the  little  round  lace  cap, 
as  distinguishing  a  mark  of  the  grisette  as  the 
yellow  head-dress  of  the  Jews  in  Turkey,  and 
has  taken  to  wearing  a  real  bonnet,  in  which, 
and  with  a  roll  of  music  under  her  arm,  she 
goes  daily  to  the  Conservatoire  de  Musique,  of 
which  institution  she  is  a  pupil.  Her  gener- 
ous father  bought  her  a  dreadful  old  square 
piano  (Piaclet,  1802),  which  I  should  like  to 


see  broken  up  for  fire-wood,  confound  it  ;  but 
which  she  punishes  tremendously  every  even- 
ing, setting  Meyerbeer  and  Thalberg  to  hard 
labour  till  my  ears  are  pierced  through  and 
p  through,  and  the  old  porter  weeps  with 
b  pride  and  pleasure.  Besides  the  piano  and 
the  stove,  and  the  print  of  the  defunct  fashions 
I  have  spoken  of,  the  lodge  boasts  also  a 
framed  and  glazed  portrait  of  Beranger,  an 
old  caricature  by  Carte  Vernet,  representing 
some  notable  intrigue  of  some  notable  poli- 
tical personage,  whose  intrigues  and  whose 
notability  have  been  smoke  as  his  body  has 
been  dust,  these  thirty  years  ;  and  a  print 
crimped  like  a  fan,  presenting  at  one  point  of 
view  an  effigy  of  Napoleon,  and  at  another, 
that  of  the  Due  de  Reichstadt.  Above  hang 
a  rusty  sword  anil  cartouch  belt  (for  Stidmann 
has  served,  and  in  the  grand  army  too)  ; 
round  the  pipe  of  the  stove  are  twined  some 
palm  branches,  which  here  remain  from  Palm 
Sunday  to  Palm  Sunday  ;  and  from  nails  on 
the  wall  hang  two  withered  laurel  wreaths, 
old  trophies  of  prizes  for  good  conduct  and 
application,  won  by  pretty  little  Eulalie 
when  she  was  at  school.  Then,  close  to  the 
door,  a  considerable  portion  of  the  wall  is 
covered  with  the  keys  of  the  different  occu- 
pants' castles,  here  deposited  (if  they  like)  when 
they  go  out ;  underneath  these  is  a,  little  shelf 
for  the  respective  wax  night-lights  (wax 
candles  are  cheap  in  France,  and  even  the 
tenant  of  a  garret  would  blush  to  consume 
vulgar  tallow).  Monsieur  Stidmann  is  of  an 
indefinite  age,  and  has  a  face  so  seamed  with 
the  small  pox,  that  it  is  all  holes  and  knots 
like  a  cane-bottonied  chair.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  he  wears  a  fur  cap,  but  I  could  not 
undertake  to  point  out  which  is  his  cap,  and 
which  his  natural  head  of  hair,  both  are  so 
curiously  alike.  He  is  a  decent  man  to  speak 
to,  doing  all  sorts  of  things  for  you,  and  about 
the  house,  without  ever  seeming  to  move  his 
short  pipe  from  his  lips  or  himself  from  his 
stool,  or  a  greasy  number  of  the  Constitutionnel 
from  before  his  eyes.  I  think  his  political 
opinions  verge  towards  Orleanism.  Oiieanists 
are  good  tenants,  and  give  handsome  New 
Year's  gifts.  Socialists  he  looks  upon  with 
abhorrence,  as  persons  who  run  away  the  day 
before  their  rent  is  due,  and  burn,  in  the  com- 
position of  pestilential  works,  wax  candles, 
which  they  never  pay  for.  A  lodger  without  a, 
trunk  he  always  sets  down,  before-hand,  as  a 
rank  socialist.  Carpet  bags  and  republicanism 
are  inseparably  connected  in  his  mind.  He 
grumbles  a  little  if  you  ring  him  up  after  mid- 
night, and  has  a  weakness  for  losing  letters  sent 
to  you  by  post,  and  for  telling  you  that  some- 
body has  called  to  see  you  a  week  or  ten  days 
after  the  visit  has  taken  place.  But  this  is 
an  advantage  if  you  wish  to  be  retired. 

I  can  but  spare  a  line  to  Madame  Stid- 
mann, who  wears  a  preposterous  cap,  and  is 
always  muddling  over  a  pot  ay,  feu  or  some 
other  savoury  dish,  the  smell  of  which  con- 
tinually pervades  the  lodge  and  its  approaches. 


Charles  Dickens.! 


FOUE  STOEIES. 


She  has  a  rabid  reverence  for  tbe  memory  of 
the  emperor ;  and,  I  am  certain,  must  have 
belonged  to  the  grand  army,  i'or  she  has  the 
voice  of  a  grenadier,  and  the  walk  of  a 
sapper  and  miner,  and  swears  like  a  trooper. 
I  would  rather  not  say  anything  more  about 
her,  here,  for  on  a  disputed  question  of 
reckoning  once,  she  pursued  me  with  a  stew- 
pan,  and  she  is  a  formidable  person  for  a 
nervous  man  to  deal  with. 

At  the  door  of  our  house  stands,  night  and 
day,  a  little  fellow  about  four  feet  seven 
inches  high,  with  a  terrific  moustache,  and 
clad  in  a  greyish  blue  coat,  brickdust-coloured 
trousers,  gaiters  instead  of  stockings,  a  black 
leathern  belt  round  his  waist,  and  a  knapsack 
covered  with  something  resembling  the  pie- 
bald top  of  a  travelling  trunk.  He  carries  a 
musket  and  bayonet  much  taller  than  himself, 
and  is  full  private  in  the  hundred  and  fiftieth 
regiment  of  the  line.  It  is  not  through  any 
special  merit  or  respectability  possessed  by 
our  house  that  he  is  here  stationed,  but  simply 
because  in  the  first  floor  lives  M.  le  colonel 
de  la  Gamelle,  commanding  the  hundred  and 
fiftieth,  whose  right  it  is  to  have  a  sentry  at 
his  door. 

The  colonel  is  a  stout,  a  very  stout  warrior, 
with  grey  whiskers  and  moustaches,  and  a 
wife  who  always  puts  me  in  mind  of  the 
giraffe  at  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  for  she  has  a 
meek  eye,  a  distressingly  long  neck,  and  per- 
sists in  wearing  a  yellow  dress  with  crimson 
spots.  They  have  one  sou,  who  is  at  the 
Lycee  Louis  le  Grand  now,  and  wears  a  semi- 
xuilitary  uniform.  He  was  born  in  Algeria, 
and  nursed  by  a  soldier's  wife.  He  comes 
home  on  Sundays,  when  his  father  gives  him 
lessons  in  fencing,  and  in  the  broad-sword 
exercise  ;  and,  in  the  evening,  takes  him.  to 
the  cafe  to  play  billiards  or  dominoes.  When 
he  is  old  enough  he  will  go  to  the  school  of 
St.  Cyr,  or  to  the  Polytechnic.  His  career  is 
marked  out  plain  enough.  Born  and  bred, 
he  will  probably  die  in  the  purlieus  of  a 
barrack — the  roll  of  drums  in  his  ears,  and 
harness  on  his  back.  As  for  the  colonel,  he 
rose  from  the  ranks,  and  tells  you  so.  Why 
should  he  be  ashamed  of  being  what  Soult  or 
Ney  were,  and  what  Bedeau  and  Reille  have 
been  1  Also  his  language  savours  a  little  of 
the  guard-room,  and  he  spits  and  swears  a 
little  too  frequently  in  company.  He  is  quite 
a  different  sort  of  colonel  to  the  commanding 
officer  of  one  of  our  regiments.  He  has 
neither  cab  nor  tiger.  He  has  his  horse  (found 
by  the  Government),  but  I  doubt  whether  he 
knows  the  favourite  for  the  next  Chantilly 
cup,  or  has  made  up  a  book  on  the  Versailles 
steeple-chase.  He  is  uneasy  in  plain  clothes, 
which,  to  the  British  warrior,  are  garments 
of  delight.  He  lives  on  his  pay  ;  and,  not 
having  anything  beside  it  to  live  on,  does  not 
eke  out  a  supplementary  income  by  betting, 
kite-flyiag,  or  horse-dealing.  He  knows 
every  man  in  his  regiment  by  name,  and  stops 
to  speak  to  his  privates  in  the  streets,  and 


rates  them  soundly  if  he  finds  them  slovenly, 
or  frequenting  the  wine -shop  immoderately. 
They  call  him  " notre  colonel"  and  the  kindly 
familiarity  he  entertains  with  them  does  not 
breed  contempt,  but  rather  love  and  affec- 
tionate respect.  Yet  I  am  bound  to  add  that 
colonel  de  la  Gamelle  is  not,  what  we  in 
England  call,  a  gentleman.  He  is  rough, 
boorish,  and  often  brutal  in  his  manners  ;  he 
smokes  a  short  pipe  in  his  drawing-room ;  and 
his  only  relaxation  is  the  cafe  where,  with 
other  colonels,  lieutenant-colonels,  and  majors, 
he  plays  innumerable  pools  at  billiards  for 
drops  of  brandy,  just  as  the  captains  do  in 
their  cafes,  and  the  lieutenants  and  sous-lieu- 
tenants in  theirs.  As  for  Madame,  his  wife, 
she  is  of  a  meek  and  somewhat  lachrymose 
temperament,  and  reclines  all  day  on  a  sofa, 
reading  the  novels  of  the  admired  M.de  Balzac. 
She  is  perfectly  contented  with  her  husband, 
whom  she  scarcely  ever  sees,  but  who  always 
leaves  her  a  touching  souvenir  in  the  shape  of 
stale  tobacco- smoke,  which  she  bears  with  pa- 
tience. The  colonel's  swords,  kepis,  burnouses, 
shabragues,  Algerian  pipes,  camel-saddles, 
guard-papers,  boots,  and  dressing-gowns,  are 
strewed  about  the  apartments  in  loving  con- 
fusion with  her  caps,  shoes,  and  paper-covered 
novels.  She  has  a  femme-de-chambre,  Made- 
moiselle Eeine,  who  has  already  refused  a 
drum-major,  but  is  suspected  of  a  tenderness 
for  one  of  the  light  company,  who  is  attached 
to  the  colonel  in  the  capacity  of  body-servant, 
and  is  eternally  brushing  a  uniform  coat  in 
the  yard,  on  a  temporary  gibbet  formed  of 
two  broom-handles. 

On  the  same  floor  as  the  colonel,  but  in  a 
much  larger  suite  of  apartments,  lives  M. 
Ulysse  de  Saint-Flamm,  forty-five  years  of  age, 
decorated,  wearing  a  white  neckcloth,  and 
living  at  the  rate  of  fifty  thousand  francs  per 
annum,  which  is  a  pretty  high  figure  to  exist 
on  in  Paris.  Were  a  census  paper  to  be  sent 
to  him,  I  doubt  whether  he  would  not  be 
puzzled  as  to  what  to  describe  himself.  He 
is  not  a  man  of  independent  fortune,  for  he 
works  like  a  carthorse.  He  is  not  a  stock- 
broker, though  he  is  every  day  on  the  Bourse, 
frantic  with  financial  combinations,  bursting 
with  bargains.  He  is  certainly  not  a  shop- 
keeper, nor  is  he  a  merchant.  He  does  not 
discount  bills,  though  he  is  up  to  his  neck  in 
stamped  paper  at  various  dates.  He  does  not 
borrow  money,  for  he  is  always  borrowing 
prodigious  sums.  He  does  not  live  by  the 
play-table,  for  he  spends  half  his  gains  there. 
He  is  one  of  those  financial  anomalies  to  which 
the  revolution  of  1830  gave  birth — a  walking 
incarnation  of  agistage,  shares,  dividends,  and 
per  centage.  He  is  a  projector — a  speculator. 
He  is  on  a  great  scale  (and  avoiding  the 
Court  of  Assize)  what  the  immortal  Robert 
Macaire  was ;  what  the  admirable  Mer- 
cadet,  of  De  Balzac  (put  into  an  excellent 
English  dress  in  the  "  Game  of  Speculation  "), 
was  ;  what  hundreds  of  eager,  bustling,  astute, 
unprincipled,  successful  men,  are  this  moment 


340 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted 


in  France.  He  is  a  speculator.  We  can 
scarcely  realise  the  character  in  England  to 
its  full  extent,  speculative  as  we  are,  for  the 
English  projector  generally  confines  himself 
to  one  or  two  branches.  The  mammoth  of 
the  ring  stakes  his  thousands  on  the  chances 
of  a  horse  race  ;  the  mastodon  of  the  Stock 
Exchange  risks  his  tens  of  thousands  in  bonds  in) 
and  loans  ;  the  leviathan  of  the  share-market 
leaps  madly  over  railroads  to  plunge  into 
gold  mines ;  the  colossus  of  Mark  Lane 
gambles  furiously  in  corn.  These  speculate 
in  philanthropy  ;  those  in  religion  ;  these  in 
sending  treacle  to  Jamaica  ;  those  in  carrying 
coals  to  Newcastle.  But  M.  de  Saint-Flamm  is 
all  and  everything.  All  is  fish  that  comes  to  his 
net :  wherever  there  is  a  chance  (and  where 
is  there  not  ?)  he  speculates  upon  it.  He 
speculates  in  asphalte  pavements,  in  gold 
mines,  railways,  water-works,  home  and 
foreign  funds,  theatres,  agricultural  societies, 
winter  gardens,  newspapers,  pleasure  gardens, 
steam  boats,  charcoal  burning,  loan  contract- 
ing, marsh  draining,  and  so.  on.  He  is  chair- 
man of  an  Association  for  marrying  couples 
in  humble  life  at  reduced  rates ;  of  a  Com- 
pany for  conveying  emigrants  to  California ; 
for  supplying  lucifer  matches  at  half  the 
usual  price ;  of  the  "  Literary  Pantechni- 
con "  or  Society  for  publishing  translations 
of  Plato,  Aristotle,  Sophocles,  and  Xenophon 
at  two  sous  per  volume.  He  is  the  sort  of 
man  that  if  you  took  him  a  proposal  for  ex- 
tracting sunbeams  from  cucumbers,  or  sup- 
plying the  blind  with  green  spectacles,  would 
clap  down  a  provisional  committee  on  the 
back  of  an  envelope,  and  register  the  scheme 
before  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson. 

I  never  knew  but  one  Englishman  who  had 
the  same  Crichtonian  aptitude  for  speculation. 
He  was  always,  when  he  met  you,  going  to 
borrow  twenty-seven  thousand  pounds  for  the 
Duke  of  Seedyland,  which  must  be  had  before 
seven  o'clock  this  evening,  by  Jove  ;  and  was 
the  first  newspaper  proprietor  who  gave  a 
gingham  umbrella  and  a  bottle  of  blacking  to 
each  quarterly  subscriber.  He  broke  his 
heart  in  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  establish 
a  soup  kitchen  in  connection  with  a  Dental 
Surgery  for  the  Million  and  General  Tooth- 
drawing  Company,  and  I  have  never  seen  his 
equal. 

M.  de  Saint-Flamm's  apartments  are  mag- 
nificently furnished.  There  might  be  a  little 
more  elegance,  perhaps,  and  a  little  more 
good  taste  ;  but  you  could  not  find  a  greater 
profusion  of  gilding,  crimson  damask,  marble- 
covered  fui-nitui'e,  and  plate-glass  (taking 
space  into  consideration)  anywhere  out  of  the 
Tuileries.  There  is  a  deluge  of  clocks,  all  of 
different  size  and  make,  which,  as  they  all 
strike  the  hour  at  different  times,  produce  a 
charming  diversity  of  effect.  Engravings  of 
rather  questionable  taste  and  execution, 
enshrined  in  costly  frames,  hang  on  the  walls. 
Porcelain  monsters  and  curiosities  crowd 
the  mantel-pieces  and  consoles.  There  is  a 


circular  table  on  claw  feet,  with  a  marble  top, 
inlaid  with  Italian  mosaics,  like  a  tailor's  book 
of  waistcoat  patterns.  There  are  ottomans, 
caiiseuses,  dormeuses,  refinements  of  couches 
for  every  depravity  of  lolling,  lounging,  sitting, 
or  reclining.  Finally,  there  is  M.  de  Saint- 
Flamm's  bed-chamber  (which  he  never  sleeps 
in),  a  little  paradise  of  Persian  carpets,  lion- 
skins,  alabaster,  and  satin,  and  muslin  cur- 
tains held  up  by  gilt  Cupids.  The  ceiling 
was  painted  by  Henri  Baron,  and  cost  five 
thousand  francs.  A  genuine  Raphael  hangs 
in  the  embrasure  of  the  window,  with  a 

fmuiue  Correggio  as  a  pendant.  M.  de  Saint- 
lamm  speculates  largely  in  pictures. 

The  speculator  keeps  a  brougham,  a  cabri- 
olet, an  English  groom,  and  a  vcdet-de-chamlre, 
who  wears  elaborately  embroidered  shirts, 
and  whom  I  took  for  a  marquis,  meeting  him 
on  the  stairs  one  day.  M.  de  Saint-Flamm 
dines  usually  at  the  Cafe  Anglais,  or  at  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale  ;  but  he  gives  sumptuous 
dinners,  occasionally,  at  home  (there  is  a 
kitchen  in  his  suite  of  apartments),  when 
some  friendly  duke  lends  him  his  cook,  and 
he  dazzles  his  guests  with  a  gorgeous  service 
of  plate.  He  is  a  bachelor,  but  no  man  ever 
had  a  larger  collection  of  three-cornered  notes 
on  pink  paper  than  he  has,  nor  possessed,  I 
suppose,  a  larger  female  acquaintance.  Is  he 
rich  ?  Are  the  grand  dinners  paid  for  1  Is 
the  furniture  his  own  1  Mafoi,  the  questions 
are  facile  to  ask,  but  difficult  to  .answer.  He 
is  a  speculator  ;  and  though  perhaps  he  may 
be  worth  a  million  of  francs  to-day,  he  may 
sleep  in  the  debtor's  prison  of  Clichy  to- 
morrow. M.  Stidmann  looks  upon  him  as 
a  Croesus  ;  and,  as  I  saw  him  throw  a  five- 
franc  piece  to  a  ragged  little  organ  grinder 
the  other  day,  I  don't  think  that  he  is 
avaricious. 

We  must  mount  another  flight  of  stairs,  for 
we  have  to  do  with  the  second-floor  lodgers. 
And  imprimis,  of  these  let  me  introduce  M.  le 
Docteur  Jacounet,  a  mild,  pale,  elderly  young 
man,  with  a  prematurely  bald  head,  gold- 
rimmed  spectacles,  an  olive-coloured  surtout 
reaching  to  his  heels,  and  a  broad-brimmed 
hat.  Each  of  his  wan  cheeks  is  ornamented 
with  a  scalene  triangle  of  hay-coloured  whisker, 
met  at  the  apex  by  the  straggling  tufts  of  his 
straw-coloured  hair.  He  is  blessed  with  a 
wife,  a  sparkling  little  brunette  from  the  Pays 
des  Vosges,  who  has  the  olive  complexion,  the 
piercing  black  eyes,  and  symmetrically  arched 
eyebrows  <>f  Lorraine,  and  who  has  borne  him 
six  chiluivri — all  alive,  all  with  shock  heads 
of  straw-coloured  hair,  and  to  find  bread  and 
soup  for  whom  the  worthy  Doctor  must,  till 
lately,  have  been  sorely  puzzled.  He  was, 
when  a  medical  student,  one  of  the  noisiest 
and  most  racketty  in  the  Quartier  Latin  ;  was 
the  admiration  of  the  grisettes,  the  terror  of 
the  Chaumidre,  and  the  cynosure  of  cafes  in 
the  Place  de  FOdeon,  and  the  Ru£  de  la 
Harpe.  He  wore  the  longest  beard  and  the 
nattiest  velveteen  gabardine,  with  the  broadest 


FOUR  STOEIES. 


341 


brimmed  hat  in  the  Quartier  ;  he  was  a  dab 
at  billiards";  a  neat  hand  at  smoking  clay 
pipes  to  a  jetty  black  ;  an  unrivalled  singer 
of  students'  songs  and  chorusses  ;  and  an 
adept  at  the  difficult  and  ingenious  art  de 
tirer  la  carotte,  or  science  of  extracting  (under 
pretexts  of  book-purchasing,  sickness,  or  other 
extraneous  expenses)  more  than  the  stipulated 
monthly  allowance  from  the  parents  and 
guardians  of  the  student.  But  when  all  his 
examinations  had  been  passed,  and  he  was 
received  Doctor  of  Medicine,  when  he  had 
sold  his  cornet-d-piston,  and  broken  his 
blackened  tobacco-pipe,  shaved  off  his  beard, 
and,  finally,  buried  the  beer-imbibing  dancing 
student  in  a  decorous  coffin  of  black  broad- 
cloth, with  white  wristbands  and  shirt  front ; 
when  he  had  taken  to  himself  a  wife,  and  so 
become  a  respectable  man  with  a  definite 
social  position,  he  found  that  there  were 
yet  several  items  wanting  to  complete  his 
sum  of  happiness :  namely,  patients.  He 
certainly  had  an  opportunity  of  studying 
infantile  maladies  in  his  yearly  increasing 
family  ;  but  the  Quartier  was  an  obstinately 
healthy  one,  or  else  he  was  not  sufficiently 
known  in  it,  for  few  or  none  came  to  invoke 
his  healing  knowledge.  Our  poor  Doctor 
was  almost  in  despair,  and  had  begun  to 
think  of  emigrating  to  Nouka-hiva,  or  turning 
travelling  physician,  in  a  red  coat,  a  coc^eu 
hat,  and  top-boots,  with  a  horse  and  gig,  and 
a  black  servant,  after  the  manner  of  the 
famous  Doctor  Dulcamara — when  he  was  one 
evening  summoned  to  attend  M.  de  Flamm, 
who  was  suffering  from  a  slight  indigestion, 
brought  on  by  eating  too  many  truffles, 
washed  down  by  too  much  Sauterne.  He  so 
effectually  relieved  that  capitalist,  as  to 
awaken  within  him  something  like  a  sense  of 
gratitude,  patronising,  of  course,  as  from  a 
millionnaire  to  a  poor  devil  of  a  patienttess 
physician,  but  which  was  productive  of  good 
fruits.  M.  de  Flamm  took  Doctor  Jaconnet 
in  hand  ;  he  "  formed  "  him,  as  he  called  it. 
After  debating  whether  his  protege1  should 
resort  to  Homoeopathy  or  Animal  magnetism, 
he  finally  decided  upon  the  Puff- Specific  mode 
of  obtaining  popularity  ;  and  one  fine  morning 
all  the  walls  and  posts  in  Paris  were  sten- 
cilled, and  all  the  advertising  columns  of  the 
newspapers  inundated  with  high-flown  an- 
nouncements of  the  marvellous  properties  of 
the  "Water  of  long  life"  of  the  Doctor  en 
medecine  Jaconnet.  Since  that  period  I  have 
observed  a  sensible  improvement  in  the  dress 
and  general  appearance  of  the  family ;  whether 
they  drink  the  Eau  de  longue  vie  themselves, 
or  whether  they  profit  by  the  sale  thereof — (in 
family  bottles,  price  twelve  francs  :  none  being 
genuine  unless  they  bear  the  signature  of  the 
inventor,  Paracelse  Caraguel) — they  are  cer- 
tainly much  better  for  the  water  cure. 
Jaconnet's  colleagues  call  him  a  quack  ;  but, 
bless  you,  they  have  all  their  little  specifics. 
Doctor  Galen  has  an  infallible  paste  for 
catarrh  ;  Doctor  Hippocrates  has  a  cure  for 


the  rheumatism  ;  and  Doctor  Esculapius  one 
for  corns  and  bunuions.  Medical  quackery, 
when  unauthorised  by  a  diploma,  is  so  rigidly 
pursued,  and  so  severely  punished  in  France, 
that  it  takes  refuge,  occasionally,  in  the  ranks 
of  the  profession  itself. 

The  Doctor's  neighbour  on  the  second  floor 
is  one  M.  Bonfons,  a  retired  perfumer,  wearing 
the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour — why,  I 
am  unable  to  tell,  (the  Doctor  has  got  his  scrap 
of  red  ribbon  since  the  water  of  long  life) — an 
old  gentleman  of  intensely  regular  habits,  a 
mild  and  placid  demeanour,  and,  I  should  say, 
of  some  fifty  years  of  age.  He  goes  out  every 
morning  at  the  same  hour,  breakfasts  at  the 
same  cafe  off  cafe  au  lait  and  a  f/Ate,  or  long 
soft  loaf ;  takes  a  walk  in  the  Tuileries  gardens, 
or  reads  the  papers  in  a  reading  room  if  it 
rains ;  breakfasts  a  la  fourchette  at  another 
cafe  ;  takes  another  walk  on  the  Boulevards  ; 
dines  at  the  same  traiteur's,  and,  generally, 
off  the  same  dishes  ;  goes  to  another  cafe,  where 
he  has  strong  coffee  without  milk  and  petit 
verre,  the  evening  papers,  two  games  at  domi- 
noes, one  at  piquet,  and  one  glass  of  absinthe. 
Winter  und  summer  he  goes  to  bed  at  ten 
o'clock.  He  seems  to  have  no  relations, — no 
friend?,  save  coffee-shop  acquaintance,  and  he 
appea/j  to  be  perfectly  happy.  I  dare  say 
he  K 

'ihe  third  floor  of  the  Hotel  Coquelet  is 
likewise  divided  into  two  tenements,  in  each 
of  which  lives  a  different  tenant.  Both  are 
single :  one  an  old  spinster,  the  other  an  old 
bachelor.  Mademoiselle  de  Keraguel  lives 
on  the  right  hand  side  of  the  staircase.  She 
is  seventy  years  of  age,  and  has  been  very 
beautiful  once,  and  very  unhappy.  Her  brother 
was  a  marquis  of  the  old  regime,  and  she  comes 
from  Brittany  ;  but  she  is  the  last  Keraguel 
now.  She  has  outlived  friends,  relatives,  for- 
tune, happiness,  everything  but  religion.  So 
she  is  what  the  Parisians  call  a  devote.  She 
goes  to  matins,  complins,  high  mass,  and 
vespers.  She  has  an  occasional  assemblage  of 
old  friends  in  her  plain  salon  ;  two  or  three 
old  priests,  an  old  countess  whose  children 
were  weaned  from  her  by  the  guillotine,  and 
a  weasened  old  chevalier  with  the  cross  of 
Saint  Louis.  These  she  regales  with  tea  and 
snuff.  They  talk  politics  of  the  year  1780, 
and  of  the  year  1816  to  1850  inclusive.  All 
intervening  years  are  to  them  a  blank.  The 
reigning  king  is  at  Frohsdorf,  as  he  was  at 
Holyrood  and  at  Goritz.  With  them  Napoleon 
is  always  M.  de  Buonaparte  ;  Louis  Philippe, 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  They  never  mention 
the  name  of  Robespierre,  they  speak  of  him 
as  "  lui" 

Mademoiselle  de  Keraguel  has  for  neigh- 
bour an  old  gentleman  with  a  bald  and  polished 
head,  who  would  be  one  of  the  most  amiable 
of  mankind,  were  he  not  so  enthusiastic  a 
naturalist.  He  is  as  modest  as  a  girl  of  fifteen, 
yet  I  elicited  from  him  one  day  an  admission 
that  he  was  a  member  of  half-a-dozen  Euro- 
pean academies,  and  had  written  half-a-score 


342 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  erudite  volumes  on  some  much  desiderated 
spiders,  of  which  nothing  but  a  portion  of  a 
fossil  hind  leg  was  as  yet  known  to  naturalists. 
It  is  precisely  his  erudition  and  enthusiasm 
in  the  cause  of  science  that  render  him  so 
unpleasant  a  neighbour.  He  has  a  huge  col- 
lection of  live  black  beetles,  the  habits  of  which 
he  is  busy  studying  just  now ;  several  tame 
snakes,  an  arsenal  of  spiders,  some  abominable 
bluebottles,  and  some  rare  and  hideous  speci- 
mens of  the  lizard  tribe,  to  say  nothing  of  a 
Norwegian  rat  or  two,  and  three  Siberian 
toads.  If  he  kept  rabbits,  cats,  dogs,  mice, 
owls,  a.  happy  family  of  animals  in  short,  we 
should  know  what  to  expect ;  but  it  is  in 
reptiles,  vermin,  noxious  insects,  that  he  de- 
lights. His  loathsome  lodgers  crawl  about  the 
stairs  ;  they  invade  the  sanctity  of  Mademoi- 
selle de  Keraguel's  apartments  ;  they  frighten 
Doctor  Jaconnet's  children,  and  drive  the 
martial  Madame  Stidmann  to  a  state  of  culi- 
nary frenzy. 

Ouf !  I  am  out  of  breath.  Only  one  pair 
of  stairs  yet  remain.  One  peep  into  the  trim 
little  chamber  of  M.  Adolphe,  the  notary's 
clerk,  who  hopes  to  be  a  notary  himself  some 
day.  He  has  a  neat  little  bed  in  an  alcove,  a 
littles  bureau  in  walnut-wood,  aftd  a  bookshelf 
on  which  repose  his  "  Code  Civile,"  his  trea- 
tise on  Roman  law,  his  "  Paroissien  complet," 
&c.  Adolphe  is  a  decently  conducted  young 
fellow  ;  does  not  wear  moustaches,  smokes  in 
I  moderation,  makes  quiet  and  unobtrusive  love 
to  Mademoiselle  Eulalie,  in  the  lodge  below, 
and  will  be  quite  a  model  of  a  chief  clerk, 
when  he  is  elevated  to  that  responsible  situ- 
ation. 

I  wish  I  could  say  the  same  of  Timoleon 
Cassemajou,  artiste-peintre,  who  occupies  the 
next  room.  Of  all  the  able,  idle,  witty,  pipe- 
smoking,  worthless  professors  of  the  fine 
arts,  this  lazy  colossus  with  a  red  beard  is  the 
very  king  and  kaiser.  He  would  have  won 
the  prix  de  Rome  at  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts, 
if  he  had  tried,  but  he  wouldn't ;  he  might 
make  ten  thousand  francs  a  year  by  portrait- 
painting,  but  he  won't ;  he  won't  do  anything 
save  smoke,  and  fence  with  vagabond  geniuses 
like  himself,  and  lie  on  the  bed  in  his  boots, 
and  scrawl  careless,  clever  sketches  on  the 
walls. 

But,  enough  of  my  four  stoi-ies  at  present. 
There  are  other  rooms  to  be  visited,  other 
sequestered  little  cabinets,  such  as  where  I, 
the  scribe,  dwell ;  where  sleeps  the  shabby 
little  man  in  the  green  coat,  of  whose  iden- 
tity I  was  for  a  long  time  ignorant,  but  whom 
I  ultimately  discovered  to  be  the  proprietor 
of  the  house  ;  where  works  and  sings,  and 
sings  and  works,  Mademoiselle  Bijou,  the 
dressmaker ;  where  hides  (in  misery  I  am 
afraid)  Count  Schaliugski,  the  Polish  refugee  ; 
where  the  mysterious  man  holds  out  who 
copies  manuscripts  and  music,  and  finds  out 
genealogies,  and  hunts  up  dates,  and  is  a 
gentleman  by  birth,  doing  anything  for  a 
crust.  Some  day,  perhaps,  we  shall  change 


our  lodgers,  and  I  may  have  something  more, 
and  something  better  to  tell  you  of  the  four 
stories. 


QUARTER-DAY. 

IN  a  great  office  at  the  East  End  of  London, 
where  pens  move  so  rapidly,  that  you  wonder 
whether  the  clerks  could  ever  identify  their 
own  correspondence,  but  where  no  other 
visible  signs  of  traffic  appear,  there  is  a  little, 
plain,  snug  inner  counting-house  ;  and  in  that 
counting-house  is  a  burly,  snug,  rather  pom- 
pous looking  gentleman.  Mark  the  bland 
tranquillity  with  which  he  is  surveying  that 
heap  of  calculations.  Would  it  not  frighten 
us  to  have  to  do  with  so  many  figures  1  Is  it 
not  enough  to  make  one  fancy  one's  self  in  debt 
to  an  extent  only  to  be  measured,  like  AH 
Baba's  gold  pieces  1  And  still  the  burly  gentle- 
man seems  quite  satisfied.  His  eye  flinches  not, 
and  his  countenance  wears  an  easy  smile. 
Yet,  it  is  Quarter-day  to-morrow.  The  boys 
are  coming  home  from  school,  and  their 
"  extras"  and  book  bill  at  Switchington  House 
are  always  heavy  ;  the  rent  of  the  villa  at 
Highgate  is  due ;  so  are  the  taxes,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  insurances,  rent,  and  no  one 
knows  what,  of  the  large  warehouses  at  the 
Docks.  Mrs.  Dipper  is  talking  about  the 
"  girls,"  "  the  season,"  and  the  small  size  of 
the  drawing-rooms  ;  and  bills  are  coming  due 
that  make  us  shrivel  into  our  four-roomed 
house,  and  our  insignificance.  No  matter, 
Mr.  Dipper  is  unmoved.  What  cares  he  for 
Quarter-day.  If  it  has  any  demands  tipon 
him,  he  simply  refers  Quarter-day  to  his  cash- 
box,  or  to  stamp,  bill,  and  bullions ;  and 
Quarter-day  pockets  the  gold,  or  cashes  the 
check,  and  goes  away  rubbing  its  hands 
with  satisfaction,  and  says  something  about 
"respectable  men." 

Quarter-day  walks  on  its  rcute,  and  knocks 
at  the  door  of  Blatherton  and  Company,  the 
great  publishing-house — the  whole  firm  is  in  a 
bustle.  Half-a-dozen  Christmas  books,  full 
of  pretty  pictures  to  gladden  little  hearts, 
must  be  put  in  hand  ;  and  between  petitions 
to  recreant  authors  for  "  more  copy,"  looking 
up  of  artists,  engravers,  fancy  binders,  ad- 
vertising and  "subscribing"  books  already 
out,  there  is  confusion  enough  to  drive  chaos 
itself  mad  with  envy.  Everything  must  be  out 
by  a  certain  time,  and  everything  depends 
upon  somebody  else,  and  that  somebody  is 
again  quite  at  the  mercy  of  a  third  party. 

A  sadder  picture  follows,  as  Quarter-day 
knocks  at  the  door  of  the  mechanic,  on  whom 
sickness  has  laid  its  hard  hand.  The  sale  of 
some  cherished  articles  of  furniture,  perhaps 
of  some  little  refinements  which  industry  had 
purchased,  stares  him  in  the  face.  But  he 
belongs  to  a  club,  and  he  can  command  so 
much  a  week  ;  his  landlord  is  not  a  hard 
man,  and  will  give  him  time  ;  and  there  is  a 
chance  that  Tom  or  Jack  will  be  able  to  pick 
up  some  work,  now  that  the  busy  time  has 


Charles  Dickens.] 


QUARTER-DAY. 


343 


commenced.  Quarter-day  passes  on,  and 
seems  less  out  of  humour  than  had  been 
feared. 

But  dissipation  has  been  doing  its  evil 
mission  in  another  house,  and  the  stupitied 
drunkard  is  staring  gloomily  at  the  bare 
walls  of  the  dwelling  in  which  he  has  been, 
•with  difficulty,  suffered  to  remain  since  the 
"  distress,"  soon  after  last  Quarter-day.  Pale 
half-starved  children,  whose  limbs  are  as  scanty 
as  their  clothing,  are  seated  on  the  floor,  and 
looking — with  a  piteous  anxiety,  and  with  a 
dread  which  they  can  scarcely  understand — 
at  the  worn-out  form  of  a  mother,  stretched 
on  the  ground,  in  one  of  the  last  stages  of 
consumption.  The  parish  doctor  has  just 
directed  removal  to  the  Hospital ;  the  hope- 
less drunkard  and  the  destitute  children  will 
seek  the  streets  or  the  workhouse  ;  and 
Quarter-day  quits  the  scene  of  misery. 

Easter  and  Lady-day,  Midsummer  and 
plum-pudding  Christmas,  must  not  be  for- 
gotten among  Quarter-days.  Easter,  with  its 
dreams  of  lamb  and  peas,  with  its  revival  of 
old  games  and  fun,  which  even  Christmas 
cannot  makq  its  exclusive  property;  Easter, 
with  all  its  pleasant  suggestions  of  warmer 
weather,  budding  trees  and  hedges,  cooling 
salads,  and  burlesques  crammed  full  of  puns 
and  hits  at  everything  and  everybody, — 
Easter  is  not  less  an  anxious  time  than  its 
goose-eating  fellow  Quarter.  "Winter  is  a 
heavy  time,  and  papas  and  mamas  are  giving 
inward  thanks  that  coal  bills  will  now  begin 
to  be  reduced  ;  and  are,  at  the  same  time, 
ominously  thinking  of  the  muslins  and  shot- 
silks,  for  which  the  pretty  mouths  of  Ellen, 
Emma,  and  Emily  are  watering.  George  is  at 
Oxford.  He  is  a  clever  youth,  but  somehow 
or  other,  Oxford  men  spend  more  money  than 
papa  did  when  he  was  at  Saint  Howard's  ; 
and  when  George  was  last  in  town,  he  spent 
very  little  time  at  home,  and  talked  of  nothing 
but  the  Regatta.  Then  there  are  other 
anxieties  ;  the  house  in  Baker  Street  is  ex- 
pensive ;  and  the  farmers  on  the  Dingle  Dangle 
property  are  very  backward  ;  and  the  house 
in  Burford  Street  has  been  to  let  for  half-a- 
year  and  more ;  and  some  tenants  are  bother- 
ing about  repairs  ;  and  Mrs.  Curzon  Wires 
would  take  the  large  house,  but  will  not  pay 
for  the  fixtures  ;  so  that,  although  people 
without  property  are  in  trouble  about 
Quarter-day,  Quarter-day  punishes  even  the 
well-to-do  people,  and  makes  human  beings 
pay  for  what  they  enjoy,  as  well  as  for  what 
they  do  not. 

Dr.  Stilton,  rector  of  two  livings,  and  holder 
of  three  sinecures,  is  rather  anxious  also. 
Easter-offerings  are  things  of  deep  interest : 
but  the  people  in  Walcot-upon-Dunstead  do 
not  seem  to  feel  much  interest  in  paying 
them,  although  the  vicar  absolutely  preached 
a  sermon  there  not  more  than  seven  months 
ago,  while  the  seventy  pounds  a  year  curate 
attends  quietly  to  his  pupils,  the  young  Stiltons,  : 
and  never  troubles  the  inhabitants  about  book- 


clubs, ragged  schools,  or  improvements  in  the 
condition  of  the  poor.  However,  the  Dumbie- 
dykes  tithes  are  prolific,  and  the  Easter  sermon 
of  Doctor  Stilton,  at  Saint  Mildew's,  Rotten 
Row,  exhibits  a  contentment  which  even 
Quarter-day  does  not  unruffle. 

Great  are  the  anxieties  of  the  Reverend 
Keelson  Timber.  He  has  several  boys 
leaving,  and  vacancies  and  the  columns  of 
the  "  Times,"  are  taking  an  anxious  juxta- 
position in  his  mind.  Mrs.  Timber  is  in  a 
chaos  of  darned  stockings,  towels,  silver  forks, 
spoons,  and  butchers'  bills  ;  so  is  her  eldest 
daughter,  who,  moreover,  has  other  anxieties. 
She  is  to  marry  the  Reverend  Grave  Pumice, 
who  has  taken  to  reading  the  very  books 
which  sent  poor  Mr.  Mildfellow  over  to  Rome. 
Why  coidd  he  not  have  spent  the  holidays  at 
home,  without  making  that  ridiculous  tour 
through  Italy,  in  company  with  the  Reverend 
Epitaph  Bronze,  who  is  always  kicking  up  a 
dust  about  candlesticks,  eagle  reading-desks, 
and  the  Bishop  of  Bullington  1 

But  the  boys  themselves — what  genuine 
exultation  gladdens  the  heart  of  young 
Bob  Thornton,  who  has  walked  off  with 
the  two  best  prizes,  and  who  is  thinking  of 
double  firsts,  pulling  sticks,  and  the  "  drag," 
all  at  once  !  He  has  beaten  every  boy  at  every- 
thing, and  is  all  hope  and  restlessness.  Yet, 
we  should  not  wonder  if  his  pale,  quiet,  com- 
panion, Harry  Lisle,  who  only  stands  second, 
will  not  prove  the  safer  and  sounder  of  the  two, 
three  or  four  years  hence. 

Perhaps  there  are  a  few  unhappy  boys,  who 
have  never  known  a  parent's  face,  and  who 
are  to  stay  at  school  during  the  vacation. 
Guardians  may  pay  liberally  for  their  comfort, 
but  the  school-room,  with  its  blank  walls  and 
its  now  empty  "lockers,"  is  a  poor  equivalent 
for  the  cheerful  home,  the  happy  faces,  and  the 
hearty  holiday  fun,  which  awaits  their  going 
home.  They  are  a  dull  half-dozen,  and  their 
dull  condition  makes  them  find  a  sort  of  cheer- 
fulness of  their  own  growth.  The  large  play- 
ground and  the  dull  school-room  are  all  their 
own  for  a  long  six  weeks,  and  they  form  a 
small  republic  of  solitudinarians ;  while  their 
more  fortunate  companions  depart,  one  by  one, 
to  revel  in  expected  theatres,  parties,  or  trips 
to  the  sea-side. 

Nor  is  Quarter-day  without  its  interest  at 
the  Young  Ladies'  "  Seminary,"  or  "  Esta- 
blishment." One  schoolmistress  is  in  pain, 
at  the  doubtful  French  accent  of  Miss. 
Georgina  Clavering,  and  dreads  its  effect  on 
her  West  Indian  connections.  Miss  Geor- 
gina is  thinking  of  something  much  more 
agreeable  ;  to  wit,  her  forthcoming  nuptials. 
Less  brilliant  are  the  prospects  of  Clara 
Mabelle,  the  "  articled  "  pupil.  Alas  i  even 
young  ladies  can  be  persecutors  ;  and  poor 
Clara  feels  her  qualified  position  and  doubtful 
duties.  But  she  is  a  favourite,  despite  her 
humble  apprenticeship.  She  has  nursed  one 
in  sickness  ;  has  been  the  faithful,  silent  con- 
fidante of  another's  pretty  distresses  ;  and  has 


344 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


done  the  work  of  the  idle,  and  concealed  the 
faults  of  the  careless  too  often,  not  to  be  loved. 
The  school  has  been  her  home  for  years  and 
years,  and  she  feels  that  her  forthcoming  en- 
gagement as  governess  in  Lady  Bab  Fitz-bas- 
soon's  family — although  it  may  contribute  to 
support  her  weakly  sister,  and  even  educate 
little  Frity,  who  is  just  seven  years  old — will 
be  a  trial  fit  for  harder  natures  than  Clara's. 

She  and  Georgina  are  close  friends,  and 
true  friends ;  and  young  ladies,  even  iij 
fashionable  life,  do  not  always  forget  their 
friends.  Georgina  insists  on  Clara  being  her 
bridesmaid ;  and  young  George  Clavering 
once  said  that  Clara  was  the  sweetest  girl 
in  the  world.  George  is  a  generous  fellow  ; 
but  we  will  not  pretend  to  pry  into  futurity. 
Perhaps  Quarter-day  has  a  smile  in  store  for 
the  "  articled  pupil." 

Little,  dark-eyed,  laughing  Fanny  Mauprat, 
who  talks  French  like  a  Frenchwoman,  and 
is  never  still  except  when  she  is  waltzing  or 
playing  the  pianoforte,  is  musing  over  a 
similar  fate  in  prospect.  Will  that  "  dear  old 
John,"  as  she  styles  her  affianced,  give  up 
reading  so  much,  and  run  about  with  her  all 
day,  as  they  used  to  do,  when  making  hay 
was  so  much  more  delightful  than  practising 
"  La  Violette  1  "  A  happier  couple  will  not 
be  found.  The  steady  curate  of  St.  Deverex 
wants  enlivening,  and  Fanny  can  do  that,  if 
anybody  can  ;  Fanny  wants  a  little — a  very 
little — calling  to  order,  and  "  dear  old  John " 
holds  the  reins  tightly  enough  over  her  little 
heart  to  pull  up  short  whenever  it  is  needed. 
It  is  a  paradox  to  say  so ;  but  they  are  so 
unlike  one  another  now,  that  they  must 
agree.  Quarter-day  smiles  at  the  very 
notion ;  but  Fanny  has  a  little  money,  and 
John  has  a  little  learning  and  applica- 
tion, and  we  believe  Quarter-day  will  call 
on  them  a  good  many  times,  and  go  away 
satisfied. 

Quarter-day  has  got  into  a  scrape.  The 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  St.  Rochford  have  been 
too  stupid  to  hold  their  tongues ;  and  the 
tumble-down  schoolhouse  and  the  defrauded 
scholars  of  the  foundation  have  "  a  heavy  sum 
to  make  up."  "We  thought  these  old  night- 
mares had  paid  their  debts,  and  purchased  a 
little  honesty.  We  thought  they  would  have 
taken  care  of  the  small  amount  of  credit 
which  remained  to  them.  But,  alas  ! — such 
is  the  infatuation  of  getting  into  debt — so 
far  from  trying  to  meet  Quarter-day  with  a 
clean  breast,  they  are  absolutely  spending  the 
money  in  going  to  law.  May  the  next  Quarter- 
day  sign  their  warrant. 

Quarter-day  comes  round,  and  finds  thou- 
sands, and  tens  of  thousands  of  people,  no 
richer,  wiser,  or  better  than  they  were  last 
Quarter-day.  Quarter-day  finds  people  equally 
bigotted  or  stupid.  Quarter-day  cannot  teach 
the  advantage  of  being  "  a  little  beforehand  ; " 
but  Quarter-day  praises  the  conduct  of  the 
clergyman,  who  doles  out  the  offertory-money 
to  poor,  hard-working  people,  as  a  quarterly 


assistance  towards  paying  their  rent,  instead  of 
frittering  it  upon  those  who  run  after  seven 
o'clock  services,  and  neglect  work,  because 
alms  are  forthcoming. 

But  there  is  a  class  of  persons  to  whom 
Quarter-day  comes  as  an  almost  unqualified 
blessing.  The  city  clerk,  the  banker's  clerk,  the 
foreman, — if  they  do  not  receive  their  salaries 
by  the  week  or  the  month — all,  hail  Quarter- 
day.  Living,  for  the  most  part,  in  a  regular 
irregularity  (we  speak  of  the  unmarried  party, 
of  course),  they  "run  short,"  "borrow  five 
shillings,"  time  has  just  set  in,  when  Quarter- 
day  appears ;  the  quarter's  salary  dispels 
doubts  and  anxieties,  and  the  Adelphi  half- 
price  becomes  as  attractive  as  ever.  Perhaps 
one  clerk  has  got  a  brief  leave  of  absence, 
and  Quarter-day  comes  to  him  with  delightful 
visions  of  Margate,  Brighton,  excursion 
trains  to  Jersey,  and  that  enlarged  expe- 
rience of  men  and  things  learnt  in  a  week's 
visit  to  the  sea-side.  Some  clerks  are  gay  ; 
and  the  al- fresco  dancing  at  Eosherville  or 
Cremorne,  with  the  combined  attractions  of 
fireworks,  fountains,  and  the  chase  homeward 
in  quest  of  a  steamer  or  an  omnibus,  totally 
discompose  the  brain  that  has  been  in  a 
continued  state  of  calculation  for  weeks  past. 
Cheap  tailors  hail  Quarter-day,  and  put  for- 
ward fresh  puffs.  The  literature  of  Schneider 
and  Company  is  more  perseveringly  thrown 
through  the  windows  of  the  Great  Western 
omnibuses  ;  and  our  city  clerk's  appearance 
at  an  evening  party  at  Peckham  or  Islington 
becomes  wondrous,  if  his  salary  be  con- 
sidered. 

Quarter-day  cuts  up  the  year  into  small 
pieces,  and  is  a  quieter  informant  as  to  the 
progress  of  time  than  New- Year's -Day.  Yet, 
three  months  is  a  long  time  to  think  of.  How 
many  books  may  be  read  by  the  student,  how 
many  schemes  brought  into  effect,  and  how 
much  profit  realised,  in  three  months,  is  only 
known  by  practice  and  experience.  Yet,  to 
how  many  does  the  three  months  run  round, 
and  present  a  barren  account  of  nothing 
done  ?  Term  after  term  does  the  collegian, 
put  off  those  studies  which  are  to  be  the 
groundwork  of  his  whole  fortunes  ;  time  after 
time  does  Quarter-day  remind  the  idle  boy  at 
school  that  he  is  three  months  older,  and  not 
three  weeks  more  accomplished ;  and  yet  both 
go  on — the  one  with  extravagance,  the  other 
with  idleness  ;  and  each  passing  Quarter-day 
cuts  off  something  of  fair  fame  and  profit  from, 
their  future  life. 

Quarter-day  has  no  terrors  for  those  who 
have  the  prudence  to  prepare  for  it.  It  does 
not  frighten  people  for  the  sake  of  frightening 
them,  but  often  for  their  own  good.  It  does 
not  make  certain  pecuniary  demands  on  its 
own  account ;  nor  does  ife  come  down  upon 
moveable  property,  or  personal  liberty,  for 
its  own  satisfaction.  Quarter-day  is  only  a 
representative  tyrant — a  sort  of  "reminder  ;" 
but  woe  be  to  those  who,  time  after  time, 
forget  its  admonitions ! 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  CHILD. 


345 


Although  Quarter-day  is  the  almost  uni- 
versal standard  of  business,  it  has  become 
a  comparative  fiction,  by  courtesy.  What 
landlord  will  call  for  his  rent  precisely  oil  the 
day  it  is  due  ?  What  schoolmaster  sends  in 
his  biU,  or  expects  to  be  paid,  much  before 
the  end  of  the  vacation  ]  Quarter-day  has 
its  "days  of  grace;"  but,  although  so  far  a 
nominal,  it  is  a  necessary  and  valuable 
standard.  Everybody  ought  to  know  what 
their  credit  and  that  of  their  neighbour's  is 
worth,  and  to  take  or  give  the  days  of  grace 
proportionately. 

It  is  sometimes  to  be  wished  that  all  tran- 
sactions were  capable  of  reduction  to  this 
one  standard — just  as  a  decimal  currency 
would  save  so  many  of  the  financial  bother- 
ations of  the  account-book,  counting-house, 
and  exchange-office ;  but  so  long  as  speculation 
exists  it  is  impossible.  Bills  will  be  given, 
and  will  become  due,  at  all  sorts  of  eccentric 
times  of  all  sorts  of  months.  Ships'  cargoes 
are  too  much  at  the  mercy  of  wind  and  wave, 
to  think  of  Quarter-day ;  and  so  we  must 
have  two  sets  of  calculations — one,  as  regards 
the  regular  demands  which  the  four  divisions 
of  the  year  bring  with  them  ;  the  other,  as 
concerns  the  intermediate  transactions.  No 
small  portion  of  confusion,  even  in  the 
simplest  matters  of  private  life,  arises  from 
this  compound  system  of  financial  chro- 
nology. 

Again,  there  are  many  people  upon  whom 
Quarter-day  presses  with  greater  inconve- 
nience and  severity  than  others.  One  class 
of  these,  namely,  Government  pensioners,  can 
always  manage  well  enough  ;  for,  although 
their  incomes  are  paid  sometime  after  they 
are  nominally  due,  they  are  certain,  and 
creditors  only  wish  all  their  customers  were 
pensioners. 

Would  that  the  genius  of.  Quarter-day 
could  inspire  the  will,  and  furnish  the  means 
fro  enable  us  all  to  meet  its  visits  with  open 
'  faces  and  purses  ! 

May  Quarter-day  ever  come  to  us  with  a 
smile,  and  go  away  satisfied  ! 


THE  LADY  AND  THE  CHILD. 

THERE  lived  a  lady,  beautiful  and  dear, 

Amongst  us  once,  yet  utterly  apart ; 
For  Grief's  rude  hand  had  closed  her  spirit's  ear, 

And  love  and  hope — those  ventures  of  the  heart — 
Had  settled  in  a  blank  and  soundless  sea 
The  wrecks,  the  buried  wrecks,  of  memory. 

For  she  had  seen  beneath  a  breezeless  main 

Her  husband  sink — and  she  was  scarce  eighteen  ; 

And  lightly  on  the  sunny  life  had  lain 

The  shadow  of  the  distant  grave,  till  then : 

So  its  approach,  thus  swift  and  unaware, 

The  unaccustom'd  spirit  could  not  bear. 

Years  brought  no  change  ;  the  hovering  of  that  death, 
Ere  it  could  fall,  had  turn'd  the  dark  hair  grey. 

And  when  at  last  it  match'd  the  brow  beneath, 
The  inner  shadow  had  not  pass'd  away. 


Earth  had  one  touch  to  rouse  the  slnmb'ring  brain, 
And  that  but  woke  the  consciousness  of  pain. 

For,  ever  by  all  calm  and  sunlit  seas, 
She  shudder'd  as  with  his  death-agony, 

And  closed  her  ears,  as  though  the  shoreward  breeze 
Still  had  not  lost  the  echo  of  his  cry. 

But  else  her  life  lay  buried,  and  each  year 

Brought  a  fresh  stone  to  raise  the  sepulchre. 

She  never  smiled  or  wept:  a  marble  face 

Hath  often  been  to  more  expression  wrought : 

And  in  the  restless  eyes  we  could  but  trace 
A  wishful,  weary  looking-out  for  thought 

That  never  came,  and  Love  sat  grieving  by — > 

For  even  Love  could  find  no  remedy. 

At  last  a  child  upon  that  lady  cast 

The  finer  vision  of  its  clear  blue  eye, 
And  thought  (few  years  from  God,  it  had  not  pass'i 

Beyond  the  wisdom  of  simplicity) 
It  might  be  good  for  her  to  see  those  flowers 
She  used  to  gather  in  her  childhood's  hours. 

It  was  a  sight  for  tears — that  blessed  child 
Kneeling  beside  the  aged  woman's  chair, 

With  daisy,  violet,  and  primrose,  piled 

'Mid  fresh  green  leaves,  in  wild  luxuriance  there  'r 

While  the  bright  face  upon  the  dimpled  arm, 

Watch'd  earnestly  the  working  of  the  charm  : 

And  watch'd  not  long — for  the  poor  wand'ring  eye 
Glanced  from  the  wild  growth  to  the  human  flower. 

Perhaps  they  stirr'd  some  secret  sympathy; 
Perhaps  it  was  the  Great  Physician's  hour ; 

For,  delicately  touch'd,  the  still  heart  slept 

Into  the  light  of  heaven — and  she  wept : 

And  bent  her  head  to  catch  their  mingling  breath,. 

That  to  her  like  a  soften'd  whisper  spoke 
Of  many  a  meadow  walk  and  dewy  wreath, 

Of  ready  gardens  'neath  the  forest  oak. 
And  then,  though  most  unlike  itself  the  while, 
We  knew  returning  Childhood  by  its  smile. 

And  ever  after,  from  that  gracious  day, 
Her  wither'd  life  put  forth  its  early  green; 

The  unlifted  cloud,  rose-tinted,  o'er  it  lay, 
And  'twixt  her  and  the  past  a  lovely  screen. 

All  memories  blithe  and  innocent  came  back, 

And  blossom'd  o'er  the  soiled  and  rugged  track, 

Till  e'en  the  faded  cheek  began  to  wear 
Of  childhood's  blush  the  pictured  memory, 

And  morn  and  eve  she  went  to  say  the  prayer 
That  she  had  lisp'd  beside  her  mother's  knee. 

Her  life  became  a  pastime,  and  each  day 

Closed  with  the  sleep  of  infants  after  play. 

And  God,  who  taught  the  tiny  hand  to  draw 
From  His  disorder'd  harp  that  pleasant  tone, 

Proclaim'd  that  in  the  gentle  child  she  saw 
An  old  pet  playmate  long  erst  dead  and  gone  : 

Playmates  so  sadly  match'd,  'twas  strange  to  view — - 

More  strange  the  love  that  sprung  between  the  two* 

But  aye  she  placed  wild  flowers  in  her  bosom, 
Turning  from  roses  in  their  gorgeous  prime, 

And  had  no  lack  between  the  pale  spring  blossom. 
And  the  red  berries  of  the  Christmas  time  ; 

For,  as  the  child  her  testimony  bore, 

These  never  grew  so  plenteously  before. 


346 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Once  more  we  heard  her  of  her  husband  speak, 
As  though  he  stood  nil  clothed  in  light  before  her. 

ITr  thought  the  pleasant  spell  was  growing  weak, 
But  the  child  said 'twas  Heaven  was  opening  o'er  her. 

And  so  she  died ;  and  oil  her  grave  we  set 

Only  the  primrose  and  the  violet. 


SHADOWS. 

THE   SHADOWS    OF     PHILIP   SIDNEY  AND   FULKE 
GHEVILLE. 

THERE  has  been  high  revelry  in  Shrewsbury 
in  1569.  Sir  Henry  Sidney,  Lord  President 
of  the  Council  of  the  Marches,  has  made  his 
annual  visit,  during  an  interval  in  his  govern- 
ment of  Ireland,  in  which  he  had  returned  to 
his  favourite  Ludlow  Castle.  Philip  Sidney, 
his  son,  is  a  boy  of  fifteen,  at  the  "Free  Grammar 
School  of  Shrewsbury.  In  the  same  form — of 
the  same  age — is  his  devoted  friend,  Fulke 
Greville.  The  ceremonies  are  over.  Sir  Henry 
has  sate  in  the  ancient  hall  of  the  Council 
House,  to  hear  complaints  and  to  dispense 
justice.  He  has  gone  in  solemn  procession  to 
St.  Chad's  Church,  with  bailiffs,  and  aldermen, 
and  wardens  of  companies.  He  has  ban- 
quetted  with  the  masters  of  the  school  in  the 
great  library.  He  has  been  present  at  a 
stage-play  in  the  Guildhall — the  Mayor's  play. 
But  more  welcome  than  all  the  pomp  of  office 
is  a  quiet  hour  with  his  boy  Philip,  as  they 
sit  in  the  cool  of  a  May  morning  on  the  terrace 
of  the  Council  House,  and  look  over  the  bright 
Severn  towards  Haughmond  Hill,  and  muse 
in  silence,  as  they  gaze  upon  one  of  those 
unrivalled  combinations  of  natural  beauty 
and  careful  cultivation,  which  have  been  the 
glory  of  England  during  many  ages  of  com- 
parative freedom  and  security.  It  is  the  last 
of  Philip's  school  years.  He  is  to  proceed  to 
Oxford.  His  friend  Greville  afterwards  wrote 
of  him  : — "  I  lived  with  him  and  knew  him 
from  a  child,  yet  I  never  knew  him  other  than 
a  man,  with  such  staidness  of  mind,  lovely 
and  familiar  gravity,  as  carried  grace  and 
reverence  above  greater  years."  Proud  is  the 
father  of  his  noble  son.  He  is  "  the  light  of 
his  family."  They  talk  as  friend  to  friend. 
The  father — a  statesman  and  soldier — is  not 
displeased  to  see  that,  beneath  the  gravity  of 
the  precocious  boy,  are  fiery  glances  of  feeling 
almost  approaching  to  rashness.  They  become 
one  who  in  after  years  exclaimed,  "  I  am  a 
Dudley  in  blood — the  duke's  daughter's  son," 

The  Lord  President  has  departed.  There 
is  holiday  at  the  school ;  and  Sidney  and 
Greville  walk  forth  to  the  fields  in  that 
spring-time.  Shrewsbury  is  a  place  in  which 
the  young  Sidney  lives  in  the  memories  of  the 
past.  Few  of  the  public  buildings  and  private 
houses  of  the  town  are  of  the  more  recent 
Tudor  architecture.  The  Market  Square  and 
Pride  Hill  are  rich  in  the  black  oaken  timbers, 
and  gabled  roofs,  and  pannelled  carvings  of 
the  fifteenth  century.  The  deserted*  Abbey  is 
not  yet  in  ruins.  The  Castle  has  a  character 
of  crumbling  strength.  The  High  Cross  is 


perfect.  There,  were  beheaded  the  last  of  the 
British  Princes  of  Wales  :  and  there,  suffered 
some  who  had  the  misfortune  not  to  fall  with 
Hotspur  in  the  battle  of  Hateley  Field.  At 
the  Augustine  Friars,  and  the  Grey  Friars, 
are  still  seen  the  graves  of  many  who  had 
perished  in  that  fight.  The  Welsh  Bridge, 
with  its  "  great  gate  to  enter  into  by  the  town, 
and  at  the  other  end,  towards  Wales,  a  mighty 
strong  tower,  to  prohibit  enemies  to  enter  into 
the  bridge  "  (as  described  by  old  Leland),  has 
its  associations  of  border  hostilities.  Sidney's 
mind  is  formed  to  luxuriate  in  the  poetry  of 
history. 

The  young  men  take  their  course  into  the 
country  by  the  Castle  Foregate.  They  are  in 
earnest  talk. 

"  What  a  monster  these  players  make  of 
Richard  the  Third,"  says  Sidney.  "Maugre 
my  loyal  reverence  for  her  Highness's  grand- 
father, I  have  a  liking  for  the  venomous  little 
Yorkist.  Even  the  players  couldn't  show  him 
as  a  coward." 

"  Not  when  they  make  him  whimper  about 
revenge,  suns,  moons,  and  planets  ;  silly 
lambs  and  croaking  ravens — all  crying  for 
revenge  upon  him  ?  Heavens  !  what  stuff!  " 

"Rare  stuff!  How  is  it  that  these  play 
writers  cannot  make  their  people  talk  like 
Englishmen  and  Christians  ?  When  the 
board  is  up — '  Bosworth  Field ' — and  two 
armies  fly  in,  represented  by  four  swords  and 
bucklers — and  the  usurper  dashes  about, 
despite  his  wounds, — hear  how  he  wastes  his 
precious  time.  Do  you  remember  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes — " 

"  '  Fly,  my  lord,  and  save  your  life.' 
"  I  have  it—  " 

'  Fly,  villain  !  look  I  as  though  I  would  fly? 
No,  first  shall  this  dull  and  senseless  ball  of  earth 
Receive  my  body  cold  and  void  of  sense. 
Yon  watery  heavens  scowl  on  my  gloomy  dny, 
And  darksome  clouds  close  up  my  cheerful  sound. — 
Down  is  thy  sun,  Richard,  never  to  shine  again. — 
The  bird  whose  feathers  should  adorn  my  head 
Hovers  aloft  and  never  comes  in  sight.' 

There's  a  Richard  for  you." 

"  Bravo,  Philip  !  You  should  join  a  fellow- 
ship of  players.  You  would  beat  the  varlet 
with  the  hump  that  mouthed  it  on  Tuesday. 
But  why  so  hard  upon  the  rhetoric  of  the 
vagabonds  1  Your  favourite  Gorboduc  is  full 
of  such  trash  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  faulty  even  as  this  True  tragedy 
of  Richard  the  Third,  in  time  and  place.  In 
two  hours  of  the  Mayor's  play,  we  had  Shore's 
wife  in  Cheapside,  and  poor  dead  Richard 
about  to  be  drawn  through  Leicester  on  a 
collier's  horse." 

"  Suppose  there  were  painted  scenes,  as 
some  of  the  playhouses  have,  instead  of  the 
door  painted  in  great  letters — couldn't  the 
imagination  go  from  Cheapside  to  Leicester  in 
spite  of  Aristotle  ?  and  can't  it,  even  with 


Charles  Dickens.] 


LAW  IN  THE  EAST. 


347 


the  help  of  the  painted  board  1  But  here  we 
are  at  Battlefield." 

"  I  never  walk  over  these  meadows,"  ex- 
claimed Sidney,  "  without  deep  emotion.  I 
was  reading  Hall  just  before  my  father  came. 
How  graphic  these  chroniclers  are,  compared 
with  the  ranting  players." 

"  What  you  read,  I  read,  Philip." 

"  As  we  walked  through  the  Eastgate,  I 
could  not  but  think  of  that  day  when  Henry 
came  with  his  host  into  Shrewsbury,  and  being 
advertised  that  the  earls  were  at  hand  with 
banners  displayed  and  battles  ranged,  marched 
suddenly  out  by  the  Eastgate,  and  there 
encamped." 

"An  evening  of  parley  and  defiance,  fol- 
lowed by  a  bloody  morning." 

"  The  next  day,  in  the  morning  early,  which 
wa,s  the  vigil  of  Mary  Magdalene,  the  king 
set  his  battle  in  good  order — and  so  his 
enemies.  There,  on  that  gentle  rise,  Greville, 
must  the  rebel  hosts  have  been  arrayed.  Then 
suddenly  the  trumpets  blew.  The  cry  of 
St.  George  went  up  on  the  King's  part — and 
that  cry  was  answered  by  Esperauce  Percy. 
By  Heaven,  the  tale  moves  me  like  the  old 
song  of  Percy  and  Douglas  !  " 

'•  Here  is  a  theme  for  the  players.  Write 
the  tragedy  of  Hotspur,  Philip." 

"  Nonsense.  What  could  I  do  with  it,  even 
if  I  were  a  maker.  The  story  begins  with 
the  deposition  of  Richard.  It  is  an  epic,  and 
not  a  tragedy.  And  yet,  Fulke,  when  I  see 
the  effect  these  acted  histories  produce  upon 
the  people,  I  am  tempted,  in  spite  of  Aristotle, 
to  wish  that  some  real  poet  would  take  in 
hand  our  country's  annals.  The  teaching  of 
our  day  is  taking  that  form.  The  Players 
are  the  successors  of  the  Bards." 

"  What  a  character  is  that  young  Harry  of 
Monmouth — the  profligate  and  the  hero  ! 
Something  might  be  made  of  these  contending 
elements." 

"  Yes,  the  players  would  do  it  bravely. 
How  they  would  make  him  swagger  and 
bully — strike  the  chief  justice  and  slaughter 
the  Welshmen.  Harry  of  Monmouth  was  a 
gentleman,  and  the  players  could  not  touch 
him." 

"  If  the  stage  is  to  teach  the  people,  surely 
right  teachers  will  arise.  Look  at  our  preachers. 
They  stir  the  dull  clowns  and  the  sleepy  bur- 
gesses with  passionate  eloquence,  and  yet  they 
preach  as  scholars.  They  never  lower  them- 
selves to  their  audiences.  And  why  should 
the  stage  be  the  low  thing  which  we  see, 
when  it  addresses  the  same  classes  ?" 

"  There  may  be  a  change  some  day ;  but 
not  through  any  theorick  about  it.  England 
may  have  her  _5Cschylus —  when  the  man 
comes  ;  perchance  in  our  age — more  likely 
when  all  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  our  semi- 
barbarism  are  swept  away — for  we  are  bar- 
barians yet,  Greville." 

"  Come,  come — your  fine  Italian  reading 
has  spoiled  you  for  our  brave  old  English. 
We  have  poetry  in  us  if  we  would  trust  to 


nature.  There  is  the  ancient  blind  crowder 
that  sits  at  our  school-gate,  with  his  ballads 
of  love  and  war,  which  you  like  as  much  as  I 
do.  Has  he  no  poetry  to  tell  of?  As  good, 
I  think,  as  the  sonnets  of  Master  Francis 
Petrarch." 

"  Don't  be  a  heretic,  Greville.  But  see ; 
the  sun  is  sinking  behind  that  bosky  hill, 
from  which  Hotspur,  looking  to  the  East,  saw 
it  rise  for  the  last  time.  We  must  be  home- 
ward." 

"  And  here,  where  the  chapel  bell  is  tolling 
a  few  priests  to  even-song,  forty  thousand 
men  were  fighting,  a  century  and  a  half  ago 
— for  what  1 " 

"  And  for  the  same  doubtful  cause  went  on 
fighting  for  three  quarters  of  a  century. 
What  a  sturdy  heart  must  our  England  have 
to  bear  these  things  and  yet  live  ! " 

"  Times  are  changed,  Philip  !  Shall  we 
have  any  civil  strife  in  our  day  1 " 

"  Papist  and  Puritan  would  like  to  be  at 
it.  But  the  rule  of  the  law  is  too  strong  for 
them.  Yet  my  father  says  that  the  fighting 
days  will  come  over  again — not  for  questions 
of  sovereign  lineage,  but  of  vulgar  opinion. 
The  reforms  of  religion  have  produced  sturdy 
thinkers.  There  is  a  beast  with  many  heads 
called  the  Commonalty,  growing  stronger 
every  day  ;  and  it  is  difficult  to  chain  him  or 
pare  his  claws." 

"  Well,  well,  Philip,  we  are  young  politi- 
cians, and  need  not  trouble  our  heads  yet 
about  such  matters.  You  are  going  to  Ox- 
ford. What  will  the  good  mother  make  of  you 
— a  statesman,  a  soldier,  or  a  scholar  ?  " 

"  Must  the  characters  be  separable  ?  What- 
ever I  am,  dear  Fulke,  I  will  not  shame  my 
ancestry." 

"And  I,  dear  Philip,  will  never  abate 
my  love  for  you ;  and  that  will  keep  me 
honest." 


LAW  IN  THE  EAST. 


IT  is  one  of  England's  proudest  boasts  that 
wherever  her  flag  is  unfurled,  wherever  her 
supremacy  is  established,  there  she  carries  the 
blessings  of  liberal  institutions  :  she  conquers 
but  to  set  free.  The  same  justice  which  is 
provided  for  the  proudest  son  of  Albion,  is 
sent  forth  across  the  waters  to  attend  on  the 
meanest  swarthy  subject  of  Her  Majesty, 
in  distant  India.  At  the  same  time  this 
beautiful  feature  of  our  constitution,  admirably 
as  it  reads  on  paper,  excellent  as  it  sounds  to 
the  ear,  but  too  frequently  fails  in  its  mission 
of  mercy,  and  in  one  way  or  the  other  proves 
rather  the  reverse  of  an  unmitigated  blessing 
to  those  for  whose  especia-l  benefit  it  was 
wafted  over  the  -seas.  In  India  Proper,  as 
we  have  endeavoured  to  point  out  in  a  pre- 
vious number,*  the  way  to  justice,  open  though 
it  is  intended  to  be,  becomes  so  overgrown 
with  rank  bribery  and  extortion,  that  the 

*  No.  95. 


348 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


poor  Ryot  has  small  chance  of  passing  the 
threshold  :  the  very  attempt  to  do  so  subjects 
him  to  cruel,  undying  persecution.  In  other 
places,  Ceylon  amongst  the  rest,  matters  are 
widely  different.  There,  so  broad  and  open 
is  the  highway  to  the  law,  that  none  are  shut 
out  from  it ;  but  unfortunately  the  Cingalese 
are  fond  of  disputation  in  every  shape :  having 
a  natural  dislike  to  do,  they  make  up  the  de- 
ficiency in  talk.  In  addition  to  which,  their 
innate  love  of  importance  is  gratified  by  the 
reflection  that  for  their  sake,  and  at  their 
instance,  the  "  great  Europe  master,"  as 
they  term  the  judge,  is  busily  occupied, 
wig  and  gown  included,  for  days  together. 
So  powerful  has  this  Cingalese  passion  for 
litigation  become,  that  it  is  matter  of  noto- 
riety, in  that  country,  that  legal  proceed- 
ings are  instituted  in  cases  involving  no 
greater  stake  than  the  one-fourth  part  of  a 
cocoa-nut  tree,  or  the  sixteenth  share  of 
a  ricketty  mud  dwelling.  Nor  is  this  the 
worst  feature  in  this  state  of  things  :  the  liti- 
gious spirit  begets  a  host  of  evil  passions  in 
family  circles,  leading  not  unfrequently  to  acts 
of  violence  and  even  bloodshed.  So  strongly 
has  this  passion  for  law  taken  hold  of  the 
native  population  that  there  are  very  few 
Cingalese  who  will  not  willingly  risk  their 
little  all  to  carry  some  frivolous  point  against 
a  neighbour,  or  a  near  and  dear  relation. 
This  state  of  society  has  raised  up  a  race  of 
harpies  of  the  law,  whose  name  is  truly 
Legion,  who  thrive  on  the  follies  of  the  liti- 
gants, and  who  too  frequently  fan  the  slum- 
bering embers  into  a  blazing  flame. 

Of  all  the  strange  scenes  which  in  the  East 
strike  a  new  comer  with  their  novelty,  few 
appear  so  remarkable  as  a  Cingalese  court  of 
justice.  There  is  in  it  such  an  odd  jumble  of 
western  and  eastern  life — of  European  forms 
and  Oriental  fashions,  that  the  beholder, 
gazing  on  the  scene  for  the  first  time,  feels 
rather  at  a  loss  to  know  if  he  be  in  a  court  of 
law,  at  a  mock  auction,  or  a  debating  club. 

Nor  is  it  only  in  externals  that  there  is  this 
curious  kaleidoscoping  of  things.  The  internal 
condition  of  the  law  itself  is  a  mass  of  patch- 
work, made  up  of  Kandyan  law,  Roman -Dutch 
law,  Scotch  law,  and  English  law.  The  judges 
are  often  as  perplexed  as  the  advocates,  to  say 
by  which  law  a  case  should  be  tried,  conse- 
quently there  is  not  a  little  curious  pea-and- 
thimbling  amongst  the  sharp  practitioners  to 
serve  their  own  purposes,  and  perplex  dame 
Justice. 

The  Quarter-Sessions  were  on  at  Colombo  . 
with  a  rather  smart  sprinkling  of  cases  for  the 
three  judges  who  were  sitting  in  full  tribunal, 
when  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  the  legal  quarters 
situated  outside  the  fort,  at  some  little  dis- 
tance. The  origin  of  these  Courts  being 
removed  from  the  precincts  of  the  fort  is 
curious.  It  is  said  that  during  the  Dutch 
sway  in  Ceylon,  when  the  Supreme  Court 
held  its  sitting  within  the  fortified  walls  of 
Colombo,  an  attempt  was  made  by  the  then 


governor,  Rip  Van-something,  to  overawe  the 
judges  in  some  case  in  which  he  was  officially 
interested,  whereupon  they  claimed  from  their 
High  Mightinesses  of  the  Netherlands  the 
privilege  of  holding  session  without  the  walls, 
which  was  granted,  and  has  been  continued 
ever  since. 

A  ride  to  the  Courts  at  Hulfsdorp,  over- 
looking the  long  busy  town  of  Colombo,  is  by 
no  means  a  pleasant  affair  on  a  hot,  choking 
day,  during  the  dry  weather.  The  red,  scorch- 
ing dust  blinds  and  burns  one  like  so  much 
quick-lime.  The  stench  from  many  a  dried  up 
ditch  and  stagnant  drain  blends  harmoniously 
with  the  effluvia  from  the  bazaars  around ; 
where  fish  and  meat  blister  and  blacken  in 
the  burning  sun,  while  files  of  dozing,  oily 
natives  lay  steaming  upon  heaps  of  filth, 
adding  their  own  unclean  aroma  to  the  hot 
sickly  atmosphere. 

The  neighbourhood  is  dense,  teeming  with 
dirt  and  children.  The  coffin-makers  are 
driving  a  roaring  trade,  especially  one  by  the 
arrack  tavern,  for  half  of  the  street  round  the 
corner  died  the  night  previously  of  putrid 
fish,  sour  pineapples,  and  stagnant  drains, 
and  the  other  half  were  expected  to  die  on 
the  next  day.  I  urged  my  sorry  hack  ,on  at 
the  top  of  his  speed,  fully  five  miles  an  hour, 
past  the  crazy  old  Dutch  houses  and  the  dusty 
tumble-down  Moormen's  dwellings,  up  the 
steep  hill,  on  the  brow  of  which  stood  a  whole- 
colony  of  buildings,  large  and  small,  old  and 
new.  This  spot  was  Hulfsdorp,  whence,  in 
days  long  past,  the  Dutch  army  which  be- 
sieged ancient  Colombo — then  in  the  hands  of 
the  Portuguese — poured  a  storm  of  shot  upon 
the  fortifications.  It  was,  afterwards,  the 
country  residence  of  the  Dutch  governors,  the 
present  Supreme  Court-House  having  been 
tenanted  by  a  long  line  of  sovereign  Mynheers» 

The  spot  is  pleasant  enough  after  the 
dreadful  streets  below,  commanding  a  fine 
view  over  the  fort  to  seaward,  and  enjoying 
an  occasional  breeze,  when  there  is  any.  A 
portion  of  the  great  square  block  of  buildings 
behind  the  large  gates,  facing  the  road,  is 
devoted  to  the  Supreme  Court,  another  part 
to  the  District  Court,  and  a  third  to  the 
Court  of  Requests,  and  sundry  offices  of 
Record.  Around  and  about  this  pile  of  law- 
has  sprung  up  a  busy  mass  of  quaint,  queer- 
looking  edifices  of  all  shapes,  styles,  and  sizes. 
These  are  the  houses  of  business  of  the  fra- 
ternity of  proctors,  Dutch,  Portuguese,  Tamil, 
and  Cingalese,  who,  if  they,  as  some  malicious 
people  say,  be  really  inflicted  on  the  natives 
as  a  chastisement  for  their  shortcomings,  cer- 
tainly do  their  best  to  fulfil  their  mission. 
Each  doorway  was  choked  up  by  hungry 
applicants  for  law :  groups  of  litigants 
squatted  beneath  the  clumps  of  dusty  bananas 
in  the  little  nubbly  court-yard  in  front,  count- 
ing up  their  witnesses  bought  at  a  dollar 
a  head.  In  the  East,  witnesses  are  commer- 
cial articles,  not  for  export  it  is  true,  but 
for  home  use,  and  are  valued  by  a  well 


Charles  Dickens.] 


LAW  IN  THE  EAST. 


349 


understood  sliding-scale.  A  witness  in  a 
murder  case,  if  he  be  a  stout  swearer,  costs 
five  rix-dollars  ;  in  a  land  suit,  witnesses  may 
be  had  for  two  or  three  dollars  ;  burglary  or 
cattle-stealing  witnesses  are  cheaper ;  they  cost 
about  a  dollar  each  ;  whilst  a  few  copper  coin 
will  obtain  all  the  swearing  you  want  and 
something  over,  in  an  ordinary  assault  case. 

I  hastened  on,  past  all  these  scenes,  to  the 
Supreme  Court,  whose  sitting  was  just  com- 
mencing for  the  day.  The  Court  House, 
wherein  sat  the  Chief  Justice  and  his  brother 
judges,  was  a  long  rambling  shed  of  a  place, 
not  unlike  a  paved  barn  with  a  tiled  roof. 
Making  my  slow  way  into  the  body  of  the 
Court,  I  found  it  filled  with  the  representa- 
tives of  almost  every  nation  in  the  Eastern 
hemisphere,  blended  with  Dutch,  Portuguese, 
and  English.  I  might  have  taken  it  for  a 
masquerade  by  day-light,  were  it  not  for  the 
Court  on  the  little  raised  stage  at  one  end, 
with  the  dirty  lion  and  unicorn,  and  the 
figure  of  Justice  looking  quite  knocked  up 
by  the  climate.  The  judges  wore  a  very 
comical  appearance  in  spite  of  their  gravity. 
Seated  upon  an  open  platform  on  a  level 
with  our  faces,  I  could  see  plainly  enough, 
as  one  crossed  his  legs,  that  he  wore  high- 
lows  which  required  mending  ;  another,  wore 
•queer-looking  worsted  socks  ;  while  the  third 
appeared  to  have  discarded  hose  altogether. 
In  a  ricketty  sort  of  sheep-pen  on  one  side  sat 
the  jury — a  motley  blending  of  white,  black, 
and  whitey-brown.  The  foreman  was  study- 
ing the  coat  of  arms  over  the  judges'  heads, 
wondering  when  the  lion  and  unicorn  would 
finish  fighting  for  the  crown.  The  rest  of 
the  jurors  were  either  dozing  or  amusing 
themselves  in  the  besfr  way  they  could.  Oppo- 
site the  jury  was  a  large  parrot's  cage  with- 
out any  top ;  this  was  the  witness-box. 
Further  away  there  was  another  parrot's 
cage,  in  which  the  crier  of  the  Court  tried  to 
keep  order  by  creating  more  noise  than  all 
the  other  disturbers  put  together. 

Grouped  about  a  shabby-looking  ale-house 
table,  covered  with  a  rusty  cloth  of  some  im- 
possible colour,  were  the  European  auditory 
and  some  three  or  four  barristers  and  proctors, 
the  former  of  mixed  races,  the  latter  native. 
An  important  case  was  on  :  a  native  was 
being  tried  for  an  act  of  High  Treason, 
committed  during  the  recent  rebellion,  and 
the  court  was  crowded  to  suffocation.  The 
prisoner,  a  poor,  haggard,  broken-spirited 
man,  was  "docked"  opposite  the  judges, 
and  glanced  in  a  wild,  frightened  manner, 
from  his  counsel  to  the  Court,  and  then  to 
the  jury,  wondering  what  it  all  meant ;  he 
had  confessed  his  guilt,  and  why  need  they 
take  so  much  trouble  with  him  1  The  counsel 
for  the  prisoner  was  on  his  legs  about  to  say 
something ;  he  was  an  European,  a  hale, 
portly,  bold  man,  with  a  twinkling  cunning 
eye  and  a  shining  face.  I  was  rather  at  a  loss 
to  know  if  he  were  going  to  make  a  speech, 
or  sing  a  comic  song,  but  it  ended  in  his 


challenging  the  best  part  of  the  jurors — the 
best  part  in  every  sense,  for  when  he  sat  down, 
the  foreman,  who  had  been  studying  the  lion. 
and  unicorn  so  deeply,  and  all  his  fellow  Euro- 
peans had  disappeared,  replaced  by  others 
of  a  kindred  hue  with  the  prisoner. 

It  was  a  long  and  tedious  affair,  that  trial, 
despite  the  man's  confession,  and  as  all  the 
intricate  native  evidence  had  to  be  translated 
and  re-translated,  I  soon  grew  tired  of  the 
scene,  and  bent  my  steps  towards  the  minor 
courts  close  by.  Between  the  two  localities 
were  long  dusty  verandahs  opening  into  little 
dens  of  offices,  where  I  saw  through  the  dirty 
barred  windows,  a  strange  collection  of  rotten, 
wooden  cupboards,  ricketty  desks  and  armless 
old  chairs  :  heaps  of  dusty  papers  were  there 
too,  and  with  them  smoke-dried  old  natives 
that  were  fretting  and  fuming  amongst  the 
heat  and  the  dirt,  as  though  they  were  con- 
victed criminals — Cingalese  lawyers  con- 
demned for  their  enormous  crimes  to  toil  for 
the  rest  of  their  lives  over  perplexing  suits 
and  ghostlike  documents.  These  were 
deputy-registrars,  and  translators,  and  pro- 
cess clerks,  and  a  host  of  other  legal  subordi- 
nates, caged  up  like  wild  beasts  at  a  fair. 
How  different  from  the  vicinity  of  the  law 
courts  at  home.  There  everything  is  cool, 
solemn,  silent,  orderly  ;  here  it  is  all  glaring, 
sunshine,  dirt,  noise,  dust  and  effluvia.  The 
very  Pariah  dogs  curl  up  their  sickly  noses 
and  scamper  hastily  past. 

Forcing  my  way  through  a  mob  of  rather 
moist  Malabars  and  steaming  Cingalese,  I 
reached  the  District  Court,  where  the  pro- 
vincial judge  sits  all  the  year  round  in  civil 
jurisdiction.  The  court-yard  in  front,  the 
enclosed  space  in  the  rear,  the  filthy  veran- 
dahs at  the  two  ends — all  were  densely  studded 
with  anxious  groups  of  natives,  smoking, 
talking,  drinking,  quarrelling,  crying.  Under 
the  gloomy  shade  of  some  bread-fruit  trees, 
were  ranged  the  many  members  of  some 
Cingalese  family  who  had  evidently  travelled 
from  some  far-off  village,  to  be  present  at  the 
hearing  of  their  case.  The  grey  old  grand- 
father,- the  sturdy  parents,  the  two  grown-up, 
idle-looking  sons,  the  pretty  dark-browed 
daughters,  and  the  children  scarce  able  to 
walk,  had  all  left  their  rice-field  and  their 
tobacco-garden  to  try  for  the  disputed  half- 
share  of  a  Jack  tree. 

Out  rushed  a  Peon  from  the  crowded  Court, 
and  bawling  out  some  dreadfully  singular 
name,  he  rushed  back  again  as  suddenly  as 
though  he  just  remembered  having  left  all  his 
earthly  treasures  within  reach  of  those  ras- 
cally lawyers,  and  there  was  no  time  to  lose. 
The  family  group  watched  the  summoned 
witness  as  he  vanished  amidst  the  army  of 
suitors  at  the  doorway,  envying  him  the  brief 
importance  he  was  about  to  assume  in  open 
court. 

Around  the  entrances  to  this  crowded  seat 
of  justice,  were  wedged  in  compact  masses 
hundreds  of  curious  and  anxious  listeners. 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by. 


Amidst  that  crowd  of  Arabs,  Moors,  Malays, 
Parsees,  and  many  other  races,  I  observeo 
aii  old  woman  seated  by  the  liutel  011  the 
brick  floor,  with  clasped  hands,  grasping  some 
curious  little  bunch  of  leaves  and  flowers 
and  as  she  rocked  her  body  to  and  fro,  mut- 
tering half  aloud  some  wordy  jumble,  I  ob- 
served too  that  she  cast  her  eyes  at  intervals 
upon  a  tall  man,  her  son  doubtless,  who, 
raised  somehow  above  the  crowd,  could  both 
see  and  hear  what  was  passing  in  Court. 
Their  case  was  then  on,  and  the  man  was 
evidently  telegraphing  to  her  the  progress 
of  the  suit.  The  bunch  of  flowers  in  her 
hands  was  a  Buddhist  charm,  given  by  their 
village  priest  to  ensure  success.  I  failed, 
however,  in  ascertaining  the  value  of  the 
case.  The  last  witness  was  not  needed.  The 
judge  summed  up  but  briefly ;  there  was 
a  momentary  silence  in  that  Babel-place,  the 
assessors  concurred — the  old  woman  ceased 
to  rock  herself,  she  dropped  the  flower-charm, 
it  was  an  evil  omen  to  do  that  ;  a  busy  hum 
in  Court  told  all  was  over  ;  the  dark  scowl  on 
the  tall  man's  brow  needed  no  interpretation  : 
he  sprang  down  from  his  elevated  perch,  and 
ran  to  the  poor  old  woman.  She  had  fallen 
down  in  a  fit,  and  lay  apparently  lifeless  on 
the  pavement,  the  blood  flowing  from  her 
nose  and  mouth  :  one  of  many  victims  self- 
immolated  beneath  the  Juggernaut  wheels  of 
the  Law  in  the  East. 

My  dress  and  colour  obtained  for  me  an 
entrance  within  the  doors,  and  after  a  time,  a 
seat  near  the  judge,  whence  I  could  watch 
the  proceedings,  and  note  the  many  strange 
actors.  Perched  in  a  rather  roomy,  but  low 
pulpit,  the  judge  was  listening  to  the  opening 
of  a  fresh  case  from  a  young  but  leading 
proctor,  who  leant  over  with  his  elbow 
resting  on  his  Honour's  desk  in  the  most 
familiarmanner  imaginable,  just  as  one  might 
be  discussing  the  state  of  the  weather,  or  the 
quality  of  a  yesterday's  dinner.  A  long  table 
was  before  "  the  Court  "  at  a  short  distance, 
at  which  were  seated  the  "  Colombo  Bar,"  a 
motley  group,  and  curious  to  look  on.  They 
were  Dutch,  Portuguese,  Tamil,  and  Cinga- 
lese :  some  were  steady-going  business-like 
men,  and  some  were  very  sharp  gentry  in- 
deed, especially  one  little  ape-looking  fellow 
with  close-cropped  hair  and  care  worn  features  : 
but  there  were  several  whom  you  could  not, 
by  any  imaginative  faculty,  connect  with  the 
Bar,  unless  indeed  it  be  the. bar  of  a  low  pot- 
house. One  miserable  object,  all  out  at 
elbow,  shirtless,  and  unshaven,  leant  listlessly 
over  the  dirty  table,  staring  at  the  sparrows 
up  in  the  roof,  whilst  another  briefless  mem- 
ber of  the  fraternity  amused  himself  by 
emptying  the  contents  of  an  ink-stand  into 
his  trowsers  pocket. 

The  morality  of  some  of  this  craft  is  not 
more  wholesome  than  their  linen;  and  cases 
are  not  wanting,  wherein,  having  recovered 
sums  of  money  for  clients,  they  have  taken 
such  care  of  the  amounts  as  to  render  a 


second  action  necessary,  to  compel  them  to 
disgorge  the  suitors'  due.  Some  again,  fearful 
of  their  clients  running  too  rapidly  through 
the  monies  they  are  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
for  them,  convert  the  rupees  into  snug 
dwelling-houses,  in  which  they  do  their  said 
clients  the  honour  of  residing,  rent  free. 
Altogether  the  native  practitioners  of  Ceylon,, 
as  a  body,  are  an  interesting  race. 

The  case  then  on,  though  one  of  very  com- 
mon occurrence,  seemed  to  me  a  rather  pre- 
possessing one,  from  the  fact  of  its  being  a 
question  of  a  Bond  Debt :  a  suit  which,  how- 
ever easily  to  be  settled  by  actual  docu- 
mentary proof,  nevertheless  afforded  ample 
scope  for  a  vast  deal  of  very  hard  Cingalese 
swearing  on  both  sides,  and,  of  course,  in 
precisely  opposite  directions.  It  involved  a 
rather  smart  amount  for  a  native  to  meet — 
not  less  than  one  hundred  and  twenty-two 
pounds  British  currency  ;  I  !ni  afraid  to  say 
how  much  it  was  in  the  benighted  coin  of  the 
island,  but  more  than  I  should  like  to  count. 
Well,  the  plaintiff  swore  as  hard  as  a  curry- 
stone  that  the  defendant  owed  the  money, 
and  the  defendant  vowed  rather  harder,  I 
thought,  that  he  did  not  owe  so  much  as  a 
single  copper  challie.  Plaintiff  chuckled  all 
over  as  he  produced  the  defendant's  bond  for 
the  precise  amount.  It  was  examined,  and 
conned  over,  and  looked  at  in  all  possible 
ways  by  every  one  interested,  until  at  last  the 
judge  was  on  the  point  of  deciding,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  when  the  defendant  pro- 
duced a  document  very  similar  in  appearance 
and  handed  it  to  the  j  udge.  It  was  a  release 
in  full  for  the  amount,  duly  signed  by  the 
plaintiff,  and  as  duly  witnessed. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  strange  look  of 
humbled  mortification  and  disappointed  rage 
visible  in  the  plaintiff's  face,  nor  the  glow 
of  merry  bursting  triumph  that  puckered 
up  the  oily  countenance  of  the  successful 
defendant.  The  case  was  suddenly  made  as 
lear  one  way  as  the  moment  before  it  had 
been  equally  lucid.  The  Judge  decided 
igainst  the  plaintiff  with  all  the  costs  and  a 
severe  lecture  ;  which,  as  it  afterwards  ap- 
peared, he  deserved  in  a  far  more  serious 
point  of  view  than  was  at  the  time  believed. 
I  was  a  good  deal  puzzled  at  the  stupidity  of 
the  man  who  could  thus  bring  an  action  for 
a  debt  for  which  he  had  granted  a  dis- 
charge; but  the  puzzle  was  cleared  up  a 
lay  or  two  afterwards,  when  I  learnt  all 
:he  particulars  from  the  English  Advocate 
who  had  acted  as  counsel  for  the  defendant 
in  the  matter. 

The  Barrister  had  been  waited  upon  in 
lis  office  by  his  client  in  the  Bond  case, 
who  came  to  thank  him  for  the  trouble  he 
lad  taken  in  getting  up  his  defence.  After 
i  few  introductory  civilities,  the  Advocate 
Congratulated  his  native  friend  on  the  success 
which  had  attended  him  in  his  recent  suit, 
md  remarked  on  the  great  necessity  that 
existed  for  carefully  preserving  all  documents 


Chwlee  Dick««s.j 


LAW  IN  THE  EAST 


351 


relating  to  cash,  transactions,  not  less  than 
such  as  bore  reference  to  property.  The 
Cingalese  looked  at  his  counsel  very  hard, 
with  a  peculiar  expression  of  deep  cun- 
ning stealing  over  his  sable  countenance. 
He  drew  his  chair  somewhat  nearer  to  him, 
and  glancing  cautiously  round  the  room  to 
ascertain  if  any  one  was  within,  ear-shot,  told 
him  in  a  low  half-whisper  that  he  "  had 
never  paid  the  money."  The  Advocate,  as 
may  easily  be  imagined,  was  astounded  at  this 
admission  ;  although  from  his  long  acquaint- 
ance with  the  native  character  he  was  generally 
prepared  to  hear  a  good  deal  of  rascality  and 
duplicity.  He  begged  his  client  to  explain 
what  he  meant  ;  how  he  came  by  the  dis- 
charge which  the  plaintiff  had  not  attempted 
to  disprove  or  set  aside,  if,  as  he  said,  he  had 
not  paid  the  money. 

The  late  defendant  drew  still  more  con- 
fidently near  to  his  counsel's  seat,  and  looking 
him  steadily  in  the  face  as  if  to  watch  the 
effect  his  communication  would  have  on  him, 
he  whispered  in  his  ear  that  he  had  not  only 
never  paid  plaintiff  the  money  in  dispute,  but 
that  he  had  never  owed  him  the  amount,  nor 
any  sum  of  money  whatever  !  This  was  a 
fearful  staggerer  to  the  Englishman,  who 
looked  all  sorts  of  questions  at  his  client. 
The  latter  perceiving  that  his  riddle  was 
not  likely  to  be  solved  without  his  own 
assistance,  condescended  to  detail  every  par- 
ticular relating  to  the  recent  suit.  He  had 
been  on  bad  terms,  he  said,  with  the  plaintiff, 
who  was  a  neighbour,  for  some  months  past, 
owing  to  his  having  obtained  a  judgment 
against  the  latter  in  a  trifling  land  case.  The 
plaintiff  had  been  heard  to  say,  that  he  would 
one  day  be  revenged  on  him,  and  as  the  Cin- 
galese are  tolerably  true  to  their  word  in  all 
these  matters,  the  attempt  was  expected.  The 
revenge  taken  was  to  forge  a  bond  from  the 
defendant  to  plaintiff  for  such  an  amount  as 
must  have  effectually  ruined  the  former  ;  the 
deed  was  well  drawn  up,  properly  attested, 
and  duly  witnessed  by  men  who,  for  a  rupee 
a  head,  were  in  Court  for  the  purpose,  and 
actually  did  swear  to  the  genuineness  of 
defendant's  signature  The  man  would  as- 
suredly have  been  ruined  as  was  intended,  but 
that  he  happened  to  be  as  clever  a  rogue  and 
as  unscrupulous  as  his  adversary.  He  had 
heard  the  old  proverb  about  sharp  instru- 
ments cutting  two  ways,  and  acted  upon  it, 
for  he  concocted  a  forged  discharge  to  the 
forged  bond,  signed  by  twice  as  many 
witnesses  as  the  bond  itself,  and  some  of 
whom  were  the  same  parties  who  professed  to 
have  witnessed  the  execution  of  the  latter, 
and  who,  for  a  little  higher  bribing,  came  into 
Court  to  swear  by  the  sacred  Tooth  of 
Buddhoo,  that  they  had  seen  the  plaintiff 
sign  and  deliver  the  discharge  !  The  Advo- 
cate went  home  that  day  a  wiser  man,  by  a 
great  deal,  than  when  he  entered  his  little 
office  iu  the  morning,  and  deeply  impressed 
with  the  difficulties  flung  round  the  path  of 


justice   by   the    crookedness    of   the    native 
character. 

.Having  related  the  denouement  of  the  above 
little  plot,  I  must  terminate  my  day  at  the 
Colombo  Courts.  After  the  decision  of  the 
case  just  alluded  to,  I  bent  my  steps  back  to 
the  Supreme  Court,  which  was  at  that 
moment  in  a  state  of  intense  commotion.  It 
was  evident  that  something  of  great  interest 
had  happened,  for  every  tongue  was  in  action,, 
every  bare  arm  was  flung  about,  as  though 
there  had  been  a  general  attack  of  St.  Vitus's 
dance  amongst  the  native  population.  Great 
white  eyes  glared  fiercely  on  their  neighbours  j 
black  hair  streamed  over  excitable,  oleagi- 
nous shoulders  ;  muslin  turbans  and  snow- 
white  scarves  danced  about,  and  blended 
madly  with  Turkey-red  cloths  and  chintz 
sarougo  ;  bloodthirsty  -  looking  mustachios- 
curled  to  their  uttermost  tips  in  rank  defiance, 
while  tobacco  and  betel-juice  flew  about  in 
copious  showers,  and  mucli  nearer  to  me  than 
I  could  have  desired.  What  did  it  all  mean  ? 
Was  the  poor  wretch  of  a  traitor,  self-con- 
deinued  as  he  had  been,  about  to  suffer  the  ex- 
treme penalty  of  the  law,  then  and  there,  on  the 
spot,  just  to  give  Dame  Justice  an  appetite  for 
her  afternoon  meal !  I  ventured  to  question  a 
respectable-looking  man  by  my  side,  in  clean, 
white  raiment ;  but  the  poor  creature  muttered 
something  that  might  liave  been  Ethiopia  or 
Sclavonic.  I  tried  a  thin  weazen-faced  old 
man  in  spectacles  and  cloth  garments,  and  the 
wretch  replied  in  high  Dutch  ! 

Forcing  my  way  into  the  body  of  the 
Court,  I  at  length  ascertained  from  a  half- 
caste  proctor,  that  although  the  prisoner  had 
pleaded  guilty,  and  the  evidence  and  the 
summing-up  of  the  Judge  were  dead  against 
him,  the  jury  had  acquitted  the  man.  They 
knew  far  better  than  he  did  whether  he  was 
or  was  not  guilty,  and  in  their  wisdom  had 
decided  that  he  was  mistaken  in  his  self- 
condemnation.  The  prisoner — the  prisoner 
no  longer — could  not  be  persuaded  that  he 
heard  aright  ;  when  I  reached  the  thronged 
table  facing  the  dock,  I  found  him  staring 
vacantly  about  him,  with  his  long,  bony 
hands  clasped  firmly  together  ;  the  person  iu 
charge  of  him  in  vain  tried  to  move  him  from 
the  spot.  The  Judges  were  conversing 
together  in  deep,  earnest,  whispers,  evidently 
as  astonished  as  the  poor  creature  they  had 
just  been  trying  ;  after  a  brief  time  they 
dismissed  the  jury,  having  probably  had 
sufficient  of  their  labour  for  that  day,  and  for 
many  days  to  come  ;  and  eventually  the  Court 
rose  and  adjourned  over  until  the  following 
morning,  to  allow  themselves  time  to  digest 
their  astonishment. 

As  I  drove  home  from  witnessing  these 
strange  scenes,  I  could  not  resist  pondering 
upon  the  crooked  ways  of  Orientals — upon  the 
dim  moral  perceptions  of  our  fellow-subjects 
iu  the  East.  I  called  to  mind  the  hackneyed 
Exeter  Hall  phrase  of  "  We  are  all  brethren," 
and  thought  how  much  better  for  the  true 


352 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


IConducted  by- 


advancement  of  the  human  family  it  would  be, 
if,  whilst  admitting  the  abstract  truth  of  the 
above  sentence,  men  paused  awhile  ere  work- 
ing out  the  theory  by  one  universal  rule  of 
legislation  ;  if  they  would  bear  in  mind  that 
there  "  is  a  season  for  all  things."  Such 
worldly-wise  philanthropists  have  yet  to  learn 
that  in  regard  to  their  "  We-are-all-brethren  " 
idea,  what  is  "sauce  for  the  goose,"  is  not 
always  "  sauce  for  the  gander." 


WHAT  IS  TO  BECOME  OF  US  ? 


MANY  people,  after  peeping  into  a  geological 
book,  or  listening  to  a  geological  lecture,  take 
away  the  impression  that  it  is  all  very  well 
for  such  ups  and  downs  to  have  taken  place, 
before  they  did  the  world  the  honour  to  come 
into  it,  but,  thank  Heaven  !  all  those  un- 
pleasant circumstances  are  over  now.  The 
earth  is  quiet  at  last,  and  has  subsided  into  a 
well-behaved  composure.  What  would  people 
think,  indeed,  if  a  new  chain  of  mountains 
were  to  rise  up,  one  night,  the  whole  length 
of  Eegent  Street,  London  ?  or  an  unheard-of 
crater  were  to  swallow  up  the  greater  part  of 
Hertfordshire  1  What  would  cousin  Nimrod 
say,  if  the  hares  and  pheasants  in  papa's 
preserves  were  to  be  changed  into  the  state 
of  anoplotheriums  and  pterodactyls,  like 
those  which  the  Professor  explained  to  us 
on  his  black  board  with  his  long  stick  ? 
What  would  the  gamekeeper  fancy  was  come 
to  the  world,  if,  instead  of  pike,  perch,  or  eels, 
he  found  some  of  Agassiz's  specimens  in  his 
nets,  or  at  the  end  of  his  lines  1  Oh  no  ! 
Geological  changes  in  the  nineteenth  century 
are  out  of  the  question.  They  would  cause 
great  inconvenience.  Our  settlements  are 
secured  on  the  family  estate,  and  that,  of 
-course,  ought  to  be  a  sufficient  security.  No 
one  expects  his  park,  timber,  or  mansion 
to  be  either  lifted  halfway  up  to  the  moon, 
into  an  air-pump  atmosphere,  above  breathing- 
point,  like  a  range  of  the  Himalayas  ;  nor  to 
Toe  dropped  into  a  great  deep  hole,  as  if  we 
deserved  to  belong  to  the  Dead  Sea.  Such 
ideas  are  contrary  to  common  sense.  Still, 
the  lecture  was  very  amusing,  and  the  illus- 
trations to  the  Professor's  book  are  exceed- 
ingly curious. 

It  has,  however,  fallen  to  my  lot  to  frequent 
a  district  where  the  securest  jointure  might 
be  of  little  value,  and  the  strictest  entail  use- 
less to  the  rightful  heir.  An  usurper  has  fixed 
himself  in  that  region,  who,  though  he  seldom 
suddenly  seizes  an  entire  inheritance  at  once, 
is  the  most  encroaching  grasper,  the  most  un- 
tiring enemy  that  ever  persevered  in  making 
unwelcome  intrusions.  The  commination, 
"  Cursed  is  he  that  removeth  his  neighbour's 
landmark,"  has  no  terror  for,  nor  power  of, 
restraining  him.  Bit  by  bit,  and  yard  by 
yard,  and  acre  by  acre,  and  field  by  field,  he 
obtains  possession  of  property  which  does  not 
belong  to  him.  He  undermines  his  helpless 


victims  in  the  most  insidious  manner.  Their 
very  house  is  not  their  castle  —  or  their 
castle  only  in  ruins.  There  is  no  redress. 
We  may  talk  of  British  justice,  but  he 
defies  all  actions  at  law,  and  cannot  be  re- 
strained, or  injunctioned,  by  the  Court  of 
Chancery  itself.  Heavy  damages  would  be 
awarded  against  him,  were  he  not  beyond 
the  reach  of  Acts  of  Parliament.  When 
you  reproach  him  with  doing  you  all  the 
mischief  in  his  present  power  —  for  his 
means  of  aggression  are  endless  and  inex- 
haustible— he  will  be  calm,  and  smile  as  if 
nothing  had  happened  ;  and  I  fear  it  can  be 
taken  as  no  proof  of  his  repentance,  that  ho 
does  not  unfrequently  look  very  blue.  His 
character  ought,  therefore,  to  be  exposed  for 
the  good  of  the  public.  His  name  is — Guess  ! 
—  Sir  Giles  Overreach  ?  No  !  —  GERMAN 
OCEAN  ! 

A  few  years  since,  I  saw  at  Cromer,  in 
Norfolk,  a  cottage  standing  on  the  edge  of 
the  cliff.  Seaward  of  the  building  stood  a 
well  for  the  use  of  the  inmates.  But  our 
unscrupulous  intruder  had  claimed  that  patch 
for  his  own — and  had  got  it.  The  earth 
was  washed  away,  and  the  brickwork  .  of 
the  well  stood  eminent  on  the  precipitous 
slope,  like  a  half-finished  factory  chimney. 
To  the  cottage  was  affixed  a  board  on  which 
were  painted  the  memorable  words, 


TO   BE  SOLD,   OR   LET, 
WITH   IMMEDIATE   POSSESSION, 

THIS  VERY  DESIRABLE 

FREEHOLD     TENEMENT. 

INQUIRE  WITHIN. 


Short,  however  sweet  and  immediate, 
would  be  the  possession  of  such  a  residence. 
It  struck  me  as  being  the  very  place  whereto 
a  man  might  bring  home  his  bride  some 
stormy  night,  with  the  wind  north-west,  and 
sing,  with  an  allusion  for  which  the  lady 
might  not  be  prepared,  "Fly,  fly  from  the 
world,  dear  Bessie,  with  me  !  " 

I  lately  went  to  look  again  at  this  desirable 
freehold  tenement,  to  the  excitement  of  the 
lodging-house  keepers,  who  took  it  for  granted 
that  some  very  eligible  family  was  shortly  to 
arrive.  I  found  its  site  in  mid-air,  the  free- 
hold of  the  butterfly  and  the  humble-bee. 
The  cliff,  as  far  as  the  village  extends  in 
that  direction, — that  is,  westward — had  been 
cut  away  into  a  steep  grassy  bank,  and  based 
with  a  handsome  and  substantial  terrace.  But 
this  mode  of  "doing"  the  sea  cannot,  under 
present  circumstances,  on  account  of  its  ex- 
pensiveness,  be  made  to  protect  more  than  a 
most  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  threatened 
territory. 

Four  or  five  miles  further  is  a  village, 
called  Lower  Sheringham,  standing  on  the 
very  verge  of  the  ocean,  and  half-eaten  up  by 
it,  whose  entire  male  population  are  fishermen, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  IS  TO  BECOME  OF  US  ? 


353 


with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  of  necessary 
trades,  as  a  water-miller,  a  baker,  a  shop- 
keeper, a  rope-spinner,  and  two  or  three 
publicans.  The  youngsters  take  to  the  waves 
as  naturally  as  the  cow  to  the  meadow,  or 
the  sheep  to  the  down.  At  ebb  tide,  the 
Sheringham  children  throw  their  little  toy- 
boats  as  far  as  they  can  into  the  surf,  and  then 
wade  after  them,  mid-person  deep.  Here,  if  they 
did  not  indulge  in  such  freaks,  they  would  be 
suspected  to  be  changelings,  and  not  to  belong 
to  the  true  water-dog  breed.  But  the  roaring 
tyrant  wants  to  shift  their  play-ground.  In 
front  of  the  Crown  Inn  at  Lower  Sheringham 
there  once  was  a  bowling-green  to  recreate 
the  seniors ; — the  weather-beaten  crab  and 
lobster-catchers,  when  they  took  a  holiday. 
But  the  sea  has  long  since  rolled  and  bowled 
"  the  green  "  out,  and  played  pitch-and-toss 
with  it  likewise.  The  very  narrow  strip  of  grey 
shingle  between  the  house  and  the  beach,  is 
nevertheless  still  called  "  The  Green."  They 
say  that  the  original  Lower  Sheringham  is 
now  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  If  this  be 
really  true,  as  it  doubtless  is,  then  there  are 
three,  not  two  Sheringhams,  to  be  distin- 
guished, according  to  the  three  degrees  of 
comparison,  as  Upper  Sheringham,  Lower 
Sheringham,  and  Lowest  Sheringham.  Un- 
happy trio  !  What  is  to  become  of  you  1 

"  Which  way  I  fly  is  Sea ;  myself  am  Sea ; 
And  in  the  lowest  deep,  a  lower  deep 
Still  threatening  to  devour  me  opens  wide." 

Cottages  and  buildings  hereabouts  are  to 
be  seen  half-pulled  down — on  the  fireman's 
principle — to  save  the  remaining  half  from 
"  the  devouring  element,"  the  other  "  good 
servant,  but  bad  master."  The  tenure  of  the 
Crown  Inn  is  considered  so  precarious,  that 
its  owner  hesitates  to  put  out  a  second  bow- 
window,  to  add  to  the  attractions  of  that 
fashionable  resort ;  but  the  Lower  Shering- 
hamites  ought  not  to  have  their  "  pleasaunce  " 
thus  whisked  away  from  them,  for  they  are 
plucky  fellows.  One  afternoon,  when  the 
weather  was  too  "  coarse  "  to  fish,  they  got 
up  a  little  sailing-match  between  themselves — 
though  it  was  blowing  what  landsmen  would 
call  a  gale,  but  what  was  to  them  simply  a  nice 
breeze — all  for  love  and  good- will,  and  a  drop  of 
beer.  They  went  off  like  race-horses  let  loose, 
galloping  over  the  waves  ;  tough  work,  how- 
ever, to  get  back,  with  the  wind  all  but  due 
east.  The  whole  town,  including  women  and 
children,  came  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  see 
them  in,  like  one  large  family  party.  The 
sea  looked  very  savage  soon  after :  shewing  its 
white  teeth  most  furiously,  sharklike,  in 
thrice-triple  row. 

Along  the  whole  line  of  coast  from  Happis- 
burgh  to  Lower  Sheriugham,  and  beyond  it, 
the  walks  of  my  boyhood  are  not.  The  cliif- 
sicirting  path  that  I  once  trod  has  been 
swallowed  up,  and  a  new  track  is  successively 
beaten,  to  be  soon  engulphed  in  its  turn. 


Every  year,  every  half-year,  every  month, 
makes  changes  at  certain  points  with  the 
most  impressive  relentlessness.  Leave  the 
cliff  but  for  a  week  ;  return  to  some  familiar 
point.  "  Hah  !  what's  this  ?  Something  fresh 
carried  away  ? " — "  Yes,  sir ;  "  in  an  of-course 
tone  of  voice,  "  the  high  tide  the  other  day, 
and  the  land -springs  after  a  fortnight's  rain." 
In  the  interval  between  the  writing  and  the 
printing  of  these  sentences,  acres  may  be 
swept  away ;  and  acres  more  may  follow 
before  they  are  offered  to  the  perusal  of  those 
who  dwell  contiguous  to  the  scene  of  destruc- 
tion. At  Trimingham,  a  plantation  of  trees, 
about  six  feet  high,  has  a  large  corner  cut 
away  and  gone.  What  could  the  planter  be 
thinking  about  ?  Timber,  or  flotsom  and 
jetsom  ?  "  Papa  !  "  said  a  little  girl,  wonder- 
ing at  these  things,  "if  all  the  world  were 
washed  away,  except  one  island,  how  the 
people  would  throng  to  it,  and  what  pushing, 
and  crowding,  and  quarrelling  there  would 
be!" 

It  is  well  for  the  human  race  that  all 
the  dry  land,  which  was  made  to  appear 
on  the  earth,  is  not  like  the  portion  of  it 
which  I  am  now  describing ;  else  we  should 
soon  have  to  live  in  boats  (if  at  all),  like 
certain  Chinamen,  when  house-rent  is  dear. 
This  part  of  the  world  is  certainly  being 
fast  washed  away.  At  Hasbro',  as  it  is 
pronounced,  the  tradition  is  that  Happis- 
burgh,  as  it  is  spelt  on  the  maps,  is  far  out  at 
sea,  and  moreover,  at  the  bottom  of  it.  And 
one  or  two  churches,  for  instance,  Sidestrand, 
Mundesley,  and,  perhaps,  Beeston  Regis,  may 
coolly  defy  all  sorts  of  Papal  attempts  at  ap- 
propriation :  for  a  greater  than  the  Pope 
seems  to  have  fixed  the  day  when  the  last 
sermon,  tractarian  or  anti-,  shall  be  preached 
within  their  walls.  Till  that  time  arrives, 
the  respective  and  respected  officiating  mini- 
sters doubtless  frequently  remind  their  flocks, 
both  literally  and  figuratively,  of  what  they 
must  be  only  too  well  aware ;  namely,  the 
folly  of  the  man  who,  without  a  foundation, 
built  his  house  upon  the  earth,  within  reach 
of  the  raging  waves.  The  sea  will  have  these 
churches,  dead  bodies  and  all,  unless  a  tole- 
rably bold  effort  is  made  to  save  them.  To 
Sidestrand  church  the  danger  is  quite  definite 
and  imminent.  It  is  not  a  stone's  throw  from 
the  edge  of  the  cliff.  And  yet  the  foolish 
parish  has  dressed  up  its  expiring  existence 
with  a  smartly  renovated  steeple,  instead  of 
making,  like  a  sensible  parish,  a  breakwater 
or  two  on  the  beach  below.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  be  bedridden,  or  kept  close  prisoner  in  a 
house  built  on  the  ground  occupied  by  this 
natty  steeple.  Indeed,  I  do  not  give  the 
fabric,  the  chancel  especially,  ten  years  to 
stand,  if  the  ravages  of  the  ocean  be  per- 
mitted to  go  on  unchecked,  as  they  are  at 
present.  In  Mundesley  churchyard,  an  epi- 
taph on  an  unknown  body  washed  ashore, 
otherwise  appropriate,  is  somewhat  mal-d-> 
propos,  from  its  assuming  the  impossibility  of 


354 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


this  contingency  of  the   waves   playing   the 
part  of  bone-grubbers  and  resurrection-men  : 

"  [September  8th,  1S:]-J.] 

"  Sleep,  stranger,  sleep  within  thy  narrow  bed, 
Till  earth  and  sea  shall  both  give  up  their  dead." 

At  Beeston  Regis  is  a  wooden  gravestone,, 
with  a  painted  inscription  to  the  memory  of 
one  Ann  Platon  ;  which  I  could,  but  will  not. 
bring  in  as  evidence  of  the  belief,  that  a  stone 
one  might  outlast  the  land  between  it  and 
the  approaching  enemy  ;  neither  will  I  adduce 
it  in  proof  of  the  very  Platon-ic  affection  that 
caused  such  a  perishable  monument  to  be 
erected,  because  poverty,  perhaps,  was  stronger 
than  love.  The  sum  of  all  is,  that  the  maps  of 
Norfolk  and  Suffolk,  to  be  correct,  require  to 
undergo  an  annual  paring  and  clipping. 

In  Evelyn's  Diary  for  October  17,  1671, 
he  mentions  his  visit  to  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
who,  "  amongst  other  curiosities,  had  a  collec- 
tion of  the  eggs  of  all  the  fowl  and  birds  he 
could  procure,  that  country  (especially  the 
promontory  of  Norfolk)  being  frequented,  as 
he  said,  by  several  kinds  which  seldom  or 
never  go  farther  into  the  land,  as  cranes, 
storks,  eagles,  and  a  variety  of  water-fowl." 
A  future  diarist,  writing  as  many  years 
after  the  present  date  as  John  Evelyn 
wrote  before  it,  will  have  to  describe — not 
the  promontory — but  the  Bay  of  Norfolk, 
frequented  by  lobsters  and  crabs,  soles  and 
turbots,  shrimps  and  sand-dabs,  fishermen  and 
dredging  naturalists.  The  Bay  of  Norfolk  is 
already  formed  ;  as  is  visible  to  the  naked 
eye  of  any  one  who  will  take  a  view,  from  the 
Sheringham  hills,  of  the  low  point  stretching 
out  into  the  sea  beyond  Weybourne  from 
Cley,  and  will  then  cast  a  bird's-eye  glance 
from  the  Paston  Hill  near  Mundesley,  on  the 
Happisburgh  Ness  to  the  eastward.  It  seems 
a  paradox  that  lofty  shores  should  fall  before 
the  sea,  the  loftiest  the  fastest,  as  at  Trim- 
ingham  and  Sidestrand,  while  the  low  shingly 
and  sandy  beaches  resist  its  inroads,  and  even 
gain  upon  it.  This,  however,  is  always  the 
case.  In  the  description  of  lands  appropriated 
to  the  Priory  of  Broomholme,  the  ruins  of 
which  still  stand  in  Bacton,  are  the  names  of 
many  places  which  are  now  quite  obsolete,  the 
sites  on  which  they  once  stood  being  now 
occupied  by  the  ocean.  The  greater  part  of 
Eccles,  with,  the  Manor  of  Gilham  Hall  and 
Whimpwell,  have  been  swallowed  up  by 
inundations  of  the  sea.  It  is  calculated  that 
Happisburgh  Church  will  be  engulphed  be- 
fore the  close  of  the  present  century.  The 
village  of  Shipden,  with  its  church,  dedicated 
to  St.  Peter,  which  lay  between  Croraer  and 
the  sea,  has  wholly  disappeared. 

The  altitude  of  this  line  of  cliffs  is  very 
various.  At  Bacton  they  are,  in  places,  only 
a  few  feet  high — so  low,  that  an  active  boy 
would  jump  from  their  top  to  the  sandy  beach 
beneath,  without  presuming  to  consider  that 
he  had  performed  any  great  feat.  Elsewhere, 


as  at  Trimingham,  Cromer,  and  Sheringham, 
they  attain  from  two  to  three  hundred  leet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea.  In  such  cases, 
they  become  really  fine  objects  of  sceneiy. 
There  are  not  only  hills  to  vary  the  landscape, 
but  those  hills  are  split  in  halves  for  the  con- 
venience of  our  inspecting  their  contents.  But 
multitudes  of  respectable  East  Anglians  are 
quite  ignorant  that  such  grand  operations  of 
Nature  are  to  be  witnessed,  within  reach  of 
half  a  day's  drive.  I  only  became  aware  of 
the  phenomena  by  personal  discovery. 

The  cliffs  themselves  are  composed  of  dif- 
ferent earths  (  or  "  till,"  containing  boulders) 
deposited  in  irregular  strata,  which  look  as  if 
they  had  been  formed  at  the  bottom  of  some 
ancient  lake,  or  sea,  or  estuary  ;  for  a  certain 
portion  of  the  mass  cannot  be  distinctly  re- 
ferred to  either  the  fresh  water  or  marine 
formations.  The  whole  of  its  organic  remains 
appear  to  have  been  washed  from  other  for- 
mations to  be  deposited  in  it,  and  it  contains, 
mingled  with  them,  fragments  of  almost  every 
rock  of  the  secondary  and  primary  series  ; 
comprehending  immense  blocks  of  granite, 
porphyry,  greenstone,  oolite,  lias,  chalk, 
pebbles,  trap,  and  sandstones  of  various 
kinds,  besides  others.  The  beach,  therefore, 
is  a  perfect  museum  for  the  lapidary  and  the 
specimen-hunter  to  ransack  free  of  charge. 
Cornelians  and  agates  often  come  to  hand  ; 
fragments  of  belemnites,  or  thunderbolts  in 
local  phrase,  are  common.  Now  and  then, 
beneath  the  whole  mass,  sometimes  below 
high  water  mark,  is  a  stratum  of  peat,  or 
even  of  fossil  wood  and  lignite.  How  the 
enormous  load  was  laid  above  it,  or  that 
beneath  it,  is  a  puzzle  to  wiser  heads  than 
mine.  The  remark  of  Sir  Charles  Lyell  is, 
that  in  no  other  part  of  our  island,  or  perhaps 
in  Europe,  are  there  evidences  of  local  dis- 
turbances on  so  grand  a  scale,  and  of  an 
equally  modern  date. 

Loam,  various  clays,  gravel,  sand,  chalky 
marl,  brick-earth,  and  chalk  itself,  are  the 
main  component  pai'ts  of  this  Pelion  piled 
upon  Ossa.  It  is  curious  to  observe  the  dif- 
ferent behaviour  of  the  different  ingredients 
that  have  fallen  from  the  cliff,  during  their 
prostrate  degradation  on  the  beach.  Large 
fragments  of  stiff  clay  lie  undissolved  for  days 
and  weeks,  like  lumps  of  half-sucked  barley- 
sugar  undergoing  the  process  of  melting  in  a 
giant's  mouth.  Peculiarly  tough  and  ob- 
stinate heaps  will  stand  out,  isolated  on  the 
beach,  for  months,  as  gravestones  to  the 
memory  of  the  departed  cliff,  showing  where 
solid  land  once  was.  It  seems  a  hard  case. 
Here  is  the  substantial  earth ;  there  the  in- 
sidious parasitical  sea,  eating  into  its  very 
vitals  !  And  is  there  no  help  for  it  ?  Where 
the  cliff  is  in  great  part  composed  of  sandy 
gravel,  its  destruction  is  there  most  rapid,  as 
between  Bacton  and  Mundesley.  Besides  the 
more  massive  slips,  or  "  falls."  as  they  are 
termed,  every  fine  and  windy  day  causes  the 
sand  to  pour  down  in  fluid  streams,  as 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WHAT  IS  TO  BECOME  OF  US  ? 


355 


continuously  ns  the  pulverised  contents  of  an 
hour-glass.  But  here,  there  is  no  hand  to 
turn  the  glass  and  raise  the  sand  to  its  former 
level.  It  disappears  with  the  first  tide  that 
touches  it.  Every  week  sees  displaced  some 
portion  of  arable  materials.  The  plough,  next 
spring,  cannot  work  so  close  to  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  as  it  has  this  season.  The  year 
after,  it  will  have  to  retire  still  further 
inland  : — 

"  To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Will  creep  the  stealthy  sea  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time  ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  shown  the  cliffs 
The  way  to  dusly  death." 

"  They  fence  here  with  bush  faggots  !  " 
said  an  astonished  rustic  to  whom  the  scene 
was  new.  Yes  ;  for  (not  to  mention  the  sea- 
breezes)  whitethorn  would  be  swallowed  up 
before  it  had  time  to  get  half  its  growth. 
The  mouldering  track  sometimes  requires  a 
cautions  foot,  and  is  no  place  for  a  man 
plenus  Bacffhi  (aut  Beeri)  on  a  dark  night, 
with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  his  hands  in 
his  pockets.  He  might  as  well,  without 
practice,  try  to  perform  the  "  main  truck " 
exploit.  And  yet  I  do  love  to  tread  (by  day) 
in  these  evanescent  paths.  It  is  the  last  look 
of  a  friend  bound  for  Sierra  Leone.  We 
bestow  our  affections  on  such  things  all  the 
more  vehemently,  that  we  must  soon  part 
with  them  for  ever. 

And  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  the  land  thus 
cruelly  arrested  and  transported  for  life,  is 
about  the  best  in  the  county.  Some  thirty 
years  ago  I  was  acquainted  with  a  yeoman  of 
that  neighbourhood,  who  had  on  his  estate  a 
field  which  he  and  his  men  always  called 
"  The  Sugar  Close."  One  day  I  ventured  the 
question,  What  was  the  reason  for  such  an 
odd  name  1  "  Why,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I 
bought  that  piece  ready  sown  with  wheat ; 
and  after  harvest  (it  was  the  war  time)  the 
crop  paid  the  purchase  money.  That  was 
so  sweet,  that  I  called  it  The  Sugar  Close." 
That  field  is  not  quite  melted  yet  j  but  will 
take  its  turn. 

The  causes  of  the  continued  fall  of  the 
cliff  are  two-fold.  First,  the  action  of  the 
waves  below  and  in  front ;  and,  secondly,  of 
the  landsprings,  above  and  behind.  Where 
the  first  is  the  more  active  agent,  as  in 
gravelly  cliffs,  the  ruin  mostly  takes  place 
from  above,  in  an  earthy  avalanche.  When 
the  second  cause  is  the  more  potent,  as  in 
loamy  and  clayey  strata,  (by  the  hydraulic 
pressure,  as  well  as  by  the  eating  in  of  the 
landsprings.)  the  mass  usually  slips  from 
below,  in  a  sort  of  semifluid  state,  with  de- 
cidedly marked  waves  or  huge  wrinkles, 
reminding  one  of  Professor  Forties's  descrip- 
tion of  the  slow,  forward-flowing  of  Alpine 
glaciers.  It  then  leaves  vast,  semi-cratertike, 
or  shell-like  hollows,  that  are  very  grand. 
as  picturesque  objects,  displaying  in  their  con- 
cavity the  contrasted  tints  of  various  earths, 


and  here  and  there  sparkling  with  a  patch  of 
bright  verdure,  or  a  gay  tuft  of  flowers  that 
have  descended  from  the  xipland,  never  to 
return,  but  to  be  suddenly  withered  one  day 
by  the  contact  of  salt  water. 

Where  the  stream  of  earth  reaches  the 
beach,  it  undergoes  at  its  extremity  the  pro- 
gress of  melting  and  absorption  by  the  ocean  ; 
and  this  is  sometimes  so  gradual,  and  the 
procumbent  mass  of  earth  so  enormous,  that 
its  surface  has  time  to  become  clothed  with 
green  pasturage  ;  and  a  second,  minor,  sub- 
siduary  cliff  is  formed  in  front  of,  and  as  a 
shoulder  to,  the  original  one  ; — a  low  cliff  next 
the  sea,  having  a  verdant  slope  backward  to 
the  taller  and  parent  cliff  whence  it  sprung. 
The  offspring  has  then  first  to  undergo 
destruction,  but  its  sacrifice  affords  only  a 
temporary  protection  to  the  hill  in  its  rear. 
The  same  effects  recur  from  the  same  causes. 
The  sea  is  inexorable  and  insatiable. 

At  the  village  of  Mundesley  it  is  calculated 
that  the  cliff'  is  cut  away  at  the  rate  of  a  yard 
a  year.  I  am  convinced  that  this  estimate  is 
much  less  than  the  annual  demolition  at 
other  parts  of  the  line.  But  take  it  at  a  yard 
per  annum  along  the  whole  series,  which 
comprises  a  distance  of  about  twenty  miles. 
This  gives  an  annual  loss  of  thirty-five  thou- 
sand two  hundred  square  yards  of  surface,  in 
a  country  which  complains  that  its  area,  even 
while  not  on  the  decrease,  is  insufficient  to 
maintain  its  increasing  population,  where  we 
are  treading  on  each  other's  toes  most  incon- 
veniently, and  whence  we  are  making  con- 
tinual shipments  of  our  fellow  countrymen, 
because  we  have  not  room  for  them  at  home  ! 
The  cubical  waste  of  good  earth  is  enormous, 
if  we  take  a  yearly  slice  a  yard  thick  and 
twenty  miles  long,  from  the  face  of  a  cliff  a 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  as  a  rough 
average.  But  numerous  instances  can  be 
adduced  where  the  waves  have  taken  away 
twenty-one  yards  of  land  in  three  tides.  At 
Trimiugham,  upwards  of  fifty  acres  of  land 
have  been  removed  during  the  last  sixty 
years  ;  and,  on  one  occasion,  four  acres  and  a 
half  were  taken  away  in  one  tide. 

What  has  urged  me  to  put  pen  to  paper  on 
this  subject  is  the  prevalence  of  an  unresisting 
acquiescence  in  this  ruinous  state  of  things. 
Not  to  hold  one's  own  as  long  as  possible — to 
die  and  give  no  sign — is  so  thoroughly  un- 
English,  as  to  call  for  remonstrance  and  j 
rebxike.  We  shall  probably  spend  not  a  few 
millions  at  the  Cape,  to  prevent  the  Blacks 
from  driving  us  out  of  Black-Land,  which  we  : 
might  re-conquer,  even  after  it  had  once  got 
quite  clean  rid  of  us  :  but  we  won't  lay  out  a 
five-pound  note  to  resist  the  German  ocean, 
from  whom  there  are  no  reprisals  obtainable. 
Were  any  foreign  potentate  to  seize  upon 
Sidestrand,  drive  off  its  inhabitants,  and  con- 
vert the  church  into  a  little  garrison,  we 
should  by  some  means  soon  pitch  the  imperti- 
nent aggressor  and  his  soldiers  over  the  cliff 
into  the  sea,  and  re-induct  the  frightened 


356 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


incumbent  into  quiet  possession  of  his  pulpit. 
But  so  long  as  Sidestrand,  its  church,  and  its 
incumbent,  are  fated  to  be  struck  very  shortly 
out  of  the  Clergy  List,  what  does  it  matter 
how  they  are  made  to  disappear  1  The  dis- 
credit of  yielding  them  still  attaches  to  us, 
so  long  as  we  say  to  the  aggressor,  "  Pray 
come  and  help  yourself  to  that  which  best 
pleases  you." 

Two  methods  only  have  been  adopted  to 
prevent  the  spoiler  from  excavating  a  most 
tremendous  hollow  iuto  this  goodly  county. 
One  is  by  cutting  the  face  of  the  cliff  into 
a  smooth  slope,  and  facing  it  with  stone 
cemented  by  mortar  (as  has  been  done  at 
Brighton),  taking  care  at  the  same  time  to 
drain  off  the  land-springs,  and  prevent  them 
from  nibbling  at  and  forcing  out  of  place  the 
foundations  of  the  work.  The  wells  in  the 
neighbourhood  require  special  attention.  Great 
benefit  would  be  derived  from  sinking  wells 
on  the  inner  or  land-side  of  the  cliffs,  sub- 
jected to  the  influence  of  the  land-springs  ; 
for  the  loss  of  the  four-and-a-half  acres  before 
mentioned  is  attributed  primarily  to  a  foolish 
individual,  who  a  few  months  before  filled  up 
three  wells  close  by.  The  town  of  Cromer  has 
been  kept  standing  by  well-sinking ;  so  also 
have  a  single  house  and  grounds  at  Mundesley. 
It  seems  to  be  quite  forgotten  that  these  forti- 
fications, as  the  sea  eats  away  the  cliffs  on  each 
side  of  them,  right  and  left,  will  first  become 
promontories,  and  then  islands,  unless  the 
whole  line  of  twenty  miles  is  similarly  encased 
with  stone-work — a  costly  scheme,  which  is 
not  likely,  although  it  ought,  to  be  under- 
taken by  the  nation ;  for  Kent,  Sussex,  and 
Hampshire,  as  well  as  Norfolk  and  Suffolk, 
are  also  yearly  becoming  less  and  less. 

In  1844,  a  surgeon  resident  near  the  seat 
of  mischief,  invited  public  attention  by  a 
remarkable  "  Essay  on  the  Encroachments  of 
the  German  Ocean,"  which  met  with  the 
usual  attention  bestowed  upon  Cassandric 
warnings.  The  second  mode  of  checking 
injury  from  the  waves,  is  that  advocated  by 
Mr.  Hewitt ;  namely,  to  fix  on  the  beach 
break-waters,  or  groins,  of  boards  and  stakes, 
running  straight  into  the  sea  as  far  as 
or  beyond  low  water  mark,  and  commencing 
above  high  water,  to  meet  the  case  of  unusually 
high  tides.  The  more  of  these,  and  the  more 
substantial  they  are,  the  better  ;  but  it  is 
surprising  what  a  resistance  to  evil  is  given 
even  by  a  frail  and  paltry  barrier,  so  long  as 
it  lasts.  Until  a  sea-wall  shall  save  our  con- 
tracting shores,  groins  are  clearly  the  only 
possible  conservators  of  the  entire  coast — the 
sole  preventers  of  the  further  deepening  of 
the  crescent  of  the  bay.  And  yet,  there  are 
not  half-a-score  of  them,  on  the  whole  line 
threatened  with  destruction.  All  these  I 
have  made  a  point  of  inspecting  at  various 
seasons.  At  such  points,  the  cliff  falls  less,  if 
it  do  not  cease  to  fall  entirely.  A  set  of  groins, 
planted  at  small  intervals,  would,  I  believe, 
be  perfectly  effectual.  In  every  case,  an 


accumulation  of  sand  and  pebbles  takes  place 
on  the  north-west  side  of  the  groin,  as  high  as 
itself.  Make  a  higher  groin,  and  you  get  a 
higher  accumulation,  and  of  course  a  more 
solid  and  effectual  barrier.  Upon  sand 
heaped  on  the  beach  by  any  agent,  the 
Marram  grass  grows,  and  binds  the  whole 
into  a  firm  mass.  The  French  plant  this 
wonderful  herb  in  such  situations,  and  forbid 
its  injury  under  a  penalty.  The  cliff  thus 
protected  at  its  base,  would,  by  the  influence 
of  winds  and  rains  be  worn  into  a  grassy 
slope,  and  the  sea  would  at  last  meet  with  a 
firm  denial  to  his  exactions. 

But,  who  is  to  pay  the  cost  of  this  multi- 
tude of  groins,  or  long  length  of  sea-wall,  and 
bear  the  burden  of  keeping  them  in  repair  ? 
The  answer  is  simple  ;  nothing  will  do  it  but 
some  national  measure,  for  which  there  are 
patterns  and  precedents  abroad,  if  not  at 
home.  Tens  of  thousands  of  pounds  are 
forthcoming  for  vast  projects  of  reclaiming 
land  from  the  sea,  as  at  the  Lynn  estuary 
and  the  talked-of  Morcombe  bay  scheme  ;  but 
hundreds  are  hardly  to  be  raised  for  saving 
terra  firina  from  inglutition  by  the  vastest 
of  boa-constrictors.  Even  at  Cromer,  the 
local  rate  is  paid  reluctantly  by  many  whom 
it  saves.  A  voluntary  rate  for  the  general 
protection  of  the  coast  of  England  would  be 
gathered  with  about  the  same  amount  of 
uncertainty  and  trouble  to  the  collector,  aa 
would  a  voluntary  subscription  for  the  raising 
of  an  army  or  a  navy  ; — that  is,  it  would 
remain  most  unscrupulously  unpaid. 

"  Of  course,"  says  Upper  to  Lower  Shering- 
ham  (and  I  beg  that  this  may  be  considered 
as  a  general,  rather  than  an  individual  utter- 
ance) ;  "  Of  course,  we  are  very  sorry  for 
you  !  We  are  truly  grieved  to  see  your 
bowling-green  and  your  cottages  drop,  one 
after  another,  into  the  sea,  especially  as  you 
are  such  clever,  industrious  fishermen,  and 
supply  our  uplands  with  most  excellent 
manure— dogfish  and  seaweed — not  to  men- 
tion the  ingredient  without  which  lobster- 
salad  does  not  deserve  to  be  named.  Yours 
is  a  hard  case.  But  you  cannot  expect  us  to 
pay  for  your  breakwaters,  at  the  present 
prices  of  corn.  Certainly  not  !  The  sea 
must  eat  you  up  entirely,  before  it  can  get  at 
us ;  and  that  will  be  a  long  while  hence. 
Things  will  last  our  time.  We  should  be 
Lower  Sheriugham  then,  and  might  approve 
of  the  rate.  Still,  we  like  to  see  you  doing 
your  best  as  well  as  you  can,  without  asking 
for  assistance.  You  know,  self-dependence  is 
a  virtue  much  respected  by  near  relations." 

Upper  Sheringham  can  afford  to  be  the 
mouth-piece  of  the  selfish  interior ;  for  Upper 
Sheringham  is  good  and  kind.  She  gives  a 
church  to  her  lower  neighbours,  a  fountain  to 
her  upper  brethren,  visits  sailoi-s'  wives  that 
have  been  shipwrecked,  and  sends  them  on 
their  way  in  private  carriages.  But,  for  want  of 
national  aid,  the  coast  is  sinking  by  rapid  con- 
sumption, and  is  fast  falling  into  a  watery  grave. 


PuMi«heil  »t  the  Office,  No  16,  WeUinRtoa  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  Bs 


:  &  EVAMI.  WhitefrmrB,  Lon-ion. 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SHAKESPEAEE. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


SATURDAY,  JULY  3,  1852. 


[PlUCE  Id. 


THE  POPULAR  POETS  OF  FIFTY 
YEARS  AGO. 

I  HAVE  long  since  renounced  an  old  habit 
of  loitering  at  book-stalls  ;  but  I  was  lately 
betrayed  into  a  halt  and  a  purchase — a  large 
one  of  forty-two  volumes.  A  collection  of 
Poems  met  my  eye — not  printed  as  a  series, 
but  of  uniform  size,  and  uniformly  bound. 
Many  of  the  single  volumes  have  been  re- 
printed in  the  general  works  of  their  authors, 
and  were  already  in  my  possession.  Other 
of  the  volumes  have  gone  to  the  same  oblivion 
that  shrouds  the  dulness  of  the  minor  poets  of 
a  previous  age,  embalmed  though  they  be  in 
Johnsoniau  Prefaces.  Why,  then,  did  I  bring 
these  volumes  home  1  Why  do  I  keep  them 
on  my  table,  and  take  them  up  at  vacant 
moments,  and  turn  over  the  leaves,  and  look, 
with  something  of  uncritical  admiration,  at 
their  frontispieces  and  their  wood-cuts  ?  It 
is  because  they  are  the  identical  editions  in 
which  I  read  when  a  boy.  Here  is  "  The 
Pleasures  of  Hope,"  printed  at  the  Glasgow 
University  press  in  1800.  All  the  old  local 
associations  of  my  first  joyful  reading  of  that 
book  come  across  me,  when  I  look  again  upon 
that  familiar  print  of  the  mournful  mother 
watching  over  the  cradled  child,  and  that  of 
the  old  man  who  leans  o'er  the  cottage  gate, 
and  wishes  for  such,  a  home  and  hamlet  shade. 
Here  is  my  "  Minstrel " — my  school  prize- 
book — long  since  lost.  Young  Edwin  was  my 
model  of  a  poet — "  the  visionary  boy  " — and 
there  he  sits,-  as  he  sate  when  I  first  knew 
him,  on  a  black  rock, 

"  Listening  with  pleasing  dread  to  the  deep  roar 
Of  the  wide-weltering  waves," 

Here  is  Southey — whose  "  Joan  of  Arc  "  I  did 
not  much  care  for ;  but  whose  Eclogiies  and 
Ballads  look  young  again  asc  I  glance  over 
them — and  I  rather  dread  to  dream,  as  I  must 
have  dreamt,  of  that  horrible  wood-cut, 
"  Showing  how  an  old  Woman  rode  double, 
and  who  rode  before  her."  "  The  Pleasures  of 
Memory,"  though  popular,  was  rather  old 
reading  at  the  -beginning  of  the  century,  and  is 
not  amongst  my  recently-acquired  collection  ; 
but  how  well  do  I  recollect  that  jewel  of  an 
edition,  some  ten  years  later,  with  Stothard's 
wood-cuts.  Cowper  has  been  a  sixty  years' 
favourite  ;  but  he  seems  to  have  held  a  divided 


empire  withhis  friend  Hayley — for  "  The  Task" 
and  "  The  Triumphs  of  Temper"  are  here  close 
companions,  as  this  series  has  an  arrangement 
of  its  own.  Burns,  too,  is  here,  in  a  London 
edition,  with  a  Life,  which  begins  "  This  cele- 
brated Bard."  "  Thomas  Little,  Esq.,"  has  his 
due  place  ;  and  the  Reverend  W.  L.  Bowles 
does  not  scorn  to  stand  beside  him.  I  con- 
fess to  an  innocent  boy  prefereace  of  the 
layman. 

Thus  far  of  those  who  have  endured.  But 
there  are  some  others  who  are  almost  forgotten. 
— perhapsundeservedly — George  Dyer,  Bishop, 
Mary  Robinson,  Holloway,  Harrop,  Warren, 
Gisborne,  Graham,  Leyden,  Bloomfield.  The 
last  name  is  suggestive  of  memories  of  early 
scenes  and  antiquated  manners ;  and  I  must 
dwell  on  it. 

Does  any  one  now  read  "  The  Farmer's  Boy," 
by  Robert  Bloomfield  1  I  have  before  me  the 
edition  which  I  read  in  1803,  at  which  time  it 
is  recorded  that  twenty-six  thousand  copies 
had  been  sold  since  the  first  publication  of 
the  poem  in  1800.  Byron  has  left  a  con- 
temptuous notice  of  Bloomfield  in  the  "  English 
Bards."  'But  "The  Farmer's  Boy,"  for  all 
that,  will  not  be  wholly  forgotten.  It  is  a 
truthful  poem,  founded  upon  accurate  observa- 
tion of  common  things,  and  describing  the  most 
familiar  incidents  and  feelings  with  a  rare 
fidelity — rare,  amidst  the  conventional  gene- 
ralities of  the  verse-making  of  that  day.  At 
that  early  age  I  had  means  of  testing  the  truth 
of  its  descriptions.  Let  me  give,  from  my  own 
recollections,  a  picture  of  a  farmer's  household, 
not  long  after  the  time  when  Bloomfield's 
poem  was  fii'st  published. 

On  one  of  the  roads  from  Windsor  to  Bin- 
field,  in  the  parish  of  Warfield,  stands,  or 
stood,  a  small  farm-house,  with  gabled  roof 
and  latticed  windows.  A  rude  woodbine- 
covered  porch  led  into  a  broad  passage,  which 
would  have  been  dark  had  not  the  great  oaken 
door  generally  stood  open.  To  the  right  of  the 
passage'  was  a  large  kitchen,  beyond  which 
loomed  a  sacred  room — the  parlour — unopened 
except  on  rare  occasions  of  festivity.  To  this 
grange  I  travelled  in  a  jolting  cart,  on  a  spring 
afternoon,  seated  by  the  side  of  the  good  wife, 
who  had  carried  her  butter  and  eggs  and 
fowls  to  market,  and  was  now  returning 
home,  proud  of  her  gains,  from  whose  accu- 
mulations she  boasted  that  she" well-nigh  paid 


119 


358 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  rent  ot  the  little  farm.  I  was  in  feeble 
health  ;  and  a  summer's  run  was  decreed  for 
me,  out  of  the  way  of  school  and  books.  My 
life  for  six  months  was  very  like  playing  at 
Farmer's  Boy. 

That  small  bed-room  where  I  slept,  with  its 
worm-eaten  floor  and  undraperied  lattices,  was, 
I  suspect,  not  very  perfect  in  its  arrangements 
for  ventilation ;  but  then  neither  door  nor 
window  shut  close,  and  the  free  air,  redolent 
of  heath  and  furze,  found  its  way  in,  and  did 
its  purifying  offices  after  an  imperfect  fashion. 
The  first  morning  began  my  new  country  life 
— and  a  very  novel  life  it  was.  It  was  Sunday. 
The  house  was  quiet ;  and  when  I  crept  down 
into  the  kitchen,  I  found  my  friend  the 
farmer's  wife  preparing  breakfast.  On  one 
side  of  that  family  room  was  a  large  oaken 
table  covered  with  huge  basins,  and  a  mighty 
loaf;  over  a  turf  fire  hung  an  enormous 
skillet,  full  to  the  brim  with  simmering  milk. 
One  by  one,  three  or  four  young  men  dropped 
in,  jauntily  dressed  in  the  cleanest  smock- 
frocks — the  son  of  the  house  had  a  smart 
Sunday  coat,  with  an  expansive  nosegay  of 
daffodils  and  wallflowers.  They  sat  quietly 
down  at  the  oak  table,  and  their  portions  of 
milk  were  distributed  to  each.  Now  entered 
the  farmer — of  whom  I  still  think  with  deep 
respect — a  yeoman  of  simple  habits  but  of 
large  intelligence.  He  had  been  in  the  house- 
hold of  the  Governor  of  Pennsylvania  before 
the  War  of  Independence  ;  and  could  tell  me 
of  a  wonderful  man  named  Franklin,  whom 
he  had  known  ;  and  of  the  Torpedo  on  which 
he  had  seen  Governor  Walsh  make  experi- 
ments ;  and  of  lightning  drawn  from  the  clouds. 
The  farmer,  his  wife,  and  the  little  boy  who 
had  come  to  dwell  with  them,  sat  down  at  a 
round  table  nearer  the  fire.  Sunday  was  a 
great  day  in  that  household.  There  was  the 
cheerful  walk  to  church  ;  the  anticipations  of 
the  coming  dinner,  not  loud  but  earnest ;  the 
promise  of  the  afternoon  cricket.  Returned 
from  church,  the  kitchen  had  been  somewhat 
changed  in  appearance  since  the  morning ; 
the  oak  table  was  moved  into  the  centre,  and 
covered  with  a  coarse  cloth  as  white  as  the 
May-blossom  ;  the  turf  fire  gave  out  a  fierce 
heat,  almost  unbearable  by  the  urchin  who 
sat  on  a  low  stool,  turning,  with  no  mechanical 
aid,  the  spit  which  rested  upon  two  andirons, 
or  dogs,  and  supported  in  his  labour  by  the 
grateful  fragrance  of  the  steaming  beef.  To 
that  Sunday  dinner — the  one  dinner  of  fresh 
meat  for  the  week — all  sat  down ;  and  a  1 
meal  it  was,  with  no  lack  even  of  dainties :  for 
there  was  a  flowing  bowl  of  cream  to  make 
palatable  the  hard  suet  pudding,  and  a  large 
vinegar-bottle,  with  notches  in  the  cork  to 
besprinkle  the  cabbage,  and  a  Dutch  cheese 
—and,  if  I  dream  not,  a  taste  from  a  flask 
that  emerged  mysteriously  from  a  corner 
cupboard.  Then  came  the  cricket  and  trap- 
ball  of  Southern  England,  yawns  in  the  twi- 
light, a  glimmering  candle,  the  chapter  in  the 
Family  Bible,  and  an  early  bed. 


The  morning  of  Monday  was  a  busier 
scene.  I  was  roused  at  six  ;  but  the  common 
breakfast  was  over.  The  skillet  had  been 
boiled  at  five  ;  the  farmer  was  off  to  sell  a 
calf;  the  ploughmen  had  taken  their  teams 
a-field.  The  kitchen  was  solitary.  I  should 
have  thought  myself  alone  in  that  world,  but 
for  a  noisy  companionship  of  chickens  and 
ducklings,  that  came  freely  in  to  pick  the 
crumbs  off  the  floor.  I  wandered  into  the 
farm-yard,  ankle-deep  in  muck.  In  a  shed  I 
found  my  hostess,  not  disdaining  to  milk  her 
petted  cows.  Her  hand  and  her  eye  were 
everywhere — from  the  cow-stall  to  the  dairy, 
from  the  hen's  nest  to  the  fatting  coop.  Are 
there  any  such  wives  left  amongst  us  1 
Bloomfield  has  described  the  milking-time, 
pretty  much  as  I  ssfw  it  in  those  primitive 
days : — 

"  Forth  comes  the  Maid,  and  like  the  morning  smiles ; 
The  Mistress,  too,  and  follow'd  close  by  Giles. 
A  friendly  tripod  forms  their  humble  seat, 
With  pails  bright  scour'd  and  delicately  sweet. 
Where  shadowing  elms  obstruct  the  morning  ray — 
Begins  their  work,  begins  the  simple  lay ; 
The  full-charg'd  udder  yields  its  willing  st 
While  Afar;/  sings  some  lover's  amorous  dreams ; 
And  crouching  Giles  beneath  a  neighbouring  tree 
Tugs  o'er  his  pail,  and  chants  with  equal 
Whoso  hat  with  tatter'd  brim,  of  nap  so  ! 
From  the  cow's  side  purloins  a  coat  of  hair, 
A  mottled  ensign  of  his  harmless  trade, 
An  unambitious,  peaceable  cockade. 
As  unambitious  too  that  cheerful  aid 
The  Mistress  yields  beside  her  rosy  Maid  : 
With  joy  she  views  her  plenteous  reeking 
And  bears  a  brimmer  to  the  dairy  door ; 
Her  cows  dismiss'd,  the  luscious  mead  to 
Till  eve  again  recall  them  loaded  home." 

After  the  milking-time  was  the  breakfast 
for  the  good  wife  and  for  "  Mary."  Twice  a 
week  there  was  churning  to  be  done  ;  and  as 
the  butter  came  more  quickly  in  the  warmth 
of  the  kitchen,  the  churn  was  removed  there 
in  that  chilly  spring-time.  There  was  no 
formal  dinner  on  week-days  in  that  house. 
The  loaf  stood  upon  the  table,  with  a  vast 
piece  of  bacon,  an  abundant  supply  of  which 
rested  upon  a  strong  rack  below  the  ceiling. 
Some  of  the  men  had  taken  their  dinner  to 
the  distant  field  ;  another  or  so  came  care- 
lessly in,  and  cutting  a  huge  slice  of  the  brown 
bread  and  the  home-cured,  pulled  out  what 
was  called  a  pocket-knife,  and  despatched  the 
meal  with  intense  enjoyment.  At  three,  the 
ploughmen  returned  home.  That  was  an  hour 
of  delight  to  me,  for  I  was  privileged  to  ride 
a  horse  to  water  in  a  neighbouring  pond.  The 
afternoon,  as  far  as  I  remember,  was  one  of 
idleness.  In  the  gloaming  (why  should  we 
not  Anglicise  the  word  ?)  the  young  men  slid 
into  the  kitchen.  The  farmer  sat  reading, 
the  wife  knitting.  There  was  a  corner  in  the 
enormous  chimney,  where  I  dwelt  apart, 
watching  the  turf  smoke  as  it  curled  up  the 
vast  chasm.  There  was  no  assumption  of 
dignity  in  the  master  when  a  song  was  called 


THE  THREE  SISTERS. 


359 


for.     How  well  do  I  remember  that  song  ol 
Dibdin— 
"  I  left  my  poor  plough  to  go  ploughing  the  deep." 

That  song  told  of  a  war-time,  and  of  naval 
dangers  and  glories ;  and  the  chorus  was 
roared  out  as  if  "the  inconstant  wind" 
was  a  very  jolly  thing,  and  "the  car- 
penter," who  tempted  the  ploughman  "for 
to  go  and  leave  his  love  behind,"  not  at  all  a 
bad  fellow. 

I  read  "  The  Farmer's  Boy "  after  I  was 
familiar  with  the  farmer's  kitchen.  It  is 
Avorth  reading  now,  if  it  were  only  for  its 
pictures  of  a  past  age.  Even  at  that  time  the 
Harvest  Home  was  becoming  ungenteel : — 

"  Here  onoe  a  year  Distinction  lowers  its  crest, 
The  master,  servant,  and  the  merry  guest, 
Are  equal  all ;  and  round  the  happy  ring 
The  reaper's  eyes  exulting  glances  fling, 
And,  warm'd  with  gratitude,  he  quits  his  place, 
With  sun-burnt  hands  and  ale-enliven'd  face, 
Refills  the  jug  his  honour'd  host  to  tend, 
To  serve  at  once  the  master  and  the  Mend ; 
Proud  thus  to  meet  his  smiles,  to  share  his  tale, 
His  nuts,  his  conversation,  and  his  ale. 

Such  were  the  days — of  days  long  past  I  sing, 
When  Pride  gave  place  to  mirth  without  a  sting ; 
Ere  tyrant  customs  strength  sufficient  bore 
To  violate  the  feelings  of  the  poor ; 
To  leave  them  distanc'd  in  the  madd'ning  race, 
Where'er  Refinement  shows  its  hated  face : 
Nor  causeless  hated ;  —  'tis  the  peasant's  curse, 
That  hourly  makes  his  wretched  station  worse; 
Destroys  life's  intercourse;  the  social  plan 
That  rank  to  rank  cements,  as  man  to  man : 
Wealth  flows  around  him,  Fashion  lordly  reigns ; 

Yet  poverty  is  his,  and  mental  pains. 

*     "        *  *  *  * 

Our  annual  feast,  when  Earth  her  plenty  yields, 
When  crown'd  with  boughs  the  last  load  quits  the 

fields, 

The  aspect  still  of  ancient  joys  puts  on  ; 
The  aspect  only,  with  the  substance  gone  : 
The  self-same  Horn  is  still  at  our  command, 
But  serves  none  now  but  the  plebeian  hand ; 
For  home-brew'd  Ale,  neglected  and  debased, 
Is  quite  discarded  from  the  realms  of  taste. 
Where  unaffected  Freedom  charm'd  the  soul, 
The  separate  table  and  the  costly  bowl, 
Cool  as  the  blast  that  checks  the  budding  Spring, 
A  mockery  of  gladness  round  them  fling." 

Were  I  to  see  that  homestead  once  more,  I 
have  no  doubt  I  should  find,  like  the  grand- 
sire  of  Crabbe's  poem,  that  "  all  is  changed." 
The  scenes  which  live  in  my  recollection  can 
never  come  back  ;  nor  is  it  fitting  that  they 
should.  With  the  primitive  simplicity  there 
was  also  a  good  deal  of  primitive  waste  and 
carelessness.  Except  in  the  dairy,  dirt  and 
litter  were  the  accompaniments  of  the  mde 
housekeeping.  The  fields  were  imperfectly 
cultivated  ;  the  headlands  were  full  of  weeds  ; 
there  was  one  meadow  close  to  the  house, 
called  the  Pitle  (still  a  Norfolk  word),  in 
which  I  assiduously,  but  vainly,  worked  with 
a  little  hoe  at  defying  thistles.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  "all  is  changed,"  or  the  farm 


would  be  no  longer  a  farm.  The  neglect 
belonged  to  the  times  of  the  dear  loaf.  The 
"  refinement  "  of  Bloomfield  really  means  the 
progress  of  improvement. 


THE  THREE  SISTERS. 

IN  FOUR  CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  I. 

"  GABRIELLE,  you  should  not  stay  out  so 
late  alone." 

"  It  isn't  late,  sister  dear,  for  a  summer's 
evening.  The  church  clock  struck  eight  just 
as  I  turned  into  the  little  path  across  the 
field." 

The  first  speaker,  who  was  the  eldest,  raised 
her  head  from  her  work,  and,  looking  at 
Gabrielle,  said  : 

"  For  you  it  is  too  late.  You  are  not  well, 
Gabrielle.  You  are  quite  flushed  and  tired. 
Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  Nowhere  but  in  the  village,"  Gabrielle 
said. 

She  paused  a  moment,  then  added  rather 
hurriedly  : 

"  I  was  detained  by  a  poor  sick  woman  I 
went  to  see.  You  don't  know  her,  Joanna, 
she  has  just  come  here." 

"  And  who  is  she  1 "  Joanna  asked. 

"  She  is  a  widow  woman,  not  young,  and 
very  poor.  She  spoke  to  me  in  the  road  the 
other  day,  and  I  have  seen  her  once  or  twice 
since.  She  had  heard  our  name  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  to-night  I  promised  her  that  you  or 
Bertha  would  go  and  call  on  her.  She  has 
been  very  unhappy,  poor  thing.  You  will  go, 
sister  1 " 

"  Certainly.  You  should  have  told  me 
before.  Go,  now,  and  take  off  your  bonnet. 
You  have  walked  too  quickly  home  on  this 
hot  night." 

Another  lady  entered  the  room  just  as 
Gabrielle  was  leaving  it,  and  addressed  her 
almost  as  the  first  had  done  : 

"  You  are  late,  Gabrielle.  What  has  kept 
you  out  so  long  I  " 

"  Joanna  will  tell  you,"  Gabrielle  answered. 
"  I  have  only  been  finding  some  work  for 
you,  sister,"  and  with  a  smile  she  went  away. 

They  were  two  stern,  cold  women — Joauna 
and  Bertha  Vaux.  They  lived  together — 
they  two  and  Gabrielle — in  a  dark  old- 
fashioned  house,  close  to  a  little  village,  in 
one  of  the  southern  counties  of  England.  It 
was  a  pretty  picturesque  village,  as  most 
English  villages  are,  with  little  clusters  of 
white-washed,  rose-twined  cottages  sprinkled 
through  it,  and  a  little  rough  stone  country 
church,  covered  to  the  very  top  of  the  spire 
so  thickly  with  ivy  that  it  looked  like  a  green 
bower.  Here  and  there  were  scattered  a 
few  pleasant  houses  of  the  better  sort,  stand- 
ing apart  in  sunny  gardens,  and  scenting  the 
air  around  with  the  smell  of  their  sweet 
flowers. 

But  the  house  in  which  Joanna  and  Bertha 
and  Gabrielle  lived  was  always  gloomy  and 
dark  and  cold  It  was  a  square  brick 


360 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


house,  with  damp  unhealthy  evergreens 
planted  in  front,  upon  which  the  sun  never 
shone — summer  or  winter ;  the  flags  which 
paved  the  front  of  the  door  and  the  steps  of 
the  door  were  greened  over  with  cheerless 
moss  ;  and  fungi  grew  up  in  the  seams  of  the 
pavement.  The  windows,  with  their  thick 
black  clumsy  frames,  almost  all  faced  the 
north,  so  that  the  cold  dark  rooms  were 
never  lighted  up  with  sunshine  ;  but  looked 
even  more  dreary  in  the  summer  time,  with 
the  empty  fireless  grates,  than  on  winter 
days.  Yet  the  house  seemed  to  suit  well  the 
tastes  of  the  two  elder  of  the  Misses  Vaux. 

It  had  stood  empty  for  some  years  before 
they  took  it ;  for  its  last  occupier  had  com- 
mitted suicide  in  one  of  the  rooms — it  was 
just  the  house  for  such  a  thing  to  have  hap- 
pened in — and  the  superstitious  horror  which 
the  event  created  in  the  neighbourhood, 
coupled  with  the  dark  and  cheerless  appear- 
ance of  the  house,  were  the  causes  why  it 
remained  so  long  unlet  and  so  much  neglected. 

About  six  years  ago,  the  Misses  Vaux  had 
come  quite  strangers  to  the  village  ;  and,  in  a 
short  time,  were  settled  as  tenants  of  the 
lonely  house.  They  were  young  women  then 
— not  more  than  three  and  four-and-twenty ; 
but  already  grave,  severe,  and  stern.  They 
dressed  always  in  mourning,  and  rarely  was 
a  smile  seen  on  their  cold  lips ;  but  they 
spent  their  time  almost  entirely  in  perform- 
ing acts  of  charity,  in  visiting  the  sick,  and 
in  making  clothes  for  the  poor.  For  miles 
round  they  were  known  and  looked  up  to 
with  mingled  reverence  and  awe.  But  theirs 
was  a  strange  soulless  charity — more  like  the 
performance  of  heavy  penance  than  of  acts  of 
love. 

There  was  a  mysteryabout  their  antecedents. 
No  one  knew  whence  they  came,  or  who  they 
were  ;  they  had  neither  relations  nor  friends  ; 
they  lived  alone  in  their  gloomy  house,  and 


environment.  But  the  gloomy  house  looked 
less  gloomy  now  that  Gabrielle  lived  in  it. 
There  was  one  little  room,  with  a  window 
looking  to  the  south  (one  of  three  that  had  a 
sunny  aspect),  which  she  took  to  be  her  own, 
and  there  she  would  sit  for  many  hours, 
working  by  the  open  window,  singing  joy- 
ously, with  the  sunlight  streaming  over  her, 
and  the  breath  of  the  sweet  flowers  that  she 
had  planted  in  a  garden  as  close  under  her 
window  as  the  sun  would  come,  stealing  de- 
liciously  into  the  room.  It  was  quite  a 
pleasant  little  nook,  with  a  view  far  over 
green  undulating  hills  and  yellow  waving 
corn-fields,  which  sparkled  and  glittered  like 
plains  of  moving  gold  in  the  deep  bright 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  And  Gabrielle, 
sitting  here  and  gazing  on  them,  or  roaming 
alone  amongst  them,  was  quite  happy  and 
light-hearted.  Even  her  stern  sisters  were 
thawed  and  softened  by  her  presence ;  and, 
I  think,  felt  as  much  love  for  her  as  it  was 
in  their  nature  to  feel  for  any  one,  for  indeed 
it  was  impossible  to  resist  altogether  her 
cheering  influence,  which  spread  itself  over 
everything  around  her  with  the  warmth  of 
sunshine. 

On  this  evening  on  which  our  tale  begins, 
and  for  some  days  previous  to  it,  Gabrielle 
had  been  graver  and  quieter  than  she  often 
was.  She  joined  her  sisters  now  in  the 


common  sitting-room 
her  hand,  sat  down 


and,  with  her  work  in 
beside  them  near  the 


window,  but  she  answered  their  few  questions 
about  her  evening  ramble  with  only  feigned 
gaiety,  as  though  she  was  occupied  with  other 
thoughts,  or  was  too  weary  to  talk ;  and, 
presently,  as  the  twilight  gathered  round 
them,  they  all  sank  into  silence.  The  one 
window  looked  across  the  road  in  which  the 
house  stood,  to  a  dark  plantation  of  stuated 
trees  that  grew  opposite :  a  very  gloomy 
place,  which,  even  in  the  hottest  summer 


only  at  long  intervals — sometimes  of  many  |  day,  had  always  a  chill,  wintry  feeling,  and 


months — did  they  receive  even  a  single  letter. 
They  were  two  saa,  weary  women,  to  whom 
Jife  seemed  to  bring  no  pleasure,  but  to  be 
only  a  burden,  which  it  was  their  stern  duty 
to  bear  uncomplainingly  for  a  certain  number 
of  years. 

Gabrielle — the  beautiful,  sunny-natured 
Gabrielle — was  not  with  them  when  they  first 
came  to  the  village ;  but  three  years  ago  she 
had  joined  them,  and  the  three  had  lived 
together  since.  She  was  then  about  fifteen  ; 
— a  bright,  joyous,  beautiful  creature,  without 
a  thought  of  sadness  in  her,  or  the  faintest 
shadow  of  the  gloom  that  rested  on  her  sisters. 
Even  now,  although  she  had  lived  for  three 
years  in  the  chilling  atmosphere  that  sur- 
rounded them,  she  was  still  unchanged, 
almost  even  as  much  a  child — as  gay,  thought- 
less, and  full  of  joy,  as  when  she  first  came. 
It  reminded  one  of  a  snowdrop  blooming  in 
the  winter,  forcing  itself  through  the  very 
midst  of  the  surrounding  snow,  to  see  how 
she  had  grown  up  with  this  cold,  wintry 


from  which  even  now  a  damp  air  was  rising ; 
and,  entering  the  open  window,  was  spreading 
itself  through  the  room. 

"How  unlike  a  summer  evening  it  is  in 
this  room  !  "  Gabrielle  suddenly  broke  the 
silence  by  exclaiming  almost  impatiently. 
"  I  wish  I  could,  even  for  once,  see  a  ray  of 
sunshine  in  it.  I  have  often  wondered  how 
any  one  could  build  a  house  in  this  situation." 

"  And  do  you  never  imagine  that  there  are 
people  who  care  less  for  sunshine  than 
you  do,  Gabrielle  ? "  Bertha  asked,  rather 
sadly. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  sister,  but  still  it  seems  to- 
me almost  like  a  sin  to  shut  out  the  beautiful 
heaven's  sunlight  as  it  has  been  shut  out  in 
this  house.  Winter  and  summer  it  is  always 
alike.  If  it  was  not  for  my  own  bright  little 
room  up  stairs,  I  think  I  never  should  be  gay 
here  at  all." 


"Well.  Gabrielle,  you  need  not  complain 
the  gloominess  of   this  room  just    now," 
Miss  Vaux  said.      "  At  nine   o'clock  on   aa 


of 


•Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  THREE  SISTERS. 


3GJ 


August  evening  I  suppose  all  rooms  look 
pretty  much,  alike." 

"  Oh,  sister,  no  !  "  Gabrielle  cried.  "  Have 
yon  never  noticed  the  different  kinds  of 
twilight  1  Here,  in  this  house,  it  is  always 
winter  twilight,  quite  colourless,  and  cold, 
and  cheerless,  but  in  other  places,  where  the 
sun  has  shone,  it  is  warm  and  soft  and 
beautiful ;  even  for  an  hour  or  longer  after 
the  sun  has  quite  set,  a  faint  rosy  tinge,  like  a 
warm  breath,  seems  to  rest  upon  the  air,  and 
to  shed  such  peace  and  almost  holiness  over 
everything.  That  was  th#  kind  of  twilight, 
I  think  of  it  so  often,  that  there  used  to  be  at 
liome.  I  remember,  so  very,  very  long  ago,  how 
I  used  to  sit  on  the  ground  at  my  mother's  feet 
in  the  summer  evenings,  looking  out  through 
the  open  window  at  the  dear  old  garden, 
where  everything  was  so  very  still  and  quiet 
that  it  seemed  to  me  the  very  trees  must  have 
fallen  asleep,  and  how  she  used  to  tell  us  fairy 
stories  in  the  twilight.  Sisters,  do  you  re- 
member it  ?  "  Gabrielle  asked,  her  voice  tre- 
mulous, but  not  altogether,  so  it  seemed,  with 
emotion  that  the  recollection  had  called  up. 

"  I  do,"  Miss  Vaux  said,  in  a  voice  clear 
and  cold,  and  hard  as  ice.  From  Bertha 
there  came  no  answer. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  few  things  I  recollect 
about  her,"  Gabrielle  said  again  very  softly, 
"  the  rest  is  almost  all  indistinct,  like  a  half- 
ibrgotten  dream.  I  was  only  four  years  old, 
you  say,  Joanna,  when  she  died  ?" 

"  You  know  it  ;  why  do  you  ask  1 "  Miss 
Vaux  said,  harshly  and  quickly. 

There  was  a  pause.  It  was  so  dark  that 
none  of  their  faces  could  be  seen,  but  one 
might  have  told,  from  the  quick  nervous  way 
in  which  unconsciously  Gabrielle  was  clasping 
and  unclasping  her  hand,  that  there  was  some 
struggle  going  on  within  her.  At  last,  very 
timidly,  her  voice  trembling,  though  she  tried 
hard  to  steady  it,  she  spoke  again. 

"  Sisters,  do  not  be  angry  with  me.  Often 
lately  I  have  wished  so  very  much  to  ask  you 
some  things  about  my  mother.  Oh,  let  me  ask 
them  now.  Dear  sisters,  tell  me  why  it  is 
that  you  never  speak  to  me,  or  almost  allow 
me  to  speak,  of  her  1  Is  it  because  it  grieves 
you  so  much  to  think  of  her  death,  or  is  there 
any  other  cause  " — her  voice  sank  so  low 
that  it  was  almost  a  whisper — "why  her 
name  is  never  mentioned  amongst  us  'I  I  have 
kept  silence  about  this  for  so  long,  for  I  knew 
you  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  it ;  but,  oh 
sisters,  tell  me  now  !  Ought  I  not  to  know- 
about  my  own  mother  ? " 

"  Hush  !  "  Miss  Vaux  said,  in  a  voice  stern 
and  harsh.  "Gabrielle,  you  do  not  know 
what  you  are  asking.  Let  it  be  enough  for 
you  to  learn  that  anything  I  could  tell  you  of 
your  mother  could  give  you  nothing  but  pain 
to  hear — pain  which  we  would  gladly  spare 
you  yet,  knowing,  as  we  so  well  do,  the  great 
bitterness  of  it.  I  ask  you  for  all  our  sakes, 
yours  as  much  as  ours,  never  again  be  the  first 
to  mention  your  mother's  name  !  " 


She  had  risen  from  her  seat,  and  stood  up- 
right before  Gabrielle,  the  outline  of  her  tall 
dark  figure  showing  clearly  against  the 
window.  In  her  voice  there  was  not  one 
trace  of  emotion  ;  her  whole  manner  was  hard 
and  cold  and  unimpassioned  ;  like  that  of  one 
who  had,  long  ago,  subdued  all  gentle  feelings. 

Gabrielle's  tears  were  falling  fast,  but  she 
made  no  answer  to  Miss  Vaux's  words.  She 
stood  much  in  awe  of  both  her  sisters,  espe- 
cially of  the  eldest,  and  knew  well  how 
hopeless  all  remonstrance  with  her  would  be. 

After  a  few  moments  Bertha  laid  her  hand 
on  Gabrielle's  shoulder,  saying,  with  some- 
thing of  gentleness  in  her  voice  : 

"  You  distress  yourself  too  much,  my  child. 
Trust  more  in  us,  Gabrielle.  We  would  try 
to  keep  sorrow  from  you ;  do  not  make  it 
impossible." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know  it  is  meant  kindly 
towards  me,"  Gabrielle  said  gently,  "but 
you  forget  that  I  suffer  from  being  in  igno- 
rance. I  cannot  forget  that  you  are  conceal- 
ing something  from  me." 

"  Which  I  would  to  God  I  could  conceal 
from  you  for  ever,"  Miss  Vaux  said.  "  Ga- 
brielle, foolish  child,  do  not  seek  for  sorrow  ; 
it  will  come  quickly  enough  of  itself;"  and 
she  turned  from  her  with  some  muttered 
words  that  her  sister  could  not  hear. 

Gabrielle  tried  to  speak  again  ;  but  Bertha 
raised  her  hand  warniugly,  and  they  were  all 
silent ;  Gabrielle  with  her  face  bowed  down 
upon  her  hands  in  the  thick  twilight. 

"  We  will  close  the  window  and  have 
lights,"  Bertha  said,  after  some  time  had 
passed  ;  "  the  night  air  is  getting  cold." 

With  a  deep  sigh  Gabrielle  rose,  and  drew 
down  the  open  window,  standing  there  for 
some  minutes  alone,  and  looking  out  upon  the 
dark  evergreen  grove. 

CHAPTER   II. 

"  I  am  going  into  the  village,"  Miss  Vaux 
said.  "  If  you  will  tell  me  where  that  poor 
woman  lives  you  were  speaking  of  last  night, 
Gabrielle,  I  will  call  upon  her  now." 

"Let  me  go  with  you,"  Gabrielle  said 
quickly.  "  I  told  her  we  would  come  together. 
Wait  for  me  one  minute,  and  I  will  be  ready." 

"  I  scarcely  see  the  need  of  it.  You  are 
looking  pale  and  ill,  Gabrielle.  I  would 
advise  you  to  stay  in  the  house  and  rest." 

"  I  have  a  headache,  and  the  air  will  do  it 
good,"  Gabrielle  answered.  "  Let  me  go, 
sister." 

"As  you  will,  then,"  Miss  Vaux  said,  and 
Gabrielle  went  away  to  dress. 

She  had  not  yet  recovered  her  usual  gay 
spirits  ;  but  was  still  grave,  quiet,  and  appa- 
rently occupied  with  her  own  thoughts,  and 
the  two  walked  side  by  side,  almost  without 
speaking,  along  the  little  path  over  the  field 
which  lay  between  their  house  and  the 
village.  It  was  a  very  bright  sunny  summer's 
day,  too  hot,  indeed,  for  walking,  but  beautiful 
to  look  at.  The  heat  seemed  to  weary 


362 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Gabrielle,  she  walked  so  very  slowly,  and  was 
so  pale. 

"  This  is  the  house,  sister.  We  go  through 
the  kitchen  ;  she  has  the  room  above." 

They  raised  the  latch  and  went  in.  No 
one  was  in  the  lower  room  ;  so  they  passed 
through,  and  ascended  a  low  narrow  staircase, 
almost  like  a  ladder,  which  rose  abruptly 
from  a  doorway  at  the  farther  side,  until  they 
reached  another  door  which  stood  facing 
them,  without  any  lauding  between  it  and 
the  highest  step.  Gabrielle  knocked,  and  a 
faint  voice  from  within  answered,  "  Come 
in  ;  "  and  she  entered,  followed  by  her  sister. 
It  was  a  very  small  room,  and  very  bare  of 
furniture  ;  for  there  was  little  in  it  but  a 
dt  al  bedstead,  an  old  table,  and  one  or  two 
odd  ricketty  chairs,  in  one  of  which— ^that 
boasted  of  a  pair  of  broken  arms  and  some- 
thing that  had  once  been  a  cushion— sat  the 
woman  they  had  come  to  visit. 

Gabrielle  went  quickly  up  to  her,  and 
taking  her  hand  said  in  a  low  voice  : 

"  I  have  brought  my  sister,  as  I  promised — 
my  eldest  sister." 

The  woman  bowed  her  head  without  speak- 
ing ;  then  tried  to  rise  from  her  seat,  but  she 
seemed  very  weak,  and  her  hand  trembled  as 
she  leaned  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"  Do  not  rise,  my  good  woman,"  Miss 
Vaux  said,  kindly,  and  her  voice  sounded 
almost  soft — she  was  so  used  to  attune  it  so 
as  to  be  in  harmony  with  a  sick  chamber — 
"  do  not  rise  ;  I  see  you  are  very  weak,"  and 
she  drew  a  chair  near,  and  sat  down  by  her 
side. 

"  You  have  come  quite  lately  to  the  village, 
my  sister  tells  me  ?  " 

"  Quite  lately,  less  than  a  week  ago,"  was 
the  answer  ;  but  spoken  in  so  low  a  voice 
that  the  words  were  scarcely  audible. 

"  Were  you  ever  here  before  ?  Have  you 
any  connection  with  the  place  ? "  Miss  Vaux 
asked. 

"  No,  none." 

"  But  you  had  pi*obably  some  motive  in 
coming  here  1  Have  you  no  relations  or 
friends  1 " 

"  No,  no,"  the  woman  cried,  suddenly 
bursting  into  tears,  '•  I  have  no  friends,  110 
friends  in  the  wide  world  !  " 

A  gentle  hand  was  laid  on  her  shoulder  ; 
a  gentle  voice  whispered  some  soft  words  in 
her  ear,  and  the  woman  looked  up  into 
Gabrielle's  dark  eyes,  and  murmured  some- 
thing between  her  sobs.  Then  they  wei'e  all 
silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  widow  1 "  Miss  Vaux 
asked,  gently,  when  she  had  become  calmer. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  slowly,  as  though 
the  word  had  been  dragged  from  her,  so 
much  it  seemed  to  pain  her  to  speak  it. 

"  And  have  you  any  children  I  " 

A  momeut's  pause,  and  then  another  "yes," 
hardly  intelligible  from  the  choking  sob 
which  accompanied  it. 

Miss  Vaux  was  silent,  looking  inquiringly 


into  the  woman's  face.  It  was  partly  turned 
from  her,  partly  shaded  with  her  thin  hand  ; 
her  large  eyes  looking  up  with  a  strange 
agonized  look  into  Gabrielle's  eyes,  her  pale 
lips  moving  convulsively.  Gabrielle's  face 
was  almost  as  pale  as  hers  :  her  look  almost 
as  full  of  agony. 

Miss  Vaux  glanced  from  one  to  the  other, 
at  first  with  pity  ;  then  suddenly  a  quick 
change  came  over  her  face  ;  a  deep  flush 
mounted  to  her  brow,  she  darted  from  her 
seat ;  and,  calm  as  she  ordinarily  was,  her 
whole  figure  trembled  as  she  stood  before 
them,  with  her  fierce  gaze  turned  on  theou. 

Pale  as  death,  neither  of  them  speaking, 
they  bore  her  passionate  look  ;  quite  motion- 
less too,  except  that  Gabrielle  had  instinc- 
tively clasped  the  widow's  hand  in  hers,  and 
held  it  tightly. 

'•'  Speak  to  me,  Gabrielle  ! "  Miss  Vaux 
cried  ;  and  her  voice,  harsh,  loud,  and  quiver- 
ing with  passion,  echoed  through  the  room  ; 
"  tell  me  who  this  woman  is  1 " 

From  the  widow's  lips  there  burst  one 
word — one  word  like  a  sudden  bitter  cry— - 
"  Joanna ! " 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  imploringly, 
trying  to  grasp  even  her  daughter's  dress  ;  but 
Miss  Vaux  sprang  from  her,  and  stood  erect 
in  the  centre  of  the  room ;  her  tall  figure 
drawn  to  its  full  height ;  her  burning  eye  still 
turned  with  unutterable  anger  upon  the 
crouching  woman  near  her. 

"  You  have  dared  to  do  this.  You  have 
dared  to  seek  us  out  here,  where  we  had 
hoped  to  hide  ourselves  from  the  scoffing  of 
the  bitter,  heartless  world  ;  where  we  had 
tried  by  acts  of  charity,  by  suffering  and 
penance,  to  blot  out  the  recollection  of  the 
shame  that  you  have  brought  upon  us  !  Are 
we  nowhere  secure  from  you  ?  What  have 
we  to  do  with  you  1  You  cast  us  off  years 
ago." 

"  Sister,  sister  !  "  cried  Gabrielle's  imploring 
voice,  "  oh,  remember,  whatever  she  has  done, 
that  she  is  still  our  mother.  Have  mercy  oil 
her,  for  she  cannot  bear  this  !  " 

But  sternly  and  coldly  came  Miss  Vaux's 
answer : — 

"  Did  she  remember  that  we  were  her 
children  when  she  left  us  1  Did  she  re- 
member that  our  father  was  her  husband  ? 
We  all  loved  her  then— she  was  very  dear  to 
us — but  she  turned  all  our  warm  love  into 
bitterness.  She  destroyed  our  happiness  at 
one  stroke,  for  ever ;  she  blighted,  without 
a  pang,  all  the  hope  of  our  young  lives ;  she 
branded  us  with  a  mark  of  shame  that  we  can 
never  shake  off :  she  plunged  an  arrow  into 
the  heart  of  each  of  us,  which  lies  festering 
there  now.  Are  these  things  to  be  forgiven  ? 
I  tell  you  it  is  impossible  !  I  will  never  for- 
give her — I  swore  it  by  my  father's  deuthi  •<[ 
— never  while  I  live  !  Gabrielle,  this  is  no 
place  for  you.  Come  home  with  me  !  " 

"  Hear  me  first !  "  the  mother  cried,  creep- 
ins:  from  the  seat  in  which  she  had  sunk 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  THREE  SISTERS. 


363 


back,  and  cowering,  "with  hidden  face,  had 
listened  to  her  daughter's  words,  "  hear  me 
before  you  go  !  I  have  deserved  everything — 
ever}- thing  you  can  say  ;  but  oh,  from  you  it 
is  bitter  to  hear  it  !  Oh,  my  daughter,  listen 
to  me  !  "  She  flung  herself  at  Miss  Vaux's 
feet  on  the  bare  floor. 

"  You  speak  of  the  sorrows  I  have  brought 
upon  you — the  sorrow  and  the  shame  ;  but 
have  they  equalled  what  I  have  endured  ? 
Day  and  night  —  day  and  night  —  through 
months  and  years — fourteen  long  years — oh, 
think  of  it !  I  have  wished  to  kill  myself, 
but  I  dared  not  do  it ;  I  have  prayed  fer- 
vently to  die.  Oil,  no,  no,  stay  and  listen 
to  me  !  My  last  hope— -my  last  hope  in 
heaven  and  earth  is  only  with  you.  Oh,  my 
daughter!  you  say  you  loved  me  once — will 
not  one  spark  of  the  old  love  live  again  ?  I 
will  try  yet  once  more  to  move  you  to  pity.  I 
have  not  told  you  all.  I  have  not  told  you 
how,  in  my  agony,  I  tried  to  find  rest  and 
peace  ;  how  I  sought  it  everywhere — wander- 
ing from  place  to  place  alone,  in  hunger  and 
thirst,  in  cold  and  weariness,  in  poverty  and 
wretchedness ;  finding  none  anywhere,  until  at 
last,  worn  out  with  misery,  I  wandered  here. 
And  here  I  saw  Gabrielle,  my  beautiful  child, 
my  love,  my  darling  !  " 

The  wan  face  lighted  up  with  passionate 
love  as  she  looked  at  her  who  was  kneeling 
by  her  side. 

"  She  believed  me  when  I  told  her  of  my 
sorrow.  She  comforted  me  with  such  sweet 
words,  that,  they  sank  like  healing  balm  into 
my  soul,  as  though  an  angel's  voice  had 
spoken  them.  Do  not  take  her  from  me  !  " 

"  Mother,  do  not  fear,"  Gabrielle's  soothing 
voice  whispered,  "  I  will  stay  with  you — did 
I  not  promise  it  ?" 

"  Gabrielle  !  "  cried  Miss  Vaux.  "  Come 
with  me,  and  leave  her.  The  tie  that  once 
bound  us  to  her  she  herself  has  severed  for 
ever :  we  have  nothing  further  to  do  with 
her.  Gabrielle,  come  !  " 

"  I  cannot  come  !  She  is  my  mother.  I 
cannot  leave  her." 

"  And  we  are  your  sisters.  To  whom  do 
you  owe  most  1  We  have  watched  over  you 
through  your  life  ;  we  have  shielded  you  froni 
sorrow  ;  we  have  loved  you  almost  with  the 
love  that  she  ought  to  have  given  you.  You 
have  been  the  single  joy  that  we  have  had 
for  years.  Have  you  no  love  to  give  us 
in  return  for  all  we  have  given  you  1  Oh, 
Gabrielle— my  sister,  I  pray  you  ! — I,  who 
am  so  little  used  to  entreat  any  one,  I  pray 
you  for  the  sake  of  the  love  we  have  borne 
you — for  the  sake  of  the  honour  that  is  still 
left  us — for  the  sake  of  all  that  you  hold 
sacred — come,  come  back  with  us  !  " 

A  low  moan  burst  from  the  mother's  lips  ; 
for  Gabrielle,  weeping  bitterly,  rose  from  her 
knees,  and  threw  herself  into  her  sister's 
arms. 

"  Heaven  bless  you  for  this  !  "  Miss  Vaux 
exclaimed  ;  but,  interrupting  her  in  a  broken 


voice,  Gabrielle  cried,  "  You  do  not  under- 
stand me.  I  cannot  return  with  you  !  No, 
sister.  Anything — anything  else  I  will  do,, 
but  I  cannot  forsake  her  in  her  penitence  ! 
Can  you  do  it  yourself?  Oh,  sister,  will  you 
not  take  her  home  ?  " 

"  I  will  not !  " 

There  was  a  long  pause,  broken  once  or 
twice  by  the  deep  sobs  that  seemed  bursting 
the  mother's  heart.  Then  Miss  Vaux  spoke 
again,  earnestly,  even  imploringly  : 

"  Gabrielle,  T  ask  you  once  more,  for  the 
last  time,  to  return  with  me.  Foolish  child, 
think  what  you  are  doing.  You  are  bringing 
down  your  father's  dying  curse  upon  your 
head — you  are  piercing  the  hearts  of  those 
who  love  you  with  new  and  bitter  sorrow ; 
you  are  closing — wilfully  closing — against 
yourself  the  door  that  is  still  open  to  receive 
you  :  you  are  making  yourself  homeless — a 
wanderer — perhaps  a  beggar.  Oh,  my  dear 
sister  Gabrielle,  think  once  more — think  of 
all  this !" 

"  Sister,  spare  me  further :  your  words 
wound  me  ;  but  I  have  decided,  and  I  can- 
not return  with  you.  My  mother's  home  is 
my  home." 

"  Then  I  say  no  more,"  Miss  Vaux  ex- 
claimed, while  her  whole  figure  shook.  "  May 
God  forgive  you  for  what  you»  do  this  day  !  " 

The  door  closed,  and  Gabrielle  and  her 
mother  were  left  alone. 

Gently  and  lovingly  Gabrielle  raised  her 
from  the  ground,  led  her  to  her  seat,  and 
tried  to  calm  and  soothe  her — though  she 
wept  herself  the  while — with  cheerful,  tender 
words : 

"  Mother,  are  you  not  glad  to  have  me  with 
you — your  own  little  Gabrielle  1  You  said  it 
would  make  you  happy,  and  yet  see  how 
you  are  weeping  !  Hush,  mother  dear,  hush  ! 
I  will  be  always  with  you  now,  to  nurse  you, 
and  take  care  of  you,  and  comfort  you,  and  you 
will  get  strong  and  well  soon  ;  and  some  day, 
mother,  some  day  perhaps  their  hearts  will 
soften,  and  they  will  forgive  us  both,  and  take 
us  home  to  them,  and  we  will  all  live  again  to- 
gether, loving  one  another."  And  Gabrielle 
tried  to  smile  through  the  tears  that  were 
falling  still. 

"  My  child,  I  am  weak  and  selfish,"  the 
mother  said,  "  I  should  have  told  you  to  go 
back  to  your  home,  and  to  leave  me  ;  but  I 
could  not  do  it.  Yet  even  now  my  heart  is 
reproaching  me  for  what  I  have  done.  How 
are  we  to  live  ?  My  Gabrielle,  you  do  not 
know  how  I  have  struggled  and  laboured, 
sometimes,  only  for  a  crust  of  bread  !" 

"  Mother,  you  shall  labour  no  more. 
My  sisters  are  very  just:  all  that  is  mine, 
they  will  give  me.  We  will  live  on  very 
little  ;  we  will  find  out  some  little  quiet 
village,  where  no  one  will  know  who  we  are, 
or  where  we  come  from,  and  there  we  will 
rest  together.  I  will  never  leave  you  more — 
never  more  until  death  parts  us." 

She  hung  upon  her  mother's  neck,  kissing 


364 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  pale  brow  and  sunken  cheek,  and  wiping 
away  the  tears  that  were  yet  falling  :  though 
more  slowly  and  more  calmly  falling,  now. 


CHIPS. 


WHAT  TO  TAKE  TO  AUSTRALIA. 

THE  great  majority  of  the  army  of  emigrants 
who  are  now  wildly  rushing  to  Australia, 
know  no  more  about  the  proper  preparations 
and  the  qualities  and  arrangements  essential 
for  comfort  on  a  four  months'  voyage,  than 
they  do  of  working  a  steam-engine,  or 
selecting  the  tools  for  an  engineer's  shop. 
In  a  little  book  just  published — "Murray's 
Guide  to  the  Gold  Diggings  " — are  some  use- 
ful hints  on  outfit  and  passage,  which  we 
quote  with  additions  from  a  practical  and 
experienced  source. 

The  common  practice  of  an  intending 
emigrant  is  to  discard  all  he  has,  and  set  out 
with  a  bran  new  stock  of  everything.  The 
reverse  is  the  better  plan — "  Begin  by  muster- 
ing what  you  have  got,  and  see  how  much 
will  do."  A  single  man  should  be  in  light 
marching  order,  and  should  endeavour  to  take 
no  more  clothes  than  he  could,  at  a  pinch, 
make  up  in  a  bundle  and  carry,  groaning,  on 
his  back  for  a  mile. 

A  family  should  take  no  cumbrous  furni- 
ture, no  pianos,  no  mangles,  unless  proceeding 
to  settle  near  friends  in  a  sea-port  of  the  colo- 
nies where  labour  has  become  too  dear  to  pay 
for  making  chairs  and  tables.  A  chair  that 
folds  up  flat  may  be  useful  for  "  mamma,"  so 
may  a  light  metal  bedstead ;  knives  and  forks, 
pewter  plates  and  tea-pots  will  be  useful  on 
the  voyage,  and  in  town  or  bush ;  so  will  plated 
articles,  and  many  little  household  things  that 
weigh  little,  take  up  no  great  room,  and  sell 
for  nothing  at  an  auction. 

Beware  of  ingenious  costly  cabin  fittings  ; 
consult  some  experienced  sea-going  friend ; 
half  the  articles  that  look  tempting  in  a  show- 
room are  useless  at  sea.  It  is  well  for  a 
family  party  to  have  just  enough  to  enable 
them  to  enter  the  first  suitable  empty  house 
in  Melbourne  or  Sydney,  and  commence  house- 
keeping at  once,  with  a  trunk  for  a  seat  and  a 
tea-chest  for  a  table.  But  persons  going  to 
the  interior  should  remember  that  carriage  is 
dear  at  all  times.  Three  pounds  were  paid  in 
December  for  half  a  horse  load,  for  thirty 
miles — to  the  Shoalhaven  diggings  over  a 
mountain  track. 

Every  party  of  not  less  than  four  should 
take  a  small  three-pole  tent  without  the 
poles.  A  workman  may  take  his  tools — a 
digger  a  navvy's  spade,  a  pick,  and  a  heavy 
crowbar ;  but  cradles  and  carts,  and  all  the 
heavy  paraphernalia,  recommended  in  iron- 
mongers' lists,  are  better  bought  in  the  colony, 
to  which  first-rate  merchants  are  largely 
shipping  from  the  advices  of  their  own  corre- 
spondents. Half  such  outfits  will  be  found 


useless,  and  half  the  remainder  unserviceable. 
Clothes  are  nearly  as  cheap  in  the  colonies 
as  in  England.  They  should  be  selected  with 
a  view  to  very  cold  as  well  as  warm  weather. 
The  mining  districts  are  subject  to  snow,  sleet, 
and  torrents  of  rain.  A  large  loose  coat  of 
the  best  pilot  cloth,  made  after  the  fashion  of 
a  soldier's  great-coat  down  to  the  heels,  with 
a  large  waterproof  cape,  loose  sleeves,  and 
capacious  pockets  inside,  is  a  capital  travelling 
companion.  For  Bush  travelling,  a  full-sized 
blanket  is  indispensable. 

On  board  ship  any  old  trowsers,  if  warm  or 
light  enough,  according  to  the  weather,  will 
do.  Shoes  without  heels  on  board.  In  the 
colonies  good  strong  Wellington  boots  of  the 
best  materials,  and  not  too  tight.  Waterproof 
boots  are  a  mistake ;  the  water  comes  in  at  the 
top,  and  stays  there  until  let  out  by  a  hole. 
In  the  Bush,  and  at  the  Diggings,  woollen 
Jerseys,  blue  or  red,  are  the  wear,  and  blue- 
striped  shirts,  where  woollen  is  not  worn.  In 
the  chief  towns  of  Australia,  gentlemen  dress 
exactly  as  they  do  in  England,  allowing  for 
the  difference  of  climate,  and,  except  boots, 
the  prices  are  about  the  same.  Both  woollen 
and  cotton  stockings  are  needed.  Hats  can 
be  bought  in  the  colony  cheap  enough  ;  two 
caps,  one  to  be  blown  away,  will  be  sufficient 
for  the  voyage.  The  following  is  the  lowest 
scale  of  outfit  required  by  the  Government 
commissioners  from  free  passengers  : 


FOB   MALES. 

Six  shirts 

Six  pairs  stockings 

Two  ditto  shoes 

Two  complete   suits  of  ex- 


terior clothing 


FOR  FE1IALF.S. 

Six  shifts 

Two  flannel  petticoats 
Six  pairs  stockings 
Two  ditto  shoes 


Two  gowns 
Towels  and  soap. 


And  they  supply  each  emigrant,  in  return  for 
the  deposit  of  one  or  two  pounds,  with  a 
mattrass,  bolster,  blankets, counterpane,  canvas 
bag,  knife,  fork,  and  drinking  mug. 

In  the  Family  Colonisation  Society's  ships 
closets  are  provided  with  cisterns,  pumps,  and 
taps,  in  which,  with  marine  soap,  the  emi- 
grants can  wash  their  clothes  without  being 
seen.  This  saves  each  emigrant  at  least  thirty 
shillings  in  outfit — for  two  pair  of  stockings 
will,  for  example,  do  for  the  voyage — and 
should  be  universally  adopted,  as  an  extra  five 
shillings  a  head  on  the  passage-money  would 
pay  the  ship-owner  and  be  cheap  to  the  emi- 
grants. Each  passenger  is  also  required  to 
provide  a  mattrass  three  feet  by  six  feet  for  a 
double  bed,  and  two  feet  by  six  feet  for  a 
single  bed  ;  and  the  following  articles  : — 


Knife  and  fork 
Tahle  and  tea  spoons 
Metal  plate 
Hook  pot 
Drinking  mug 
Water-can 
Washing-basin 
Two  cabbage-nets 
One  scrubbing-brush 
Half-a-gallon  of  sand 


Half  a  Bath-brick 

Two  sheets  of  sand-paper 

Two  coarse  canvas  aprons 

Hammer 

Tacks 

Leathern  straps,  with  buckle, 
to  secure  the  beds  neatly 
on  deck,  when  required  to 
be  aired 

Three  pounds  of  marine  soap 


all  of  which,   except  the   sand,   Bath-brick, 


Charles  DicV.cn* .] 


WHAT  TO  TAKE  TO  AUSTRALIA. 


385 


and  scrubbing-brush,  will  be  requisite  for 
every  steerage  or  intermediate  passenger 
in  private  ships.  The  hammer  and  tacks, 
with  a  few  yards  of  list,  are  most  useful. 
It  must  be  remembered  that  at  sea  every- 
thing not  made  fast  with  cords  or  nails  rolls 
about. 

Luggage  should  be  divided  thus :  First — 
Not  Wanted  on  Voyage ;  and  so  marked  in 
large  letters,  packed  in  sound,  watertight 
cases  or  baiTels.  Second — Wanted  on  Voyage  ; 
so  marked,  and  will  be  hauled  on  deck,  for 
which  cording  or  handle  is  needful,  about 
once  every  fortnight.  Third  —  For  Use  in 
Cabin  or  Berth  ;  for  this  last  purpose,  a  bag 
of  leather,  or  two  small  boxes  easily  lifted, 
will  be  found  most  convenient. 

As  to  ships  and  stores,  we  may  state  that 
good  ships  sail  from  all  our  ports,  and  bad 
ones.  First  see  that  the  ship  is  classed  in 
Lloyd's  Register  A  1,  or  at  any  rate  not 
lower  than  J&  in  red  ink  ;  .or,  as  it  is  called, 
the  red  diphthong.  Ships  not  so  classed 
may  be  fit  for  dry  or  damp  cargoes,  but  not 
for  live  souls.  There  is  no  especial  advan- 
tage in  a  very  large  ship  over  a  moderate 
size — say  from  five  hundred  to  seven  hundred 
tons  register — if  there  be  a  height  of  not 
less  than  six  feet  between  decks,  seven  feet 
being  better.  Ships  are  sometimes  adver- 
tised so  many  tons  burthen,  instead  of  re- 
gister ;  this  is  a  mere  clap-trap  deception. 
Tons  burthen  refer  to  cargoes  of  coal,  or 
ore  packed  in  bulk  ;  tons  register  are  the 
measurement  affecting  live  freight.  The  next 
point  is  ventilation.  Taking  a  berth  in  a 
ship  to  Australia  is  like  taking  apartments 
with  no  exit  for  four  months.  No  man  would 
consent  to  live  for  four  months  in  a  room 
without  a  window,  and  without  a  chimney 
for  the  escape  of  foul  air.  Many  fine  ships 
go  to  sea  with  passengers,  whose  berths  have 
no  windows  ;  that  is  to  say,  in  sea  language, 
scuttles  opening  upon  them,  and  no  air- 
pipes,  so  that  when  the  hatchways  are  shut 
down,  in  rough  weather,  the  passengers  stand 
the  risk  of  being,  if  not  quite  stifled,  half 
poisoned. 

By  a  very  simple  contrivance  at  a  trifling 
expense,  pipes  may  be  and  are  in  some  ships, 
arranged  to  bring  in  the  pure  air  and  carry 
off  the  foul  air  of  two  hundred  souls,  eating, 
drinking,  and  sleeping  "  down  stairs,"  as  ladies 
call  the  'tween  decks.  Attention  to  this 
point  is  essential  to  the  health  of  passengers, 
but  especially  to  that  of  young  children 
— and  young  children  are  great  incentives  to 
emigration.  Ships  carrying  Patent  Fuel  and 
other  foul  cargoes,  are  not  healthy  for  inter- 
mediate passengers — as  proved  by  an  arrival 
last  year  in  Adelaide  of  a  ship-load  of  sick 
passengers. 

As  to  provisions,  there  is  the  greatest  pos- 
sible difference,  and  the  passengers  must  trust 
much  to  the  respectability  of  the  ship-owners 
and  to  competition.  For  from  twenty  to 
twenty-five  pounds,  something  equal  to  the 


following  ought  to  be  supplied,  all  of  the  best 
quality : — 

Weekly  Dietary  Scale  for  each  Full-Grown  Person. 


Biscuit  .........  per  week  3  Ibs. 

Beef  ............  do.  J 

Pork  ............  do.  1 

Preserved  meat,  do.  1 

Soup  bouilli.  .  do.  1 

Fish  ............  do.  J 

Flour  .........  do.  3J 

Raisins   ......  do.  i 

Preserved  fruit,  do.  J 

Suet  ............  do.  60 


do.  f  of  a  pi 


Peas 

Rice  ............        do. 

Preserved  potatoes        |  , 
Carrots    ......        do.      I  , 


nt. 


Ib. 


do.  5  galls.  I  qt. 
Infant,  1  gal.  3  qts. 


A  wicker-covered  stone  or  glass  bottle  will 
be  found  handy  for  keeping  the  supply  of 
water.  Thirst  is  better  removed  by  washing 
out  the  mouth  and  lips  than  by  drinking, 
when  water  is  scarce.  Fathers  of  families, 
when  making  bargains  for  their  children, 
must  take  care,  or  they  will  get  only  half  or 
quarter-rations  for  growing  boys  and  girls, 
and  the  same  space  for  the  same  proportion 
of  price.  In  the  tropics,  the  children  are  con- 
stantly crying  for  drink. 

A  written  engagement  with  the  broker  is 
advisable,  specifying  the  name  of  ship  ;  date  at 
which  it  is  to  sail  from  London  and  Plymouth, 
or  other  port ;  the  exact  berth  or  cabin  ;  and 
the  scale  of  provisions,  and  the  quantity  of 
luggage  allowed,  exclusive  of  the  space  in  the 
cabin  or  berth,  which  ought  not  to  be  charged 
for.  All  this,  if  settled  with  a  respectable 
broker,  will  save  many  disputes.  Parties  have 
been  put  to  much  expense  by  being  com- 
pelled to  stay,  day  after  day,  at  the  port  of 
embarcation  at  an  hotel  or  lodging,  after 
the  date  fixed  by  advertisement  for  the  sail- 
ing of  the  ship.  The  amount  of  luggage 
allowed  each  passenger  is  calculated  by  super- 
ficial feet,  a  mysterious  mode  of  measurement 
to  the  uninitiated.  Some  brokers  include  in 
the  allowance  of  luggage  that  carried  in  the 
cabin : — a  most  unjustifiable  charge,  under 
which  a  gentleman  lately  found  a  man  in  hia 
cabin  measuring  not  only  his  cot  and  violin- 
case,  but  his  packets  of  lamp  candles. 

It  is  as  well  to  visit  the  ship  before  any  of 
your  baggage  is  sent  on  board,  and  see  that 
all  is  as  agreed  upon  ;  persons  going  on  board 
at  the  last  moment  have  found  their  chosen 
berths  in  the  possession  of  a  stranger,  and 
themselves  condemned  to  a  sort  of  Black-hole, 
without  air  or  light.  Second  class  and 
steerage  passengers  should  see  that  they 
have  some  room  for  exercise  after  the  cabin 
passengers  and  cargo  have  been  attended  to. 
En  some  ships  no  space  is  left.  An  airy 
cabin  for  a  hospital  is  an  essential  point. 

Among  extra  stores  for  comfort  on  the 
voyage,  it  is  well  to  name  effervescing 
powders,  a  few  pickles,  a  bottle  of  really  good 
lime  juice  (that  usually  supplied  to  emigrants 
is  horrible  stuff),  a  few  boxes  of  sardines  or 
anchovies  or  potted  herrings,  and  a  little  tea 
and  sugar  of  the  best  quality,  for  use  "when 


366 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  cook  or  steward  is  not  ready  to  serve  any 
out. 

On  the  day  the  ship  sails  there  is  often  so 
much  confusion,  and  the  cook  is  frequently  so 
drunk,  that  there  are  no  meals  to  be  hud  :  it 
is  therefore  well  to  provide  a  sort  of  pic-nic 
provision  in  a  basket  for  the  first  day's  dinner 
and  supper. 

With  these  precautions,  good-temper,  good- 
nature, and  a  quiet  tongue,  the  voyage  to 
Australia  may  be  made  pleasantly  and 
economically. 


A  PLAY  IN  A  GREAT  MANY  ACTS. 


I  TRUST  the  benevolent  reader  never  heard 
of  the  Sieur  Lonvay  De  Lasaussaye.  To 
biographical  dictionaries  of  all  times  and 
nations  he  is  utterly  unknown.  I  have  no 
knowledge  of  him  whatever.  He  may  have 
been  short  or  tall,  dark  or  fair ;  and  yet  he 
was  a  man  who  made  some  noise,  I  should 
think,  in  his  day.  In  his  own  opinion,  I 
happen  to  know,  he  was  one  of  the  cleverest 
fellows  in  France.  A  dramatic  poet  he  must 
have  been,  of  the  most  astonishing  perse- 
verance ;  a  prose  writer,  of  considerable  force 
and  neatness  ;  amiable,  if  fortune  had  been  a 
little  more  propitious  ;  but  almost  insane  in 
his  wrath  at  neglected  merit,  and  his  contempt 
for  the  theatrical  profession.  When  a  man  is 
insanely  angry,  and  has  the  power  of  ex- 
pressing his  anger,  he  is  certain  to  be  enter- 
taining ;  the  insanity  evaporates  tinder  the 
cold  treatment  of  types  and  ink,  and  only  the 
anger  remains.  All  the  people  he  speaks  of 
have  long  been  dead — actors  and  actresses, 
kings  and  gentlemen  of  the  chamber — and 
Lonvay  De  Lasaussaye  himself.  Of  him  he 
speaks  most  and  best — and  of  his  play  :  his 
one  play,  that  was  to  have  made  him  im- 
mortal and  rich  :  it  made  him  poor,  I  am 
afraid,  and  certainly  did  nothing  for  his  fame. 
No  man  knoweth  his  sepulchre.  All  that  has 
come  down  of  him  is  an  account  of  a  lawsuit 
in  which  he  was  engaged,  of  which  we  know 
neither  the  beginning  nor  the  end,  but  in 
which  we  learn  the  struggles,  fears,  hopes, 
vanities,  and  disappointments,  that  must  have 
made  him  old  before  his  time,  and  probably 
rendered  the  greater  part  of  his  life  unhappy. 
So,  Lonvay  De  Lasaussaye  assumes  a  human 
appearance,  and  becomes  known  to  us  as  the 
author  of  an  unsuccessful  drama.  The  records 
of  the  law  have  more  startling  incidents,  and 
more  deeply  involved  plots,  than  the  lawsuit 
of  our  playwriting  friend  ;  but  none  that  let 
us  so  entirely  into  the  inner  life  of  a  theatre, 
and  the  relations  existing  between  actor  and 
author,  as  the  "  Memoire  a,  consuher  "  of  the 
injured  Lonvay,  "  contre  la  Troupe  des  Come- 
diens  Fran^ais  ordinaifes  du  Roi." 

Their  offence  had,  indeed,  been  great.  With 
a  tremendous  exertion  of  wit  and  learning, 
the  plaintiff  had  written  a  play,  in  three  acts, 
and  in  prose,  called  "  Alcidonis ;  or,  a  Day  at 


Lacedsemon."  Correct  and  classical,  as  fitlod 
the  work  of  a  gentleman  and  scholar,  it  was 
sent  to  the  theatre  for  perusal ;  but  either  its 
Spartan  simplicity  did  not  please  the  per- 
formers, or  the  author  was  not  polite  enough 
to  the  favourite  actress,  or  the  manuscript 
was  difficult  to  read,  or  the  fates  in  some 
other  way  were  hostile  to  his  hopes,  and  for 
several  years  it  lay  neglected  in  the  prompter's 
drawer.  The  rules  of  the  Comeclie  Franchise 
required  a  new  piece  to  be  recommended  by 
some  one  actor  before  it  could  be  submitted 
to  the  general  company.  In  obedience  to  this 
rule  he  furnished  himself  with  a  patron — 
whose  patronage,  however,  seems  not  to  have 
been  of  the  most  active  kind — and  for  four 
years  left  no  art  untried  to  have  his  work 
brought  on  the  stage.  "The  patience  and 
politeness,"  he  says,  "which  are  natural  to 
me,  were  exhausted  by  this  long  delay.  Dis- 
gusted at  last  with  the  obstacles,  the  put-offs, 
the  lying  excuses,  with  which  I  was  encoun- 
tered, I  gave  up  all  chance  of  a  representation, 
and  determined  to  appeal  to  the  public 
against  the  partialities  and  injustice  of  the 
Theatre.  The  play  was  written  in  1761  ;  it 
was  sent  to  the  actors  in  1764 ;  I  printed  it 
in  1768." 

He  seems  to  have  "  shamed  the  rogues  "  by 
this  bold  proceeding.  "  The  journals,"  he 
says,  "  were  favourable,  and  the  interest  of  the 
actors,  less  blind  than  their  taste,  made  some 
of  them  think  that  "Alcidonis,"  after  all, 
might  not  be  unworthy  of  the  Theatre  Francais. 
But  from  one  misfortune  I  fell  into  another. 
Actors,  of  all  men,  have  the  greatest  amount 
of  vanity,  whether  because  they  are  foolish 
enough  to  confound  themselves  with  the  great 
personages  they  represent,  or  because  the 
perpetual  praise  they  meet  with  ends  by 
intoxicating  them.  This  I  sadly  experienced 
in  my  attempt  to  conciliate  their  good  humour, 
for  the  sake  of  my  play.  In  order  to  justify 
their  former  disapproval,  they  recommended 
the  most  absurd  alterations,  and  told  me  that 
if  these  were  done,  "  Alcidonis  "  should  cer- 
tainly be  played.  By  a  ridiculous  exchange 
of  places  between  actor  and  author,  the  most 
wretched  stick  considers  himself  qualified  to 
give  his  advice  on  the  composition  of  a  drama, 
as  if  a  few  hours'  strutting  on  the  stage 
entitled  an  ignoramus — and  the  general  run 
of  players  have  no  education  at  all — to  look 
down  on  the  greatest  efforts  of  the  human 
mind ;  and  actresses  are,  if  possible,  worse. 
The  embarrassment  of  my  situation  may 
easily  be  guessed.  I  had  only  to  choose 
between  the  most  ludicrous  suggestions  and 
the  rejection  of  my  play.  I  know  not  if  my 
docility  should  be  held  up  as  an  example  for 
writers  for  the  stage.  If  they  have  not  the 
courage  to  sacrifice  themselves  as  I  did,  they 
will  not  be  accepted  ;  if  they  do,  they  will  be 
disfigured.  For  me,  I  was  satisfied,  like  some 
heroic  soldier,  to  take  the  town  I  besieged, 
though  with  the  loss  of  an  arm  or  a  leg." 

At  this  point  of  the  narrative   we  feel  a 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  PLAY  IN  A  GREAT  MANY  ACTS. 


367 


glow  of  satisfaction.  Here,  after  a  seven  years' 
battle,  the  victory  is  gained.  We  shall  hurry 
off  to  the  theatre  and  await  impatiently  the 
rising  of  the  curtain.  "Alcidouis"  has  at 
length  achieved  the  object  of  her  life,  and  we 
shall  see  the  gallant  Spartans  in  their  habits 
as  they  lived,  and  perhaps  we  shall  at  last 
come  to  the  certain  knowledge  of  what  their 
black  broth  was  made  of.  The  reader  will 
scarcely  believe  that  we  have  five  more  years 
to  wait.  The  Sieur  Lonvay  De  Lasaussaye's 
hair  begins  to  get  grey.  He  has  poured  out 
his  life  into  those  three  acts.  He  has  made 
all  the  alterations  required.  The  comic  man 
has  become  sedate  and  lacrymose  to  suit  a 
new  performer  who  excels  in  the  solemn  ;  the 
short  kilt  of  another  has  been  changed  for  a 
flowing  toga,  as  the  performer  labours  under 
bandy  legs.  "  Alcidonis  "  is  advanced  in  years  ; 
for  her  representative  has  left  off  the  juvenile 
heroines,  and  undertakes  only  deserted  wives 
of  thirty-three,  or,  at  the  most,  maiden  ladies 
of  "twenty-seven.  The  original  hero  has  lost 
his  teeth,  and  now  is  the  "  heavy  father ; "  the 
original  child  of  twelve  years  old  is  now  twenty- 
four,  and  about  to  make  her  husband  happy 
for  the  third  time.  Twelve  years  have  changed 
everything  except  the  undying  ambition  of  the 
Sieur  Lonvay  and  the  unalterable  vanities  of 
the  corps  drainatique. 

"Three  times,"  he  says,  "they  had  promised 
me  to  bring  out  the  play  ;  three  times  they 
had  made  me  pay  for  the  music  and  the 
writing  out  of  the  parts  ;  and  three  times 
they  forfeited  their  words  on  different 
pretexts.  Sometimes  it  was  a  debut  that  had 
to  take  place  ;  sometimes  it  was  something 
else. 

"  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  every  sacrifice  ; 
and  my  facility  only  made  the  actors  worse. 
Some  threw  up  their  parts  without  any 
reason ;  some  on  the  most  ridiculous  pre- 
tences ;  and  others  did  not  scruple  to  insult 
me  in  the  grossest  manner.  But  worse  than 
this,  they  ran  me  into  the  most  absurd  ex- 
penses. I  had  recommended,  for  instance, 
that  no  gold  or  silver  should  appear  among 
the  Spartans.  This  was  in  strict  accordance 
with  history,  of  which,  however,  the  per- 
formers were,  probably,  profoundly  ignorant ; 
but  there  was  a  stronger  reason  for  it  than 
this — that  the  very  plot  of  the  piece  depends 
on  the  Lacedaemonian  Law,  by  which  no  free- 
man is  permitted  to  wear  either  silver  or  gold. 
What  do  you  think  they  did  to  conform  to 
this  recommendation  ?  They  bespangled  the 
dresses  of  my  characters.  Instead  of  bucklers 
of  copper,  and  spears  tipt  with  iron,  they  gave 
them  coats  of  armour  brilliantly  gilt  or 
silvered  ;  and  to  complete  the  absurdity,  they 
ornamented  the  warriors'  shields  with  rubies 
and  precious  stones." 

Poor,  vain,  harassed,  pompous,  and  most  ill- 
used  Sieur  Lonvay  De  Lasaussaye !  after  eighty 
years  of  oblivion,  to  have  all  your  griefs  and 
oppressions  recorded  by  your  own  hand ! 
Delayed  for  twelve  years  ;  insulted  by  the 


actors  ;  mimicked  by  the  candle-snuffers,  and 
held  in  hopeless  contempt  by  the  call-boy ; 
how  strong  within  you  must  have  glowed  the 
love  of  dramatic  fame  !  What  visions  by  night 
and  day  must  have  risen  before  you  of 
shouting  theatres  ;  the  boxes  crowded,  the 
pit  rising  in  a  tempest  of  excitement,  like  a 
great  sea  in  storm,  the  galleries  tumultuous, 
and  the  treasurer  drawing  an  enormous 
cheque  to  repay  you  for  all  your  troubles, 
sorrows,  insults,  and  disappointments.  I  will 
merely  call  the  reader's  attention  to  the 
painful  fact,  that  the  recalcitrant  company 
had  it  in  its  power  to  ruin  the  aspiring 
author  by  the  costliness  of  dresses  and  decora- 
tions, of  which,  it  will  appear  in  the  sequel, 
a  large  proportion  fell  to  his  share.  I  pass 
on,  in  the  meantime,  to  the  result  of  this 
incubation  of  so  many  years. 

"  After  such  tricks  and  insolences,  at  last 
came  the  day  of  execution  ;  eh !  Dieu"  he 
adds,  "  quelle  execution  !  Every  word  that 
had  been  left  in  my  play  as  it  was  written, 
and  had  been  printed  in  1768,  was  listened 
to  with  great  applause  ;  all  that  the  comedians 
had  added  or  altered  was  very  ill  received. 
The  greater  part  of  the  actors,  being  hostile 
to  me,  mumbled  their  parts  rather  .than  spoke 
them,  or  gave  a  different  meaning  to  my 
words.  One  of  them  came  up  to  me  and  had 
the  politeness  to  express  a  very  unfavourable 
opinion  of  my  play.  I  replied  that  many 
persons  of  sense  and  talent  thought  quite 
otherwise.  '  Oh,  then,'  said  he,  '  it  follows 
that  I  am  a  fool !  '  The  logical  conclusion 
was  so  evident,  that  I  had  nothing  to  say 
against  it,  and  left  him  to  the  enjoyment  of 
his  reasoning  powers.  Another,  on  giving 
out  the  play  for  future  representation,  dex- 
terously misplaced  his  words,  and  produced 
a  great  shout  of  laughter  by  announcing, 
instead  of  a  new  piece  in  prose,  a  piece  in  new 
prose.  It  was  a  poor  triumph,  I  thought,  and 
many  persons  of  my  acquaintance  were  greatly 
offended  at  his  buffoonery.  However,  it  was 
acted  four  nights.  I  then  wished  to  with- 
draw it  for  alterations  and  restorations.  They 
persisted  in  running  it  the  fifth  night,  and 
declared  it  was  forfeited  to  them  by  the  rules 
of  the  theatre,  and  that  I  had  no  farther 
property  in  my  own  play." 

Up  to  this  point  the  Sieur  Lonvay  has 
evidently  the  worst  of  it.  Alcidonis,  I  have 
no  doubt,  was  as  stupid  and  unimpassioned  as 
Lycurgus  could  desire  ;  but  there  seems  little 
room  for  a  law-suit,  even  under  the  advice  of 
a  jury  of  attornies.  Now,  however,  comes 
the  curious  part  of  this  antediluvian  process. 
The  laws  regulating  the  Theatre  Francais 
are  quoted  as  if  they  were  Acts  of  Parliament. 
The  mode  in  which  authors  were  paid  is 
clearly  expressed,  and  it  is  for  the  purpose  of 
giving  these  and  other  details  illustrative  of 
the  stage  of  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  that  I  have 
unrolled  the  dramatic  mummy,  and  made  him 
once  more  revisit  the  glimpses  of  the  lamps. 

In  the  days  of  our  fathers,  the  Reynolds' 


368 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[.Conducted  by 


and  Inchbalds  were  paid  by  the  net  receipts 
of  the  third,  ninth,  and  twentieth  nights,  as 
might  be  agreed  on  between  them  and  the 
manager ;  at  the  present  time  an  author  ia 
paid  either  by  a  sum  of  money  at  once,  or  by 
an  amount  spread  over  a  certain  number  of 
nights  ;  and  in  all  cases  the  power  of  ceasing 
to  present  the  play  is  in  the  hands  of  the 
management.  If  the  sum  be  three  hundred 
pounds,  spread  over  thirty  nights,  should  the 
run  be  so  long,  it  is  clear  that  the  theatre 
must  produce  ten  pounds  a  night  above  its 
usual  receipts,  in  order  to  secure  the  author 
his  payment.  But  in  Paris  the  case  was 
different.  The  manager  and  the  actors  had 
nothing  to  do  with  the  price  of  the  play,  or 
the  number  of  nights  it  might  run.  A  rescript 
of  the  king  in  1757  transferred  the  entire 
direction  of  the  Theatre  to  the  First  Gentle- 
men of  the  Chamber.  They  were  to  legislate 
as  well  as  govern ;  and,  in  a  short  time,  a 
code  of  laws  was  published  by  which  the 
interests,  rights,  and  duties,  of  all  parties  were 
clearly  denned. 

A  play,  in  five  acts,  was  paid  every  night  a 
ninth  part  of  the  clear  receipts ;  in  three 
acts,  a  twelfth  ;  and  in  one  act,  an  eighteenth. 
The  clear  receipts  were  the  amount  in  the 
theatre,  exclusive  of  one  fourth  which  went 
to  the  poor  and  the  hospitals,  the  nightly 
expenses  of  the  house,  and  the  payment  of  such 
supernumeraries — soldiers,  citizens,  nobles, 
and  others — as  were  required  in  the  drama. 

If,  however,  it  happened  that  any  two  nights 
consecutively,  or  any  three  nights  in  the 
course  of  its  run,  the  clear  receipts  fell  below 
twelve  hundred  francs,  the  property  in  the 
piece  escheated  to  the  company. 

But  here  there  seems  a  great  oversight  in 
the  First  Gentlemen  of  the  Chamber.  There 
was  no  check-taker  appointed  to  see  what  the 
receipts  were ;  and  differences  must  often 
have  arisen  from  the  want  of  an  officer  of  the 
kind.  In  the  case  of  our  friend  the  Sienr 
Lonvay,  there  arose  a  tremendous  conflict 
between  the  accounts.  The  comedians  sent 
in  a  bill,  making  so  many  deductions  for 
ordinary  and  extraordinary  expenses,  inclusive 
of  gilded  Lacedaemonian  shields,  that  the  un- 
happy author,  on  the  first  four  nights'  balance 
sheet,  was  brought  in  a  debtor  of  one  hundred 
and  one  francs,  eight  sous. 

He  discovered  an  omission  in  the  comedians' 
summary,  which  turned  the  tables  on  them 
with  a  vengeance.  They  had  given  no  credit 
for  the  private  boxes,  which,  though  taken  by 
the  year,  clearly,  in  law  and  equity,  ought 
to  be  counted  at  their  proportionate  value 
each  night.  This  not  only  squared  the  account, 
but  brought  in  the  Sieur  Lonvay  a  creditor 
to  the  extent  of  seven  hundred  and  nineteen 
fruncs,  ten  sous.  This  also  raised  the  nightly 
receipts  above  the  fatal  sum  of  twelve 
hundred  francs  each  representation  ;  and  a 
lawsuit  seems  to  have  been  entered  into,  that 
in  all  likelihood  lasted  longer  than  his  twelve 
years'  siege  of  the  stage,  to  determine  to 


which  of  the  contending  parties  the  play  of 
"  Alcidonis  "  belonged. 

Let  us  dip  into  the  green-room  of  the 
Frangais  in  1770,  and  see  how  an  author  waa 
received,  and  the  ordeal  he  had  (and,  we 
believe,  still  has)  to  pass.  The  forty-sixth 
clause  of  the  theatrical  code  provides  that 
the  stage  manager  shall  furnish  each  actor 
and  actress  with  three  beans  ;  one  white, 
for  approval,  one  black,  for  rejection,  and 
one  coloured,  for  acceptance  with  altera- 
tions. "  When  each  performer,  in  order  of 
seniority,  shall  have  discussed  the  merits  of 
the  play,  or  made  such  suggestions  as  the 
reading  has  given  rise  to,  the  decision  shall  be 
taken  by  ballot,  and  the  result  communicated 
to  the  author. 

"  If  any  changes  have  been  proposed  they 
shall  be  explained  to  the  author  by  the  stage 
manager. 

"  If  the  author  submits  to  these  recom- 
mendations, he  can  demand  a  second  reading 
under  the  same  regulations  as  the  former ; 
and  the  decision  will  be  given  at  once  by  a 
white  or  black  bean. 

"After  this,  if  the  play  is  accepted,  the 
Comedians  must  fix  a  day  for  bringing  it  out, 
and  keep  to  their  agreement  on  pain  of  a 
severe  fine." 

A  dreadful  trial  had  our  poor  friend  the 
Sieur  Lonvay  to  go  through.  Imagine  him 
present  at  the  reading — the  object  of  intense 
dissatisfaction  to  the  whole  assembly,  listen- 
ing to  the  disparaging  remarks  of  the  young 
lover,  and  the  second  old  man,  and  the  black- 
eyed  chambermaid,  and  the  first  Tragedienne. 
Think  how  he  listened  to  the  rattle  of  the 
beans  as  they  fell  like  lumps  of  ice  into  the 
box.  Then,  after  all  this  agony,  remember 
his  four  nights  of  doubtful  success  ;  his  fifth 
of  indubitable  failure ;  his  years  of  wrangle 
about  the  money ;  his  lawsuit  for  all  his 
days — and  wonder,  not  at  the  decadence  of  the 
stage,  but  that  any  human  being  has  th® 
supernatural  courage  to  compose  a  play  ! 


CHINA  WITH   A  FLAW  IN  IT. 


THE  case  of  Pien-tih  (Celestial  Virtue) 
versus  Yih-chu,  Emperor  of  China,  which  is 
at  present  being  argued  in  the  central  land, 
may  be  decided  in  a  way  that  will  affect  very 
much  the  interests  of  E'uropean  nations.  The 
plot  of  a  drama  that  is  now  being  performed 
in  Asia,  the  story  of  a  formidable  effort  to 
subvert  the  Tartar  dynasty,  and  place  a  pure 
Chinese  upon  the  throne  of  China,  should  be 
well  known  to  the  English,  since  Britannia 
takes  a  large  part  in  the  play.  Britannia 
has  just  now  engagements  as  a  leading  actress 
in  more  Asiatic  performances  than  one ; 
although  the  theatre  of  which  we  are  just 
now  about  to  speak,  is  one  upon  whose  stage 
she  is  not  known  to  be  at  present  acting. 

Two  hundred  and  ten  years  ago,  a  super- 
stitious, weak  man,  the  last  emperor  of  the 
Chinese  dynasty  of  Ming,  wrote  upon  paper 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CHINA  WITH  A  FLAW  IN  IT. 


3G9 


his  distress  at  the  loss  of  his  empire,  pitied 
his  subjects,  condemned  his  mandarins  to 
death,  then  hacked  his  daughter's  arm  in  a 
high-minded  attempt  to  kill  her ;  and  going 
out  into  the  imperial  garden,  hung  himself 
upon  a  tree.  His  prime  minister  hung  him- 
self, and  his  wives  hung  themselves  in  pious 
emulation.  The  Mantchou  Tartar,  who  with 
a  seven-pointed  charter  of  grievances  had 
invaded  China,  held  possession  of  the  throne. 
Eighty  thousand  men,  and  women,  and 
children,  of  the  reigning  race  of  Ming, 
perished  in  the  lifetime  of  a  generation. 

A  Tartar  dynasty  was  seated  on  the  throne, 
and  ordered  Chinamen,  on  penalty  of  death, 
to  shave  their  heads  like  Tartars,  and  acquire 
a  pride  in  pigtails.  Before  that  time  the 
Chinese  were  proud  of  cultivating  long  black 
hair  ;  and  one  of  the  names,  says  Semedo,  by 
which  China  was  known  among  neighbours, 
was  the  Kingdom  of  the  Black-Haired 
People.  Many  resisting  the  obnoxious  order 
would  not  allow  their  hair  to  be  cut  at  the 
roots,  but  preferred  that  the  entire  head 
should  be  taken  with  it ;  nevertheless,  in 
time  the  custom  spread,  and  as  the  Tartar 
dynasty  retained  its  seat  upon  the  throne,  the 
enforced  practice  of  head-shaving  came  to  be 
quietly  followed  as  a  necessary  national 
observance. 

Until  this  time,  the  Tartars  have  retained 
their  place  ;  but  at  this  time  it  is  doubtful 
how  far  they  retain  their  power.  Here  are 
men  declaring  that  the  race  of  Ming  is  not 
extinct,  and  that  they  will  restore  it  to  its  old 
position  ;  one  of  the  rebel  chiefs,  throwing  his 
tail  to  the  winds,  and  burying  his  razor, 
triumphs  in  the  epithet  of  hairy.  On  the 
pages  of  a  history  of  China,  dynasty  is  to  be 
seen  following  dynasty — two  hundred  years 
make  a  fair  term  to  the  power  of  a  single 
race  in  an  empire  that  is,  on  the  whole,  brisk 
at  rebellion.  It  will  not  be  wonderful,  there- 
fore, if  in  our  own  immediate  day  the  London 
newspapers  inform  us  suddenly  some  morning, 
that  the  young  Tartar  emperor,  Yih-chu,  has 
been  ousted  by  a  rival  of  pure  Chinese  blood. 
The  existing  chances  are  against  Yih-chu,  and 
certainly  in  favour  of  the  rebels. 

The  Emperor  Taou-kwang,  who  succeeded 
Kia-king  in  1821,  was  troubled  like  his  pre- 
decessor with  plots  and  dissensions  in  his 
empire,  but  in  his  reign  there  occurred  the 
mightiest  event  in  Chinese  history — the  war 
with  England.  That  war,  in  its  origin,  was 
not  a  great  matter  for  boasting,  and  in  its 
progress  offered  so  little  trouble  to  the  British 
arms,  was  so  purely  and  literally  an  illustra- 
tion of  the  threadbare  proverb  about  a  bull 
in  a  china  shop,  that  it  will  suffice  if  Mr.  Bull 
exalts  his  horns  the  least  part  of  an  inch  in 
triumph  over  what  he  has  been  doing.  The 
introduction  into  China  of  European  civilisa- 
tion, the  opening  of  the  country  to  missionaries 
and  merchants,  has  been  comfortably  looked 
upon  by  European  nations  as  a  blessing  more 
than  an  equivalent  for  any  losses  that  the 


Chinese  may  have  had.  The  government  of 
China  has  been  beaten  and  beggared,  but  if 
its  wits  be  brightened,  what  of  that  ?  For  an 
Asiatic  state  to  be  well  thrashed  by  Europeans 
must  conduce  greatly  to  its  future  good,  and 
to  the  total  prospects  of  humanity. 

Taking  the  matter,  however,  on  its  own 
ground,  we  are  disposed  to  doubt  whether 
the  evil  of  the  Chinese  war  will  lead  to  so 
much  good  as  our  conceit  in  the  character  of 
Europeans  caused  us  to  imagine.  No  wonders 
have  happened  in  the  way  of  commerce  with 
the  external  world,  and  the  internal  state  of 
China,  since  the  war,  and  in  consequence  of 
the  war,  seems  to  have  become  utterly 
wretched.  We  have  at  hand  a  work  lately 

Eublished  by  our  excellent  plenipotentiary 
ir  John  F.  Davis  upon  "  China  during  the 
war  and  since  the  peace."  Depending  for 
recent  facts  upon  this  trustworthy  informant, 
we  propose  now  to  make  out  as  concisely  as- 
we  can  the  chain  of  events  by  which  the  opium 
war  is  connected  with  the  internal  distrac- 
tions of  the  Chinese  empire,  and  the  struggle 
between  Yih-chu  and  Tien-tih,  which  remains 
at  this  hour,  probably,  undecided. 

Before  the  war  with  England  the  Chinese 
were  very  ignorant  of  European  ways,  and 
knew  little  or  nothing  of  European  geography. 
They  had  no  clearer  idea  of  the  distance 
between  Manchester  and  Liverpool,  than 
many  of  us  have  of  the  distance  between 
Ladak  and  Penjinsk.  At  the  first  coming  of 
the  English  with  a  hostile  front,  Yukien, 
governor  of  Keang-soo — to  the  Keang-soo- 
people  our  ignorance  of  their  province  might 
seem  very  laughable — Yukien  declared  "I 
look  upon  these  enemies  as  mere  bulrushes, 
having  from  my  youth  upwards  read  military 
treatises,  and  spread  the  terror  of  my  name 
myriads  of  miles  through  Turkistan."  If  the 
English  "  dare  to  come  to  our  shores,"  he- 
says,  "they  will  be  like  the  moth  in  the 
candle,  or  the  fish  in  the  net."  Nobody  is  t& 
let  himself  be  disturbed  about  these  robbers, 
"  who  will  instantly  be  put  down  by  the-' 
military." 

The  lesson  taught  to  the  Chinese  by  contest 
with  European  power,  when  they  themselves 
proved  to  be  moths  in  the  candle  and  fishes 
in  the  net,  may,  from  some  points  of  view,  be 
considered  salutary,  but  as  the  examples  are 
so  very  rare  (if  there  be  any)  of  benefit  that 
has  accrued  to  natives  by  the  succumbing  of 
their  country  before  European  power,  with  all 
our  self-contentment  we  may  feel  a  doubt 
whether  the  blessings  of  war  have  been 
realised  by  the  Chinese,  and  whether  it  is  not 
by  quieter  and  purer  methods  that  the  real 
influence  of  civilisation  has  to  be  extended. 

Some  of  the  Chinese  in  their  ignorance  even 
conceived  the  idea  of  removing  the  seat  of  war 
to  London.  "  The  Russians,"  said  one  of  their 
writers,  "  are  now  our  friends  ;  their  territory 
is  not  very  far  from  the  English,  and  joins 
ours.  We  should,  therefore,  spend  thirty 
millions  of  taels  in  raising  a  daring  army,  and- 


370 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


march  directly  through  the  Russian  country 
to  England.  By  carrying  the  war  home  to 
them,  and  occupying  their  own  country,  we 
should  for  ever  banish  them  from  our  shores." 
Doubtless  the  writer  had  in  his  mind  a  fine 
picture  of  a  Chinese  army  scaling  London 
Wall.  As  for  the  English  army  on  the 
Chinese  coast,  the  Emperor  directed  Keshen 
to  send  "  the  heads  of  the  rebellious  barbarians 
to  Peking  in  baskets ;"  and  Keshen  judiciously 
replied  :  "  I  bear  them  many  a  grudge  for  the 
difficulties  with  which  they  have  surrounded 
me,  and  only  abide  my  time  for  exterminating 
them — whenever  it  can  be  done." 

Before  the  Opium  War  the  Chinese  people 
were  not  allowed  to  carry  firearms,  or  to 
purchase  iron,  except  under  restrictions  which 
•would  put  a  check  on  its  conversion  into 
weapons.  During  the  war  the  exigencies  of 
defence  caused  the  authorities  to  urge  the 
people  into  troops  of  volunteer  militia.  The 
bad  fighting  of  the  Chinese  soldiers,  and  the 
absurdly  vainglorious  misrepresentations  of 
the  Chinese  leaders,  are  sufficiently  notorious. 
The  armed  people  became  in  a  large  pro- 
portion plunderers,  who  took  advantage  of 
all  hours  of  licence  for  the  commission  of 
detestable  excesses.  The  experience  of  the 
English  in  the  Chinese  War  led  them  very 
much  to  prefer  the  Tartars  to  the  native 
Chinamen  ;  they  were  both  braver  and  more 
reasonable  enemies.  "  Throughout  the  war 
and  subsequent  pacification,"  says  Sir  John 
Davis,  "  the  implacable  hostility,  the  ob- 
stinate persistence,  and  unwillingness  to  yield 
a  single  point,  were,  with  only  a  few  ex- 
ceptions, displayed  by  the  mandarins  of 
CHINESE  extraction ;  while  the  moderate 
advice,  and  ultimately  the  peace  itself,  were 
the  work  of  Mantchou  TARTARS."  If  it  should 
hereafter  appear,  as  possibly  it  may,  that  the 
chief  result  of  the  Opium  War  is  the  over- 
throw of  Tartar  influence,  and  the  restoration 
of  the  dynasty  of  Ming,  or  any  other  set  of 
Chinese  emperors,  then  it  will  be  pretty 
certain  that  the  prospects  of  a  friendly  com- 
merce with  China  have  not  been  cleared, 
but  rather  clouded,  by  our  thunder. 

The  arming  of  the  people  was  the  first  step 
towards  the  internal  contest  that  is  just  now 
occupying  Tartars  and  Chinese.  Many  such 
proclamations  as  the  following,  by  Yukien, 
were  issued  during  the  war  :  "  The  barbarians 
have  become  outrageous,  taken  possession  of 
Tinghae,  slain  our  mandarins  and  soldiers, 
and  committed  such  excesses  as  to  raise  a 
general  indignation  against  them.  You,  the 
inhabitants  of  these  districts,  have  always 
been  famed  for  bravery,  and  I  now  call 
upon  the  strongest  and  most  martial  among 
you,  to  take  up  arms  on  your  own  account  in 
order  to  repel  the  enemy.  Assemble  from  your 
villages  with  every  possible  weapon,  and  repair 
to  this  station,  that  I  may  despatch  you  to 
accomplish  the  work  of  destruction.  Every 
one  enlisting  in  the  militia  will  receive  three 
hundred  tchen  a  day  "  (something  under  two 


shillings),  "  and  honours  and  emoluments 
will  wait  those  who  can  kill  the  foreign 
banditti." 

Robbers  on  land  and  pirates  on  the  sea, 
more  numerous  than  they  had  ever  before 
been,  pillaged  and  murdered  their  more 
quiet  countrymen  after  the  conclusion  of  the 
peace.  Against  the  humiliation  implied  by 
the  terms  of  peace  the  war  party,  headed  by 
the  literati,  protested  loudly.  "  An  army," 
said  one  of  them  to  the  Emperor,  "  has  re- 
treated along  the  banks  of  the  Yang-tse- 
Kiaug  ;  the  Great  Canal  is  in  the  possession 
of  the  enemy ;  and  the  Commissioners  even 
dare  to  report  that  Nanking  would  not  be 
tenable  !  Instead  of  inspiring  awe  and  terror, 
they  lose  themselves  utterly  in  fear  and 
trepidation,  and  engage  to  pay  the  English 
above  twenty  millions  in  dollars — a  sum  which 
is  nearly  a  year's  revenue.  They,  moreover, 
open  to  them  five  ports,  and  eerie  territory  in 
order  to  obtain  peace.  In  addition  to  this, 
they  likewise  crave  that  the  conventions 
which  they  have  concluded  may  have  the 
impress  of  the  imperial  seal,  just  as  if  a 
debtor  were  going  to  give  a  bond,  or  the 
seller  of  property  drawing  up  a  deed  !  Can 
such  men  be  aware  of  what  dynasty  they 
serve  ;  and  will  not  the  tributary  states  on 
hearing  of  this,  look  with  contempt  upon 
China  1  This  is  the  detriment  which  has 
accrued  to  the  majesty  of  the  empire." 

The  detriment  which  has  accrued  to  the 
majesty  of  the  empire  has  brought  the  im- 
perial power  into  contempt.  The  people, 
during  the  Opium  War,  heard  the  great  boast- 
ings of  the  generals,  and  saw  how  constantly 
they  ran  away  ;  they  felt  that  the  Emperor 
could  not  defend  them,  and  they  who  were 
themselves  in  arms  felt  that  for  all  excesses 
that  they  might  commit,  and  did  commit, 
there  was  no  law  strong  enough  to  bring 
them  to  account.  Authority  fell  into  con- 
tempt. The  cost  of  the  defence  against  the 
English  taxed  to  the  utmost  the  imp< 
resources  ;  and  when  they  were  still  further 
taxed  during  the  peace  to  pay  for  the  expense 
of  the  attack  by  which  they  had  been  subdued, 
the  Emperor  was  fairly  smothered  with  pecu- 
niary difficulties,  and  forced  into  shifts  and 
schemes  of  the  most  perilous  description. 
We  will  trace  presently  the  consequences 
which  have  followed  upon  such  beginnings  of 
the  peace.  Before  we  inquire,  however,  in 
how  far  China  is  the  worse  for  the  late 
war — let  us  see  by  how  much  Europe  is  the 
better. 

By  the  commercial  treaty  between  England 
and  China,  it  was  provided,  on  the  one  hand, 
that  the  advantages  secured  by  it  to  one 
European  state  were  to  be  the  common  pro- 
perty of  all  ;  and  on  the  other  hand  it  was 
stipulated,  that  any  future  additional  advan- 
tages that  might  be  granted  to  another  state 
should  be  considered  as  extending  to  the 
English  also.  The  chief  commercial  objec- 
tions to  the  nature  of  our  former  intercourse 


Charles  Dickens.l 


CHINA  WITH  A  FLAW  IN  IT. 


371 


with  China  that  have  been  removed  by  the 
English  treaty,  were  the  following  : — 

1.  The  confinement  of  trade  to  the  single 
port  of  Canton,  at  the  southern  extremity  of 
China,  far  from  the  tea  districts. 

It  was  provided  by  the  treaty,  that  four 
ports  should  be  open  to  our  trade  in  addition 
to  Canton :  Amoy  and  Foo-chow-foo  in  Fokien 
province,  Ning-po  in  Che-keang  and  Shanghae 
in  Keang-nan. 

2.  The  restriction  of  the  privilege  of  trading 
with  foreigners  to   a  small  body  of  Canton 
monopolists  called  the  Hong  merchants. 

It  was  provided  by  the  treaty  that  the 
privileges  of  Hong  merchants  should  cease, 
and  that  we  should  trade  at  the  five  ports 
with  anybody. 

3.  The  oppressive  burthens  upon  foreign 
trade  and  fiscal  regulations  generally. 

It  was  provided  by  the  treaty  that  there 
should  be  a  fair  and  permanent  tariff  on  ex- 
port and  import  duties.  On  this  head  it 
ought  to  be  noted,  that  no  article  at  present 
entering  China  is  taxed  by  the  Chinese  at 
more  than  five  per  cent,  of  its  value,  while 
we  repress  with  a  duty  of  two  hundred  per 
cent,  the  admission  of  tea  into  England. 

4.  Inequality  of   the   Chinese  law   in  its 
beaiing  upon  foreigners  and  natives. 

It  was  provided  by  the  treaty  that  the 
subjects  of  England  in  China  should  be 
amenable  only  to  English  law,  under  direc- 
tion of  consuls  at  the  five  ports,  and  the 
plenipotentiary. 

5.  Conceits    of   superiority    displayed    by 
the    Chinese    in    holding    intercourse    with 
foreigners. 

It  was  provided  by  the  treaty  that  officers 
of  similar  rank  in  the  two  countries  should 
correspond  on  terms  of  perfect  equality. 

The  treaty  obtained  by  the  Americans  in- 
cluded all  these  points,  and  added  a  few 
business  privileges  to  which  the  English  by 
their  compact  then  became  also  entitled.  It 
was  provided  for  example, — 

That  a  vessel  having  once  paid  her  tonnage 
dues,  might  go  from  one  of  the  five  ports  to 
another,  without  being  required  to  pay  them 
a  second  time. 

That  a  vessel  might  remain  two  days 
at  any  of  the  five  ports  without  paying  ton- 
nage dues,  if  she  discharged  none  ot  her  cargo. 

That  any  merchant  ship-,  having  landed  her 
cargo  and  paid  the  duties  thereon,  might 
re-ship  any  portion  of  the  landed  goods  and 
take  them  to  another  port  for  sale,  with  a 
certificate  exempting  them  from  a  second  pay- 
ment of  duties. 

That  Chinese  subjects  might  teach  the  lan- 
guage of  the  country,  and  that  the  free  pur- 
chase of  all  Chinese  books  might  be  legalised. 

In  the  French  treaty,  there  was  included 
another  important  article,  namely,  that  ships  of 
war,  cruising  for  the  protection  of  commerce, 
should  be  received  in  a  friendly  manner  not 
only  in  the  five,  but  in  all  ports  of  China  at 
which  they  might  touch. 


It  was  further  agreed  on  all  sides,  that 
twelve  years  after  the  exchange  of  ratifica- 
tions, the  treaty  might  be  revised  through 
ministers  appointed  for  that  purpose  by  the 
respective  governments.  This  revision  of  the 
Chinese  treaty  will  become  due,  therefore,  in. 
the  year  1855,  and  the  peaceful  accord  of  the 
chief  European  states  in  making  their  re- 
quests for  the  alteration  of  such  plans  as  have 
not  been  found  to  work  well  in  practice,  may 
lead  to  very  good  results,  if  the  internal  con- 
dition of  China  be  not  by  that  time  too 
seriously  altered  for  the  worse. 

Eussia  has  increased  her  overland  trade 
with  China  on  the  north  ;  Chinese  and  Usbeck 
merchants  meet  the  Russian  traders  at 
Kiachta  and  Kokand,  where  the  Russians  sell 
at  a  loss  large  quantities  of  thick  blue  cloth, 
to  buy  in  return  tea  that  will  produce  an 
ample  profit.  After  traversing  deserts,  huge 
piles,  yearly  increasing,  of  this  Russian  cloth 
are  to  be  found  for  sale  in  Chinese  shops  at 
an  exceedingly  low  price.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  tea  and  brick  tea  bought  at  Kiachta  for 
seven  million  dollars,  will  realise  eighteen 
millions  at  the  fair  of  Nischegorod,  and  so  the 
Russian  merchants  are  well  satisfied.  Russia 
has  courteously  made  it  death  to  introduce 
opium  over  the  land  frontiers  into  China. 
The  opium  trade  along  the  coast  has  been 
connived  at,  though  not  legalised,  by  the 
Chinese  Government  ever  since  the  war. 
Russia  declines  to  trade  by  sea  to  the  five 
open  ports.  Its  establishment  at  Pekin  for 
acquiring  the  language  has  been  enlarged 
into  a  political  centre,  and  a  diplomatic  envoy 
from  Russia,  it  is  said,  has  taken  up  a  good 
position  in  the  Chinese  capital.  Possibly,  in 
1855,  we  too  may  ask  leave  to  have  a  political 
resident  established  at  Pekin. 

Our  trade  with  China,  since  the  war,  has 
not  increased  with  any  great  rapidity.  The 
Chinese  authorities  do  what  they  can  to  force 
the  teas  down  to  the  port  of  Canton,  where 
the  people  are  riotous,  the  geographical  situa- 
tion is  inconvenient,  and  the  harbour  ia  bad  ; 
ships  cannot  approach  the  town  itself,  but 
anchor  at  Whampoa,  eight  or  nine  miles 
lower  down.  Canton  being,  moreover,  the  old 
trading  port  to  which  old-fashioned  traders, 
whose  ideas  run  in  a  groove,  have  always 
been  accustomed,  ships  are  still  sent  out  to 
Canton,  that  might  be  dispatched  much  more 
wisely  to  Shanghae. 

During  the  first  four  years  after  the  open- 
ing of  the  ports,  the  value  of  British  exports 
and  imports  to  and  from  Canton,  fell  from 
seven  or  eight  to  five  or  six  millions  sterling. 
The  exports  and  imports  to  and  from  Amoy 
never  reached  two  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
Foo-chow-foo,  which  was  granted  by  the 
Chinese  with  difficulty,  was  found  absolutely 
worthless  as  a  port.  It  was  occasionally  tried 
in  1845,  and  then  abandoned  by  the  traders 
altogether.  At  Niugpo,  the  exports  and  im- 
ports were  worth,  in  1844,  a  sum  of  about  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds,  which  dropped  in 


372 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  next  year  to  twenty-seven  thousand,  and 
was  only  twelve  thousand  in  1847.  Shanghae, 
little  tried  in  1844,  was  soon  found  to  be  by 
far  the  best  of  the  five  ports.  It  is  near  the 
tea  districts,  the  inhabitants  are  very  friendly, 
and  the  ships  can  ride  close  under  the  town. 
The  value  of  British  trade  at  Shanghae  was 
represented  by  about  two  millions  in  the  year 
1845,  but  in  1847  it  had  not  increased.  At 
the  end  of  the  first  four  years  after  the  ratifi- 
.  cation  of  our  commercial  treaty  with  China, 
the  exports  and  imports  had  not  increased  at 
all,  but  were  in  the  last  year  of  the  period  a 
hundred  and  thirty-five  thousand,  nine  hun- 
dred and  twenty-eight  pounds  less  than  in  the 
first.  Perhaps  when  the  treaty  comes  to  be 
revised,  we  may  get  another  port  or  two  in 
place  of  the  stagnating  Ning-po,  and  the 
stagnant  Foo-chow-foo.  At  present,  however, 
it  is  very  certain  that  the  commercial  gain 
to  this  country  following  upon  our  war  with 
China  has  yet  to  be  realized.  We  are  scarcely 
richer  for  the  cannonading  of  the  mat-forts 
and  the  sinking  of  the  nutshell  fleets  ;  let  us 
turn  now  to  the  Chinese,  and  see  how  much 
they  are  the  better  for  our  European  lessons 
from  the  cannon's  mouth. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  arming  of  large 
masses  of  the  Chinese  people  into  a  militia, 
and  of  the  prostration  of  the  powers  of  the 
Chinese  government.  The  leaders  of  the 
popular  force  against  the  English  at  Canton, 
trained  their  followers  and  instituted  demo- 
cratic assemblages  for  the  discussion  of  state 
matters,  and  re-organisation  of  measures  of 
defence.  They  who  entered  these  associations 
no  longer  obeyed  the  government  officers,  but 
their  own  chiefs.  They  were  powerful  enough 
to  expel  Yu,  the  Prefect  of  Canton,  from  his 
office,  and  they  were  indignant  at  the  treaty 
of  Nanking.  They  set  fire  to  the  British 
factories.  They  attacked  the  American  quarter 
because  the  American  representative  had  put 
an  arrow  as  a  vane  upon  his  flagstaff,  and  the 
superstitious  people  took  it  for  a  charm  to 
produce  sickness  in  any  direction  to  which  it 
might  point.  The  North-western  provinces 
were  permitted  to  join  the  armed  association. 
A  year  after  the  peace,  Chiukentsae  inquired 
into  the  state  of  the  associated  peasantry,  and 
reported  to  the  emperor  that  their  means 
were  so  perfect,  and  their  preparations  were 
so  complete  that  nothing  need  be  apprehended 
for  the  future.  The  names  of  leaders  were 
transmitted  to  Pekin,  with  an  offer  from  the 
South-eastern  districts  to  form  a  similar  asso- 
ciation. The  offer  was  graciously  received, 
and  the  whole  movement  assisted  to  the 
utmost.  The  central  society  at  Canton  met 
in  a  hall  belonging  to  the  temple  of  Confucius, 
received  reports  from  corresponding  societies, 
and  formed,  in  fact,  an  independent  league. 

The  excesses  of  the  populace  of  Canton 
caused  an  armed  visit  in  1847,  which  placed 
the  inhabitants  of  the  English  quarter  on  a 
more  comfortable  footing,  and  led  to  the 
blocking  up  of  "  Hog  Lane,"  a  street  of 


hovels  through  which  the  rioters  had  been 
accustomed  to  penetrate,  and  through  which 
the  British  quarter  was  fired  in  1843. 

In  addition  to  the  popular  associations 
called  into  existence  by  the  exigencies  of  the 
war,  there  have  long  existed  in  China  secret 
societies,  under  such  names  as  "  The  Triad," 
"The  Water  Lily,"  &c.,  with  the  professed 
object  of  restoring  the  Ming  dynasty.  These 
societies  have  mystic  rules  and  a  conventional 
language  ;  they  bind  their  members  to  close 
fellowship  and  secrecy ;  in  many  districts 
they  have  long  since  degenerated  into  bands 
of  outlawed  men  and  robbers,  although  they 
all  originated  in  patriotic  motives.  The 
members  of  these  societies,  pricking  their 
fingers,  smeared  themselves  with  blood  when 
they  were  initiated,  and  swore  never  to 
abandon  their  principles  and  objects,  to 
restore  the  Chinese  empire,  be  revenged  upon 
the  Tartars,  reveal  no  common  secrets  to 
their  nearest  kindred,  and  be  brothers  to  one 
another.  By  the  help  of  these  societies,  riots 
and  troubles  have  been  excited  at  different 
times  in  all  parts  of  China,  since  the  close  of 
the  war  with  us  revealed  the  weakness  of  the 
government ;  but  the  worst  troubles  have 
arisen  in  the  southern  provinces.  Banditti 
increased ;  and  the  militia  raised  by  the  people 
to  resist  them,  being  raised  out  of  their  own 
funds,  the  people  used  their  arms  also  in 
disputing  the  right  of  the  government  to  taxes 
for  a  defence  which  it  was  unable  to  afford. 

The  old  emperor,  Taou-kwang,  was  an 
emperor  in  difficulties.  To  the  exhausting 
expenses  of  the  war  were  added  the  twenty- 
one  million  of  dollars  payable  for  peace  to 
England.  The  government  had  already  fore- 
stalled a  large  part  of  its  revenues,  trade  had 
been  impeded  on  the  beleaguered  coast,  the 
receipt  of  customs  was  diminished,  while  the 
people,  hindered  in  their  peaceful  occupations, 
were  less  able  to  pay  taxes  than  ever,  to  say 
nothing  at  all  of  their  general  unwillingness, 
and  power  to  dispute  the  claims  of  the  col- 
lectors. The  misery  was  heightened  by  the 
accident  of  an  unusually  wet  year.  The 
Yang-tse-kiang  and  Yellow  Elver  flooded 
several  provinces  ;  in  Honan  the  floods  swept 
away  the  walls  of  the  metropolis,  Kae- 
foong-foo.  There  were  no  funds  to  apply  for 
public  works  of  drainage  ;  nothing  was  done 
towards  repairing  the  injury  inflicted ;  the 
devastated  land  was  thrown  out  of  use  ;  no 
land-tax  —  the  chief  source  of  Chinese 
revenue  —  could  be  levied  on  it ;  and  the 
occupants  were  left  to  complain  loudly  of 
neglect. 

The  Emperor  in  difficulties,  endeavouring 
to  levy  funds  for  payment  of  the  expense 
incurred  by  England  in  the  Chinese  war,  then 
called  for  patriotic  aids  from  wealthy  people, 
and  gave  to  them  in  return  nominal  rank, 
and  distinctions  of  etiquette.  This  system 
succeeded  for  a  time  ;  but  as  the  number 
who  obtained  distinction  in  this  way  multi- 
plied, the  nominally  distinguished  became  so 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CHINA  WITH  A  FLAW  IN  IT. 


373 


^indistinguishable  in  the  common  crowd,  that 
new  devices  were  essential. 

The  Emperor  in  his  distress  proposed  the 
hazardous  plan  of  selling  civil  offices  for 
money.  Hitherto  it  is  well  known  that  in 
China  the  immemorial  practice  has  been  to 
cultivate  a  literary  class,  and  to  make  promo- 
tion in  civil  offices  strictly  dependent  upon 
intellectual  ability.  The  literati  have  thus 
become  a  body  of  the  greatest  influence  and 
importance  in  China ;  and  the  whole  body 
was  insulted  and  aggrieved  when  the  Emperor 
deprived  them  of  the  hope  that  by  skill  and 
study  they,  or  any  Chinese  who  would  do  as 
they  had  done,  might  come  to  hold  high  office 
in  the  state.  Offices  were  to  be  sold  for 
money.  There  is  no  nation  that  respects 
wealth  less  as  a  merit  than  the  Chinese, 
because  distinctions  and  ranks  have  for  ages 
in  that  country  represented  various  degrees 
of  education. 

When  it  was  announced  that  civil  offices 
were  saleable,  there  appeared  so  many  pur- 
chasers to  make  deposit  of  their  money,  that 
they  presently  began  to  calculate  that  it  would 
take  ten  years  to  supply  all  candidates  with 
the  places  they  had  booked  and  paid  for, 
unless  vacancies  occurred  more  frequently 
than  usual.  The  educated  class,  therefore, 
was  not  more  aggrieved  than  a  large  body  of 
the  monied  men.  To  still  the  clamour  of  the 
purchasers,  the  Emperor  and  his  advisers 
were  on  the  alert  to  make  the  vacancies  as 
numerous  as  possible.  The  slightest  mis- 
conduct was  excuse  for  the  dismissal  of  a 
civil  officer,  and  the  putting  of  an  impatient 
expectant  in  his  seat.  As  the  dismissed  men 
had  obtained  their  offices  by  the  old  test  of 
education,  and  were  turned  out  to  make  room 
for  men  with  money,  these  proceedings  greatly 
tended  to  increase  the  disaffection,  and  to 
alienate  the  lettered  men — the  most  influential 
body  in  the  empire — from  a  weak  and  failing 
government  that  had  fallen  already  too  much 
into  popular  contempt.  But  the  extremity 
was  urgent ;  the  fear  of  British  men-of-war 
was  great ;  our  "  China  money "  must  be 
paid,  though  it  could  be  paid  only  with  the 
heart-blood  of  the  Chinese  empire. 

By  these  steps  China  descended  to  its 
present  state  of  internal  dissension.  Criminals 
were  pardoned  for  money.  To  save  money, 
members  of  the  learned  class  were  deprived 
of  the  fixed  stipend  which  had  always  before 
paid  their  expenses  to  the  place  of  public 
examination.  Inhabitants  of  valleys  in  Honan, 
that  were  reduced  by  the  floods  to  the  condi- 
tion of  marshes  or  lakes,  petitioned  earnestly 
for  aid  ;  but  Government  could  not  afford  to 
listen  to  their  prayers. 

On  the  25th  of  February,  1850,  the  old 
Emperor  of  China  died  after  a  reign  of  about 
thirty  years,  and  was  succeeded  by  his  fourth 
son,  Yih-chu,  then  under  twenty  years  of  age. 
The  substitution  of  a  young  and  inexperienced 
for  a  mature  hand,  and  the  young  man's 
unwise  dismissal  of  the  most  experienced 


ministers,  added  greatly  to  the   extent  and 
activity  of  the  spirit  of  insurrection. 

In  the  middle  of  1850  a  rebellion  broke  out 
in  the  province  of  Kwang-se.  The  leader  of 
this  movement,  Leting-pang,  inscribed  on  his 
banners  "  Extermination  to  the  Tartar  and 
Eestoration  of  the  Ming  Dynasty."  The 
revolt  spread,  small  towns  were  captured,  and 
the  district  of  Ho-chow  was  occupied,  govern- 
ment, troops  were  beaten.  New  leaders  arose. 
One  styled  himself  on  his  banners  Ping  Toing 
Wang,  "  the  King  who  subdues  the  Tartars  ; " 
another  took  the  name  of  "  Hairy  Head,"  re- 
jecting the  Tartar  tonsure.  At  the  end  of 
1850,  a  Chinese  official  thus  reported  to  the 
Emperor  the  devastations  in  Kwang-se  :  "  The 
outlaws  have  continued  to  increase  in  number ; 
officers  have  been  killed  by  them  in  their 
encounters,  and  they  have  taken  up  different 
positions,  mustering  thousands  at  each.  The 
inhabitants  pillaged,  from  first  to  last,  amount 
to  .many  tens  of  thousands  of  families. 
Hundreds  of  thousands  of  fields  and  lauds 
were  lying  waste,  producing  nothing  for  lack 
of  cultivation.  The  communications  were 
blocked  up,  and  all  the  approaches  by  land 
and  water  occupied  by  the  rebels,  so  that  the 
supplies  of  Government  could  not  pass." 

In  1851  the  rebellion  in  Kwang-se  extended 
to  the  Canton  province,  and  became  the  rebel- 
lion in  "  the  two  Kwang."  The  expense  of 
the  contest  with  the  rebels  further  distracted 
the  administrators  of  the  ruinous  imperial 
revenue. 

The  news  which  arrived  in  June,  1851, 
informed  us  that  the  troubles  were  increasing, 
that  a  leader  in  Kwang-se  had  named  the 
present  year  the  first  of  Tien-tih,  "  Celestial 
Virtue,"  and.  had  issued  copper  coin  in  that 
name,  at  the  same  time  that  he  invited 
members  of  the  educated  classes  to  come 
forward  and  take  office  under  him.  The  next 
news  told  us  that  the  capital  of  Kwang-se  had 
been  sacked,  and  that  the  rebellion  in  the 
two  Kwang,  had  become  the  rebellion  in  the 
two  Kwang,  Hoonan,  and  Keang-se.  Tien- 
tih  was  afterwards  to  be  heard  of  as  pro- 
claiming to  the  people  that,  if  his  rule 
triumphed,  "the  land  would  become  happy, 
and  the  governors  honest  as  those  in  ancient 
times."  At  the  beginning  of  the  present  year, 
the  Emperor's  troops  continued  to  be  worsted 
in  their  contests  with  the  rebels.  For  the 
ultimate  result  of  the  doubtful  struggle,  we 
must  look  to  the  news  brought  by  forthcoming 
overland  mails. 

If  the  Tartar  dynasty  be  overthrown,  and 
we  are  to  have  pure  Chinese  to  deal  with  in 
the  year  of  the  anticipated  treaty  revision, 
1855,  it  is  not  easy  to  be  very  sanguine  on  the 
subject  of  our  'consequent  advantages.  So 
far  as  Europe  is  concerned,  the  owls  will  have 
been  ejected  by  the  moles,  and  we  shall 
have  to  show  things  to  the  blind  instead  of 
to  the  blinking.  But,  of  course,  the  Opium 
War  has  opened  a  grand  field  for  European 
commerce,  and  bestowed  new  lights  on  China. 


374 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Only  it  happens  that  the  open  field  is  not  yet 
entered,  and  the  lights  thrust  upon  the 
Chinese  with  too  much  abruptness  have 
unfortunately  burnt  their  fingers. 


LITERAKY  MYSTIFICATIONS. 

THE  learned  Jesuit,  Hardouin,  in  his  work 
upon  Chronology  and  Coins,  published  in 
1696,  somewhat  startled  the  weak  minds 
of  lu's  readers,  by  the  bold  assertion  that 
the  ancient  history,  which  is  so  dear  to  the 
learned  men  of  the  present  day,  through  the 
delightful  agency  of  Doctor  Goldsmith  and 
others,  had  been  entirely  re-manufactured  in 
the  thirteenth  century,  with  the  aid  of  the 
works  of  Homer,  Herodotus,  Cicero,  Pliny, 
the  Georgics  of  Virgil,  and  the  Satiates  and 
Epistles  of  Hoi-ace— the  only  works  which, 
according  to  him,  belonged  to  antiquity — the 
Bucolics,  and  the  ^Eneid  of  Virgil,  the  Odes, 
and  the  Art  of  Poetry  of  Horace,  and  all  the 
collection  of  poets,  historians,  and  ancient 
writers  in  general,  whom  we  are  unfortunately 
addicted  to  admiring,  having  been,  according 
to  the  same  veracious  authority,  fabricated  by 
the  monks  of  the  middle  ages. 

We  have  not  been  in  the  habit  of  paying 
much  more  attention  to  such  erudite  specula- 
tions as  that  of  our  friend,  the  Jesuit,  than 
they  deserve ;  but  the  other  day,  "  a  very 
modern  instance  "—that  of  the  Shelley  for- 
geries— set  xis  wondering  upon  the  subject 
of  literary  mystification  in  general.  The 
Jesuitical  hypothesis  presented  itself  with 
more  than  usual  force,  and  led  us  insensibly, 
through  a  long  catalogue  of  impostures,  some 
of  the  most  prominent  of  which  we  will  note 
for  the  benefit  of  our  readers. 

Before  the  Revival  of  Letters,  errors,  such 
as  those  in  question,  were  made  through 
ignorance  ;  but  after  that  period — as  befitted 
a  more  advanced  degree  of  civilisation — it  was 
by  fraudulent  means  that  the  learned  were 
misled.  It  was  one  of  the  favourite  amuse- 
ments of  the  learned  of  the  sixteenth  century 
to  mystify  one  another.  In  many  cases,  the 
only  motive  seems  to  have  been  the  gratifica- 
tion of  some  personal  whim,  or  the  bewilder- 
ment of  some  literary  associate.  But  we  now 
and  then  find  examples  of  elaborate  attempts 
to  misrepresent  history,  and  to  confuse  names 
and  dates  to  a  most  mischievous  extent. 

Of  the  latter  class,  a  very  large  number  of 
forgeries  and  fictions  were  concocted  for 
political  purposes.  Among  these  may  be 
included  the  false  Decretals  of  Isidore,  which 
•were  forged  for  the  maintenance  of  the  papal 
supremacy,  and,  for  eight  hundred  years, 
formed  the  fundamental  basis  of  the  Canon 
Law,  the  discipline  of  the  church,  and  even  the 
faith  of  Christianity  ;  the  deception  of  young 
Maitland,  who,  in  order  to  palliate  the  crime 
of  the  assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray, 
drew  up  a  pretended  conference  between  him, 
Knox,  and  others,  in  which  they  were  made 
to  plan  the  dethronement  of  the  young  king, 


and  the  substitution  of  the  regent  in  his  place  ; 
;;n<l  the  story  of  the  "  bloody  Colonel  Kirk," 
related  by  Hume  and  others,  which  \\,.  : 
originally  told  of  a  very  different  person  in  n 
previous  age. 

The  great  majority,  however,  of  deceptions 
of  the  kind  seem  to  have  been  contrived  with- 
out any  other  object  than  the  mere  artistic 
love  of  ingenuity,  to  which  the  credulity  or 
mystification  of  the  learned  was  a  flattering 
and  irresistible  tribute. 

One  of  the  boldest  and  most  uncompro- 
mising of  a  very  mischievous  class  of  literary 
impostors  was  Anuius  of  Viterbo.  Annius 
published  a  pretended  collection  of  historians 
of  the  remotest  antiquity,  some  of  whose  names 
had  descended  to  us  in  the  works  of  ancient 
writers,  while  their  works  themselves  had 
been  lost.  Afterwards,  he  subjoined  com- 
mentaries to  confirm  their  authority,  by 
passages  from  well-known  authors.  These, 
at  first,  were  eagerly  accepted  by  the  learned  ; 
the  blunders  of  the  presumed  editor— one  of 
which  was  his  mistaking  the  right  name  of 
the  historian  he  forged — were  gradually  de- 
tected, and  at  length  the  imposture  was 
apparent.  The  pretended  originals  were  more 
remarkable  for  their  number  than  their 
volume,  for  the  whole  collection  does  not 
exceed  one  hundred  and  seventy-one  pages, 
which  lessened  the  difficulty  of  the  forgery  ; 
while  the  commentaries,  which  were  after- 
wards published,  must  have  been  manu- 
factured at  the  same  time  as  the  text.  In 
favour  of  Annius,  the  high  rank  he  oc- 
cupied at  the  Roman  court,  his  irreproach- 
able conduct,  the  declaration  that  he  had. 
recovered  some  of  these  fragments  at  Mantua, 
and  that  others  had  come  from  Armenia,  in- 
duced many  to  credit  these  pseudo-historians. 
A  literary  war  was  soon  kindled.  One  his- 
torian died  of  grief  for  having  raised  his 
elaborate  speculations  on  these  fabulous  ori- 
ginals ;  and  their  credit  was  at  length  so  much 
reduced,  that  Pignoria  and  Maffei  both  an- 
nounced to  their  readers  that  they  had  not 
referred  in  their  works  to  the  pretended 
writers  of  Annius.  Yet,  to  the  present  hour, 
these  presumed  forgeries  are  not  always  given 
up.  The  problem  remains  unsolved  ;  and  the 
silence  of  Annius  in  regard  to  the  forgery, 
as  well  as  what  he  affirmed  when  alive,  leave 
us  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  really  intended 
to  laugh  at  the  world  by  these  fairy  tales 
of  the  giants  of  antiquity.  Sanchouiathon, 
as  preserved  by  Eusebius,  may  be  classed 
among  these  ancient  writings  as  a  forgery, 
and  has  been  equally  rejected  and  defended. 

It  should  not  be  forgotten  that  the  statements 
of  Annius  received  a  supposed  confirmation 
in  some  pretended  remains  of  antiquity 
which  were  dug  up  in  the  grounds  of  the 
Inghirami  family.  These  remains  —  which 
were  Etruscan — consisted  of  inscriptions,  and 
some  fragments  of  an  ancient  chronicle. 
Curtius  Inghirami  had  no  doubt  of  their 
authenticity,  and  published  a  quarto  volume  of 


Dickens.] 


LITERARY  MYSTIFICATIONS. 


375 


more  than  a  thousand  pages  in  their  support. 
Nevertheless,  they  bore  self-evident  marks  of 
modern  times.  There  were  uncial  letters 
which  no  one  knew  ;  but  these  were  said  to 
be  undiscovered  ancient  Etruscan  characters  : 
it  was  more  difficult  to  defend  the  small 
italic  letter,  for  they  were  not  used  in  the  age 
assigned  to  them  ;  besides  which,  there  were 
dots  on  the  letter  i,  a  custom  not  practised  until 
the  eleventh  century.  The  style  was  copied 
from  the  Latin  of  the  Psalms  and  the  Breviary. 
But,  Inghirami  replied,  that  the  manuscript 
was  the  work  of  the  secretary  of  the  college 
of  the  Etrurian  augurs,  who  alone  was 
permitted  to  draw  his  materials  from  the 
archives. 

The  only  conjecture  respecting  the  origin 
of  these  "  antiquities,"  that  has  any  reasonable 
foundation,  is,  that  they  were  manufactured 
by  one  of  the  Inghirami  family  ;  who,  some 
fifty  years  previously,  had  been  the  librarian 
of  the  Vatican,  and  who  might  have  been 
influenced  by  a  desire  to  establish  the  antiquity 
of  the  family  estate. 

The  writing  of  Christopher  Columbus  has, 
on  more  than  one  occasion,  furnished  a  sub- 
ject for  fraudulent  ingenuity.  The  Prayer- 
book  presented  to  him  by  the  Pope,  and 
which  he  bequeathed  to  the  Genoese  re- 
public, contains  a  codicil,  purporting  to  be 
in  his  own  hand-writing  ;  but  which,  ap- 
parently on  very  good  grounds,  has  been 
pronounced  a  forgery.  Only  the  other  day 
we  were  told  of  a  bottle  having  been 
picked  up  at  sea,  containing,  it  was  alleged, 
an  account  of  the  discovery  of  America  by 
the  discoverer  himself.  This  last  appears 
to  be  a  very  promising  performance  of  our 
friends  the  Americans — not  very  ingeniously 
contrived,  and  classified  by  comparison  with 
other  perversions  of  human  dexterity,  not 
rising  much  beyond  the  dignity  of  a  hoax. 

Petrarch's  first  meeting  with  Laui'a  took 
place  in  the  church  of  St.  Clair,  on  a  Good 
Friday,  the  sixth  of  April,  1327,  so  says  the 
•well-known  inscription  in  Petrarch's  Virgil. 
Alas  for  the  belief  of  our  youth !  This 
famous  inscription  is  said  to  be  a  forgery. 
The  sixth  of  April,  1327,  had,  it  seems,  the 
perverseness  to  fall  upon  a  Monday.  But 
facts  and  figures  are  proverbially  impertinent. 
The  forger  seems  to  have  rather  obtusely 
misunderstood  the  second  sonnet  in  the 
printed  editions  (which  differ  somewhat  from 
the  MS.),  and  never  to  have  got  so  far  as 
the  ninety-first  sonnet,  which  would  have  in- 
formed him  that  the  meeting  took  place,  not 
in  a  church,  but  in  a  meadow.  The  Laura 
of  Sade,  moreover,  is  ascertained  not  to  be 
the  Laura  of  Petrarch,  but  Laura  de  Baux, 
who  resided  in  the  vicinity  of  Vaucluse,  who 
died  young,  like  all  those  "  whom  the  gods 
love,"  and  died,  we  are  happy  to  say,  for 
Petrarch's  sake,  unmarried. 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  an  attempt  to  impose 
a  fiction  upon  the  world,  fail  most  egregiously. 
Such  was  the  i'ate  of  the  nevertheless  deeply 


planned  scheme  of  the  Duke  de  la  Valliere 
and  the  Abbu  de  St.  Leger.  These  two.  nota- 
bilities attempted  to  palm  off  upon  the  great 
bibliopolist  De  Bure,  a  copy  of  a  work  which 
had  long  existed  in  name,  but  of  which  no 
person  had  ever  seen  a  copy.  This  was  the 
De  Tribus  Impostoribus.  A  work  with  this 
name  was  manufactured  by  the  Duke  and 
the  Abbe,  who  caused  it  to  be  printed  in  the 
Gothic  character,  with  the  date  of  1598.  Their 
intention  was  to  sell  copies  of  it  by  degrees, 
at  very  high  prices ;  and  De  Bure  was 
honoured  by  being  made  the  subject  of  their 
first  experiment.  That  learned  man,  however, 
at  once  discovered  the  cheat,  and  the  discom- 
fiture of  the  concoctors  was  most  signal.  De 
Bure  made  two  enemies  by  this  piece  of 
sagacity ;  who  subsequently  attempted  to 
write  down  his  reputation. 

Spain  has  produced  several  very  accom- 
plished forgers.  About  the  end  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  a  Jesuit,  named  Jerome 
Remain  Higuera,  applied  himself  to  the  task 
of  making  up  for  the  silence  of  the  historians 
on  the  subject  of  the  establishment  of  Chris- 
tianity in  Spain.  By  the  aid  of  popular  tra- 
ditions, and  of  every  kind  of  document  which 
he  could  collect,  he  composed  several  chro- 
nicles, and  ascribed  the  most  important  of 
them  to  Flavins  Dexter,  an  historian  cited 
by  St.  Jerome,  but  whose  histories  were  lost. 
He  made  a  confidant  of  Torialba,  one  of  the 
brothers  of  his  order  :  who,  going  to  Germany, 
lost  no  time  in  announcing  that  he  had  found 
in  the  library  of  Fulde  an  authentic  MS. 
containing  the  chronicles  in  question.  The 
Jesuits  believed  this  story,  and  Torialba  ad- 
dressed a  copy  of  the  MS.  to  Calderon,  who 
published  it  at  Saragossa  (4to.  1619),  under 
the  title  of  fragmer.tum  Chronici  Fl.  Dextri, 
cu'/n  Chronico  Metrei  Maximi,  et  Additionibus 
S.  Branlionis  et  Helecani.  Higuera,  who  went 
so  far  as  to  pretend  to  enlighten  various  parts 
of  this  work  by  notes,  did  not  live  to  see  its 
publication,  nor  the  controversies  caused 
thereby.  Gabriel  Pennot,  an  Augustin,  was 
the  first  to  attack  the  authenticity  of  these 
chronicles,  and  he  had  for  an  adversary 
Thomas  Vargas,  whom  he  soon  reduced  to 
silence. 

The  imposture  of  Joseph  Vella  will  be  long 
remembered.  Being  at  Palermo  in  1782,  he 
accompanied  the  ambassador  from  Morocco  in 
a  visit  which  that  diplomatist  made  to  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Martin,  and  where  he  was  ad- 
mitted to  see  a  very  ancient  Arabic  manu- 
script. Being  aware  of  the  desire  which 
existed  to  find  in  the  Arabic  writings  mate- 
rials for  the  completion  of  the  history  of 
Sicily,  in  which  there  was  a  gap  of  two  cen- 
turies, Vella  took  the  hint,  and,  after  the 
departure  of  the  ambassador,  asserted  that  he 
had  found  in  the  library  of  the  Abbey  a 
precious  manuscript  containing  the  corre- 
spondence between  the  Arabian  governors  of 
Sicily  and  the  sovereigns  of  Africa. 

To  confirm  the  authenticity  of  this  pretended 


376 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


discovery,  and  to  give  it  additional  import- 
ance in  the  eyes  of  his  protector,  Airoldi, 
archbishop  of  Heraclea,  who  paid  all  the 
expenses  of  his  researches,  Vella  manufactured 
a  correspondence  between  himself  and  the 
ambassador,  who  had  returned  to  Morocco, 
iii  which  he  made  the  latter  give  an  assurance 
that  there  existed  in  the  library  of  Fez  a 
second  and  more  complete  copy  of  the  manu- 
script found  in  the  library  of  St.  Martin  ; 
that  another  work  in  continuation  of  the 
manuscript  had  been  discovered  ;  and  also  a 
series  of  medals,  confirmatory  of  the  history 
and  chronology  of  the  document  in  question. 

The  imposture  had  such  success,  that  the 
King  of  Naples,  to  whom  Vella  presented  his 
translation  of  the  supposed  manuscript,  wished 
to  send  him  on  a  mission  to  Morocco  to  make 
further  inquiries.  This  was  as  unfortunate  a 
turn  as  the  royal  favour  could  take  ;  but, 
luckily  for  Vella,  circumstances  occurred  to 
avert  the  disaster. 

The  translation  of  the  Arabic  manuscript 
had  been  announced  in  all  the  journals  of 
Europe.  The  first  volume  was  published  in 
1789,  under  the  sanction  of  Airoldi.  The 
sixth  volume  appeared  in  1792,  and  was  to  be 
followed  by  two  others.  Vella  was  everywhere 
courted,  and  loaded  with  pensions  and  honours. 
Airoldi,  however,  having  caused  a  fac-simile 
of  the  original  manuscript — which  Vella  had 
taken  great  pains  to  alter  and  make  nearly 
illegible — doubts  arose  as  to  its  authenticity  ; 
and  finally,  after  the  "  translation  "  had  been 
everywhere  read,  everywhere  celebrated,  and 
everywhere  extracted  from,  the  whole  was 
found  to  be  a  deception.  The  original 
manuscript  was  nothing  but  a  history  of 
Mahomet  and  his  family,  and  had  no  relation 
to  Sicily  whatever.  Vella  was  induced  to 
confess  his  imposture,  but  not  until  he  had 
been  threatened  with  torture. 

In  1800,  a  Spaniard  named  Marchena, 
attached  to  the  army  of  the  Rhine,  amused 
himself  during  the  winter  which  he  passed  at 
Basle  by  composing  some  fragments  of 
Petronius.  These  were  published  soon  after, 
and,  in  spite  of  the  air  of  pleasantry  which 
ran  through  the  preface  and  notes,  the  author 
had  so  well  imitated  the  style  of  his  model 
that  many  very  accomplished  scholars  were 
deceived,  and  were  only  set  right  by  a  decla- 
ration of  the  truth  on  the  part  of  the  pub- 
lisher. The  success  of  this  mystification 
struck  the  fancy  of  Marchena  ;  and  in  1806  he 
published,  under  his  own  name,  a  fragment  of 
Catullus,  which  he  pretended  to  have  been 
taken  from  a  manuscript  recently  unrolled  at 
Herculaneum.  But,  this  time  he  was  beaten 
with  his  own  weapon.  A  professor  of  Jena, 
Eiehstadt,  announced  in  the  following  year, 
that  the  library  of  that  city  possessed  a  very 
ancient  manuscript,  in  which  were  the  same 
verses  of  Catullus,  with  some  important  varia- 
tions. The  German,  under  pretence  of  cor- 
recting some  errors  of  the  copyist,  pointed 
out  several  faults  in  prosody,  committed  by 


Marchena,  and  made  sundry  improvements 
upon  the  political  allusions  of  the  Spamara. 

Poetical  forgers  have  been  comparatively 
scarce.  One  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
these  was  Vanderbourg,  who  in  1803  pub- 
lished some  charming  poetry  under  the  name 
of  Clotilde  de  Surville,  a  female  writer,  said  to 
have  been  contemporary  with  Charles  the 
Seventh  of  France.  The  editor  pretended  to 
have  found  the  manuscript  among  the  papers 
of  one  of  her  descendants,  the  Marquis  de 
Surville,  who  was  executed  under  the  direc- 
tory. The  public  was  at  first  the  dupe  of  this 
deception,  but  the  critics  were  not  long  in 
discovering  the  truth.  "  Independently,"  says 
Charles  Nodier, "  of  the  purity  of  the  language, 
of  the  choice  variation  of  the  metres,  of  the 
scrupulousness  of  the  elisions,  of  the  alterna- 
tion of  the  genders  in  the  rhymes — a  sacred 
rule  in  the  present  day,  bat  unknown  in  the 
time  of  Clotilde — of  the  perfection,  in  short, 
of  every  verse,  the  true  author  has  suffered  to 
escape  some  indications  of  deception  which  it 
is  impossible  to  mistake."  Among  these  was 
her  quotation  from  Lucretius,  whose  works 
had  not  been  then  discovered,  and  which 
perhaps  did  not  penetrate  into  France  until 
towards  1475 ;  her  mention  of  the  seven 
satellites  of  Saturn,  the  first  of  which  was 
observed  for  the  first  time  by  Huyghens,  in 
1635,  and  the  last  by  Herschel  in  1789  ;  and 
her  translation  of  an  ode  of  Sappho,  the  frag- 
ments of  whose  works  were  not  then  pub- 
lished. However,  the  poems  attributed  to 
Clotilde  are  full  of  grace  and  delicacy — suf- 
ficient, indeed,  to  induce  any  person  with  a 
love  of  approbation  not  simply  diseased  and 
fraudulent,  to  avow  the  authorship. 

About  the  same  period  Fabre  d'Olivet 
published  the  "  Poesies  Occitaniques,"  a  work 
which  professed  to  be  a  translation  from  the 
Provengal  and  Langue  d'Oc  ;  and  in  his  notes 
he  inserted  fragments  of  the  pretended  originals. 
"  These  passages,"  says  Raynouard,  "  written 
with  spirit  and  grace,  and  often  with  energy, 
have  deceived  the  critics,  who  believed  them 
original,  and  have  quoted  them  as  such. 
Wishing  to  give  to  these  fragments  of  his 
composition  the  advantage  of  passing  for 
authentic,  the  author  employed  a  means 
equally  ingenious  and  piquant.  In  one  of  the 
works  professing  to  be  translated,  he  mingled 
some  passages  drawn  from  the  poetical  manu- 
scripts of  the  Troubadours ;  and  by  this 
mixture  of  veritable  and  fictitious  fragments, 
he  found  it  more  easy  to  seduce  the  credulity 
of  the  critics.  He  did  more  :  as  the  language 
of  the  old  Troubadours,  from  whom  he  had 
quoted  passages  in  his  notes,  had  some 
obscurities,  which,  being  cleared  away,  would 
perhaps  have  facilitated  the  discovery  of  the 
fraud,  he  reduced  their  language  to  the  idiom 
which  he  used  himself ;  and  by  this  means  it 
became  much  more  difficult  to  doubt  the 
authenticity  of  these  pretended  productions, 
which,  for  the  rest,  have  a  real  merit  of  their 
own,  under  any  aspect." 


Charle»  Dickcns.J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  OF  BROAD-BUMBLE. 


377 


The  French  have  from  the  first  been  pecu- 
liarly felicitous  in  this  dangerous  talent. 
Everybody  at  one  time  believed  in  Varillas, 
the  French  historian,  until  some  first-rate 
scholars  succeeded  in  the  difficult  task  of 
destroying  his  great  reputation.  Varillas 
was  famous,  especially,  for  the  exclusive  nature 
of  his  historical  and  courtly  anecdotes  ;  and 
it  was  believed  that  he  had  the  secrets  of 
every  cabinet  in  Europe  at  his  fingers' 
ends.  But  notwithstanding  his  parade  of  the 
most  minute  matters — titles,  correspondence, 
memoirs, — it  became  apparent,  in  the  end, 
that  he  had  been  indebted  to  his  invention, 
simply,  for  all  this  very  exclusive  knowledge. 
Yet  it  is  impossible  to  read  him  and  to  with- 
stand his  plain,  straightforward  semblance  of 
sincerity. 

Then  there  was  the  celebrated  "  Voyage 
Round  the  World,"  written  by  a  Neapolitan 
nobleman,  named  Carreri,  who,  it  has  been 
said,  braved  every  peril  of  sea  and  savages 
very  comfortably  in  his  own  chamber,  which 
he  never  quitted  for  years,  owing  to  a  serious 
indisposition.  There  is  every  probability, 
however,  according  to  more  recent  accounts, 
that  Carreri  was  unjustly  accused — that  he 
had  previously  visited  the  places  he  describes. 
Still,  for  some  years,  his  book  was  believed  to 
be  an  imposture.  The  Travels  of  Damberger, 
which  made  a  great  sensation  in  their  day, 
differed  from  these  last :  they  were  un- 
doubtedly genuine — as  a  fiction. 

Disraeli,  the  Elder,  notices  a  singular  im- 
position wiiich  has  been  practised  by  a  variety 
of  authors,  of  announcing  a  variety  of  titles  of 
works  "  preparing  for  the  press,"  but  of 
which  nothing  but  the  titles  were  ever 
written.  This  system  seems  to  have  been 
very  considerably  practised  by  Paschal,  his- 
toriographer of  France,  "  for  obvious  reasons," 
as  the  phrase  goes  :  he  received  a  pension  for 
writing  on  the  history  of  France,  and  was 
obliged  in  decency  to  announce  titles,  at  any 
rate.  When  he  died,  it  is  stated  that  his 
historical  labours  did  not  exceed  six  pages  ! 

We  find  Gregorio  Leti  mentioned  as  an 
historian  of  the  same  class  as  Varillas.  "  He 
took  everything  too  lightly ;  yet  his  works 
are  sometimes  looked  into  for  many  anecdotes 
of  English  history,  which  are  not  to  be  found 
elsewhere  ;  and  which  perhaps  ought  not  to 
have  been  there,  if  truth  had  been  consulted." 

Rabbi    Benjamin,   of   Tudela,   mystified   a 


been  discovered  in  a  convent  in  Portugal. 
This  discovery  astonished  the  whole  learned 
world — not  a  very  large  body  to  astonish,  by 
the  way — but  they  were  truly  astonished, 
because  nothing  remained  to  them  of  the 
work  in  question  but  fragments  quoted  by 
Eusebius.  Some  months  later,  however,  there 
appeared  at  Hanover  a  German  treatise, 
purporting  to  be  an  analysis  of  the  primitive 
history  of  the  Phoenicians,  founded  upon  the 
newly-discovered  complete  translation  of 
Philon,  with  observations  by  F.  Wagenfield. 
This  publication  contained,  in  addition,  a  fac- 
simile of  the  manuscript,  and  a  preface  by  the 
learned  Grotefend,  director  of  the  Lyceum  of 
Hanover.  But  our  "  learned  friend "  last 
mentioned,  soon  found  that  he  had  been  com- 
pletely the  dupe  of  Wagenfield,  a  young 
student  at  Brema,  whose  work,  however,  dis- 
played considerable  imagination,  and  profound 
knowledge.  In  spite,  however,  of  the  pompous 
announcements  which  were  several  times 
made,  the  Greek  text  never  appeared.  The 
fragments,  of  which  Wagenfield  has  given 
a  German  version,  have  been  produced  in 
French,  by  M.  Le  Bas. 

So  much  for  the  exploits  of  our  continental 
neighbours  in  this  very  fruitful  field.  How 
far  our  own  countrymen  are  prepared  to 
contest  with  them  the  palm  of  imposture,  we 
shall  show  upon  an  early  occasion. 


THE 


SCHOOLMASTERS 
BUMBLE. 


OF    BROAD- 


"  WANTED,  a  master  for  the  parish  school 
of  Broad-Bumble ;  salary  sixty  pounds  per 
annum,  besides  the  use  of  a  house,  coals,  and 
candles.  None  need  apply  who  cannot  pro- 
duce the  most  satisfactory  testimonials  as  to 
competency  and  moral  character." 

Such  was  the  advertisement  which  set 
forth  the  educational  destitution  of  the  little 
town  of  Broad-Bumble, 
one  of  those  curious 
butchers'  shops  are  next  door  to  houses  once 
tenanted  by  lords,  bishops,  and  other  such 
people,  and  where  the  only  approach  to 
"the  Square"  is  through  an  avenue  of 
children,  rag-shops,  and  small  undertakers. 
Like  the  generality  of  such  parishes,  it  had 
a  big  church  of  no  architectural  preten- 
sions, and  a  very  rich  incumbent,  who  was 
chairman  to  a  great  many  societies  for  the 


Broad-Bumble  was 
towns     in     which 


vast  number  of  persons  by  the  circumstantial  I  benefit  of  various  inmgs  and  people,  and  who 
and  picturesaue  manner  in  wmch  he  wrote  [  was  neither  a  Puseyite,  an  Evangelical,  or,  in, 
nis  travels.  His  book  is  said  to  be  apocry-  fact,  anything  that  served  as  an  excuse  even 
phal ;  but  it  is  written  with  a  wonderful  for  a  row  in  the  vestry,  or  a  word  of  pious 
appearance  of  truth.  horror  from  an  old  maid. 

An  anecdote  of  a  very  recent  date  will  con-  Broad-Bumble  was  very  populous  ;  and, 
elude  the  list — as  far  as  we  are  at  present  in  as  in  most  other  places,  all  the  people  who 
a  condition  to  extend  it — of  the  most  curious  •«..••*  .  .  .'  ?-i-  — ^— 


continental  mystifications. 
At  the  commencement  of  1836,  the  French 
and    foreign   journals    announced    that    the 
Greek  translation  of  the  Phoenician  historian, 
Sanchoniathon,   by   Philon    de    Byblos,  had 

most  liberal  in  furnishing   more   than  their 
quota   of  children,    and,    as   its    educational 
means  were  small,  the  number  of  people  to 
be  educated  was  proportionately  great.     In- 
deed, the   swarm  of  children  who  grew  lip 

378 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


with  the  enlarged  notions  and  refined  reflec- 
tions consequent  on  an  early  acquaintance 
with  "  winkles,"  hop-scotch,  and  Ethiopian 
serenaders,  was  wonderful.  The  freedom 
from  vulgar  prejudices  in  favour  of  clean  faces, 
combs,  and  the  church  catechism,  was  balanced 
by  the  ability  displayed  in  bird's-nesting, 
occasionally  getting  run  over,  and  more  fre- 
quently appearing  at  the  petty  sessions. 

The  parish  school-house  wyas  situated  near 
the  pump  ; — the  grand  rendezvous  for  the 
horse-holding,  organ-blowing,  go-of-errands 
class  of  unfortunates,  who  seem  always  out  of 
regular  employment,  and  yet  always  looking 
out  for  something  to  do.  This  happy  and 
contented  race,  who  would  not  barter  the 
luxury  of  a  chance  half-pint  of  porter  for 
the  contents  of  the  Bank  of  England,  look 
upon  the  pump  as  the  lares  and  penatea  of 
their  out-door  life.  The  pump  is  the  centre 
of  gravity,  upon  which,  and  round  which  their 
thoughts,  feelings,  bodies,  joys  and  sorrows 
ever  congregate. 

The  pump  near  which  our  school-house  was 
situated,  was  fraught  with  boyish  interests.  It 
was  oftentimes  the  tribunal  where  disputes 
between  rival  bantams  and  boys  were  settled. 
Moreover,  the  parish  undertaker,  the  parish 
nurse,  the  parish  doctor,  the  parish  sexton,  and 
we  cannot  sa,y  how  many  other  functionaries 
possessing  equal  claims  upon  the  sympathies 
of  Broad-Bumble,  were  all  located  near  the 
pump.  The  pump  was  universally  popular. 

Our  school-house  was  a  sturdy  red-brick, 
stone-cornered  and  corniced  affair,  belonging 
to  that  age  when  mortar  had  time  to  dry  before 
people  thought  of  hanging  up  the  window 
curtains,  and  when  cheap  contracts  were  un- 
known. It  was  quaint,  substantial,  and 
respectable.  Its  tall  arched  windows,  with 
their  many  panes  and  bold  rusticated  key- 
stones to  every  arch  ;  its  great  oak  door,  with 
bars  and  bolts  that  would  have  stood  a  siege, 
(now  painted  black  by  the  unaccountable  bad 
taste  of  some  modern-antique  churchwarden) 
and  its  couple  of  grotesque  figures  of  a  boy 
and  girl,  each  dressed  in  a  picturesque  fashion, 
of  which  some  traces  remained  even  in  the  pre- 
sent livery — all  told  its  meaning  and  purpose 
with  unmistakeable  distinctness.  Altogether 
it  was  what  a  young  lady,  with  that  pretty 
and  expressive  indenmteness  known  only  to 
young  ladies,  would  call  "a  nice  old  place." 

Inside  it  was  rough  and  almost  destitute  of 
adornment,  unless  one  or  two  pictures,  in  un- 
prepossessing wigs,  which  hung  up  in  the 
"  board "  room,  might  be  considered  deco- 
rative. But  people  who  thought  how  those 
quizzical  personages  had  built  hospitals,  en- 
dowed churches,  and — last,  but  not  least — 
established  the  parish  school  of  Broad-bumble, 
pardoned  the  wigs,  the  mouldy-looking  visages, 
and  the  heavy  gilt  frames. 

Two  great,  heavy  staircases,  one  of  them 
terminating  at  the  door  of  the  "  board  "  room, 
looked  as  if  their  stanch  oaken  banisters  had 
been  born  in  their  present  condition,  and  had 


never  known  such  things  as  leaves.  The  blank, 
whitewashed,  or  "  coloured  "  walls  (save  only 
the  sitting-rooms  of  the  master  and  mistress, 
where  a  little  of  the  decorative  spirit  displayed 
itself  ia  fuchsias  and  birds  well  known  at 
Painter's,  the  paper  hanger's)  presented  a 
tempting  surface  to  the  juvenile  artist,  and 
many  were  the  names  of  urchins  and  urchi- 
nesses,  many  the  unsteady,  distraught  initials, 
and  manifold  the  representations  of  the  master 
— unfortunately,  for  the  most  part,  under- 
going the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law — which 
decked  the  plaster  walls  of  Broad-Bumble 
school.  Nor  did  even  the  hard  oak  banisters 
resist  that  dangerous,  but  popular  graving 
tool,  the  clasp  knife.  As  to  the  girls,  their 
tastes  were  less  artistic  ;  and  the  staircase 
and  passage  presented  comparatively  few 
female  memorials. 

The  great  school-rooms  were  large  and 
lofty,  for  they  had  been  built  when  Broad- 
bumble  had  grown  too  large  to  be  trifled 
with.  We  have  at  present  nothing  to  do 
with  the  girls'  school ;  but  we  will  proceed 
at  once  to  the  condition  of  the  boys'  depart- 
ment, at  the  time  when  the  advertisement 
above  mentioned  appeared. 

The  late  master,  who  had  just  departed 
from  the  troubles  of  this  world,  had  been  an 
inveterate  champion  of  the  physical  force 
principle.  He  believed  in  "  cakes  " — light 
stripes  of  cane  across  the  expanded  palm — 
and  held  that  they  were  the  only  species  of 
confectionary  likely  to  promote  honesty,  truth, 
or  learning.  The  sound  of  the  cane  was  heard 
from  morning  till  night  ;  the  boys  absolutely 
missed  it,  if  it  had  five  minutes'  rest.  If 
stupidity  were  at  fault,  the  cane  was  the  pre- 
scription ;  if  stupidity  were  persisted  in,  it  was 
simply  repeated  as  before  ;  never  mind  what 
was  the  offence,  the  only  distinction,  moral  or 
physical,  was  as  to  the  quantity  of  medicine 
to  be  administered.  A  few  fine  cases  of  water 
on  the  brain  certainly  took  place  now  and 
then,  from  this  over  stimulating  of  the  mental 
capabilities,  but  what  of  that  1  The  best 
physicians  are  sometimes  deceived. 

A  grand  caning  day — when  any  small  public 
out-of-school  or  in-school  offence  had  involved 
the  treatment  of  a  large  number  of  patients — 
was  as  great  a  treat  to  the  late  master,  as  an 
auto  dafe  to  a  Spanish  inquisitor.  The  energy 
he  displayed  in  singling  out  the  most  tender 
parts,  and  in  hardening  them  by  a  judicious 
application  of  cane  more  or  less  thick,  was  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  refinement.  His  collection  of 
canes  at  the  end  of  the  day's  practice,  split, 
snapped,  and  cracked,  was  as  interesting  as 
the  charred  stake  from  which  the  calcined 
bones,  the  last  works  of  man's  blasphemy 
against  his  Maker,  had  dropped.  He  was  a 
good  inquisitor  lost  to  the  world. 

Now,  it  did  happen, that,  despite  the  uniform 
system  of  discipline  pursued  in  Broad-Bumble 
school,  the  intellectual  and  moral  condition  of 
Broad-Bumble  was  particularly  low.  A  few 
philanthropic  people,  who  looked  at  mankind 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTERS  OF  BKOAD-BUMBLE. 


379 


beyond  their  own  district,  had,  from  time  to 
time,  drawn  awkward  comparisons  of  causes 


suspect  that  the  attainments  of  the  deputy- 
master  were  limited  to  whistling  and  posture- 


and  effects,  and  could  not  help  thinking  that  I  making.  A  few  awkward  mistakes  in  spelling, 
the   boys  under  masters  from  the  Training  I  and  in  svntax.  which  appeared  in  a  memorial 


Society  were  cleaner,  sharper,  and  healthier. 
Kind-hearted  ladies,  who  could  not  bear  "  to 
see  the  poor  boys  knocked  about  so,"  kept 
away  from  the  place,  and,  in  disgust,  trans- 
ferred their  subscriptions  to  non-flogging 
charities.  Of  course  there  were  plenty  of 
supporters  of  the  old  system,  and,  curiously 
enough,even  among  the  parents  of  the  children. 

From  all  discipline  to  no  discipline  is  as 
easy  a  change  as  many  other  contrarieties 
produce.  The  school  was  in  a  state  of  anarchy, 
and  the  parish  was,  as  far  as  the  election  of  a 
master  was  concerned,  in  nearly  the  same  con- 
dition. The  candidates  were  numerous,  and 
possessed  just  that  sort  of  divided  interest 
among  the  trustees  and  subscribers,  which  is 
wont  to  make  even  the  smallest  contests 
doubtful  and  interesting. 

A  large  quantity  of  popular  sympathy  ran 
in  favour  of  the  deputy  who  had  officiated 
during  the  illness  of  the  late  master.  Mr. 
Tittleton  was  a  fair-faced,  small-eyed,  small- 
pox-pitted individual,  whose  countenance  con- 
sisted of  one  perpetual  simper,  only  varied 
by  an  occasional  dash  of  deferential  gravity. 
He  had  a  genuine  horror  of  theatres  and  hard 
words — things  which  appeared  to  form,  in  his 
mind,  only  the  component  parts  of  one  grand 
dislike  to  everything  not  recommended  in  the 
"  Weekly  Young  Man's  Consolation."  He 
dressed  in  black,  and  occasionally  sported  a 
white  neckerchief.  Mystery  hung  over  his 
birth  and  early  fortune  ;  but  little  Mrs.  Pin- 
cushion, who  generally  knew  more  than  people 
either  thought  or  desired,  declared  that  she 
remembered  Mr.  Tittleton  in  connection  with 
a  yard  measure,  at  Tape,  Stiffening,  and  Go's., 
Oxford  Street,  London,  and  spoke  of  him  as  "  a 
very  civil  young  man  " — a  compliment  which, 
by  the  way,  did  Mr.  Tittleton  no  small  harm 
in  the  course  of  his  canvass  for  the  situation 
of  schoolmaster. 

Mr.  Tittleton's  system  of  discipline  was 
the  very  reverse  of  that  of  his  predecessor.  It 
was,  in  fact,  little  else  than  a  continued  series 
of  street  music  and  gymnastics.  If  the  school 
were  in  an  uproar — a  condition  which,  except 
the  vicar  or  curate  were  present,  it  seldom 
failed  to  present — he  whistled,  and  the  rioters 
whistled  in  reply,  and  the  school  was  quiet 
till  the  next  confusion  began.  If  a  visitor 
made  his  appearance,  a  whistle  accompanied 
by  comparative  silence,  welcomed  the  new 
comer,  and  enabled  him  to  ask,  perhaps,  four 
questions  and  receive  the  answers  without 
feeling  doubtful  of  the  connection  of  his  mental 
faculties.  Then  again,  when  the  boys  went 
to  church,  they  marched  as  if  they  were 
drilled  :  when  they  entered  the  gallery  they 
stood  up,  and  knelt  to  the  opening  prayer, 
and  rose  again  to  the  psalrns,  all  with  a  series 
of  military  salutes,  facings  about,  and  "  to 
order."  In  fact,  one  or  two  people  began  to 


soliciting  tne  situation,  occasioned  the  fitness 
of  Mr.  Tittleton  for  the  office  to  appear  more 
and  more  questionaoie. 

But  he  had  a  staunch  supporter  in  old 
Commander  Screamer,  who  owned  half  a 
street  and  two  r>ublic-houses  in  Broad-Bumble ; 
and  who,  having  spent  three  parts  of  his  life 
on  board  a  man-of-war,  had  an  unmitigated 
contempt  for  anything  whicn  was  unconnected 
with  "  hard  service."  He  was  a  good  old 
fellow,  the  Commander,  and  never  blustered 
long  ;  but,  no  man  was  ever  more  bigoted  on 
the  subject  of  books.  "He  had  had  no  educa- 
tion ;  he  never  felt  the  want  of  it ;  he  had 
got  on  in  life  like  few  men ;  and  he  would 
have  none  of  your  —  nonsense.  Teach  a  boy 
something  that  would  be  useful  aboard  ship. 
Talk  of  our  national  defences.  A  pretty 
coast  guard  your  colleges  would  make  !  Give 
him  none  of  your  popular  education."  The 
Commander  had  always  looked  upon  schools 
as  a  lawless  system  of  tyranny,  calculated 
to  stunt  the  growth,  to  cripple  the  in- 
tellects, and  to  make  bad  soldiers  and  sailors. 
All  his  sympathies  were  with  Woolwich  and 
Addiscombe  ;  and  when  his  nephew,  Horace, 
left  the  latter  place,  and  took  to  Oxford  and 
classics  instead  of  gunnery  and  the  Punjaub, 
it  took  all  the  major's  good  nature  to  prevent 
that  young  gentleman  from  being  left  in  the 
world  with  a  few  small  debts,  and  no  allow- 
ance. But  we  did  hear  that  a  pretty  little 
adopted  god-daughter  of  the  Commander's 
had  had  something  to  do  both  with  Horace's 
abandonment  of  a  military  life,  and  with  his  es- 
cape from  the  consequences  of  his  disobedience. 

The  Commander  found  a  new  field  in 
Broad-Bumble  school,  and  became  so  favour- 
ably impressed  with  the  "  pipe  all  hands " 
and  "  to  order  "  system,  that  he  began  to  con- 
ceive the  possibility  that  a  school  might  be 
made  a  decent  sort  of  place,  and  that  boys 
might  really  learn  something  a  little  worth 
knowing.  Like  Uncle  Toby,  he  began  to  look 
upon  the  school-house  as  a  fortification  (and 
it  certainly  was  nearly  strong  enough),  and  to 
calculate  the  probability  of  rendering  the  boys 
an  efficient  and  well  -  disciplined  garrison, 
should  the  French  ever  invade  Broad-Bumble. 
Accordingly  he  upheld  Mr.  Tittleton  as  the 
man  in  whom  all  the  arts,  sciences,  and  other 
qualifications  appertaining  to  popular  educa- 
tion were  united. 

Other  patrons  had  their  own  little  crotchets 
as  well  as  the  tough  old  Commander.  Mr. 
Stokes,  a  respectable  retired  and  retiring 
chemist  and  druggist,  who  had  been  per- 
petually in  difficulties  with  parish  boys, 
because  they  insisted  on  carrying  the  wrong 
medicines  to  the  wrong  places,  was  for  making 
writing  the  main  feature.  He  was  naturally 
desirous  that  every  boy  of  the  Broad-Bumble 
school  should  be  duly  qualified  to  read  the 


380 


HOUSEHOLD  WOPtDS. 


hand-writing  even  of  Dr.  Scratch's  prescrip- 
tions. 

Sir  Townley  Sparks,  Bart.,  wished  for  a 
Progress  schoolmaster  (loud  cheers),  but 
people  wanted  to  know  what  a  Progress 
schoolmaster  was. 

Butts,  the  wealthy  butcher,  thought  that  a 
schoolmaster  was  wanted  who  did  not  make 
discipline  a  cover  for  ignorance.  Doffing  his 
bright  blue  coat,  and  brushing  up  the  light, 
stubbly,  half-grey  hairs  upon  his  broad,  good- 
natured  forehead,  he  would  run  out  and 
canvass  his  best  customers  in  favour  of  plain 
John  Smith,  who  came  up  with  a  high  recom- 
mendation from  a  Training  School,  with  the 
patrons  of  which  Mr.  Butts  was  well  ac- 
quainted. 

Mr.  Tittleton  grew  uncomfortable,  espe- 
cially as  the  half-quarterly  examination  drew 
near.  He  had  got  so  used  to  the  snug  old 
room  papered  with  fuchsias  and  painted 
birds,  that  any  idea  of  leaving  it  was  far 
from  agreeable.  Moreover,  the  Commander 
kept  capital  port,  and  had  often  given  him  a 
"  snack  "  on'  half-holidays,  besides  a  ride  in  a 
little  tub  of  a  chaise,  in  which  he  was  wont  to 
assert  his  gentility,  and  collect  his  rents  ;  for 
he  hated  deputies.  But  the  school  was  in  a 
very  doubtful  condition. 

The  generality  of  candidates  were  dull, 
quiet  individuals,  recommended  rather  by 
their  unfitness  for  anything  else,  than  by  any 
specific  attainments.  In  fact,  the  committee 
had  always  overlooked  the  fact,  that  the 
salary  was  likely  to  attract  few  men  of 
positive  ability,  and  that,  except  through 
a  regular  Society,  cut  and  dried  for  such 
purposes,  a  parish  schoolmaster's  office  was 
by  no  means  one  of  the  easiest  to  fill  pro- 
perly. As  Mr.  Butts  observed,  "  they  wanted 
a  man  who  was  not  too  clever,  but  was  clever 
enough."  And  the  axiom  was  true.  Half  or 
a  quarter  part  of  the  learning  possessed  by  the 
head-master  of  a  grammar-school  suffices  for 
any  practical  purposes  to  which  he  may  have 
to  apply  it ;  but  did  he  not  possess  superior 
and  even  unnecessary  attainments,  the  humbler 
part  of  his  work  would  probably  be  inaccurate 
and  slovenly. 

It  is  curious,  with  what  facility  and  with 
what  consistent  exaggeration  even  the  lower 
classes  deal  with  the  characters  of  those  who 
are  not  many  shades  removed  from  themselves 
in  position.  Few  of  them  ever  said  a  word 
against  the  vicar,  who  was  absent  for  six 
months  out  of  the  year  at  his  canonry  at 
St.  Bullswag ;  in  fact,  they  rather  liked  him 
for  staying  away,  because  his  curate's  sermons 
were  both  short  and  intelligible.  But  the 
master  of  the  parish  school  was  under  the 
active  observation  of  a  set  of  critics,  who 
dealt  chiefly  in  general  ideas  of  right  and 
wrong,  and  who  were  not  at  all  disposed  to 
enter  into  the  minute  particulars  of  individual 
cases.  Moreover,  the  poor  people  had  an 
idea  that  the  parish  schoolmaster  ought  to 
be  a  gentleman  after  a  certain  manner,  and 


poor  Tittleton  could  not  get  over  the  yard- 
measure  story.  Consequently,  when  the  report 
of  his  incompetency  was  proved  to  rest  on 
good  foundation,  his  prospects  were  settled. 
Even  had  the  guardians  of  the  school  been 
willing  to  elect  him,  the  parents  would  have 
kept  their  children  from  the  school.  Mr. 
Tittleton  looked  at  the  snug  room  sorrow- 
fully, and  took  his  departure  from  Broad- 
Bumble,  with  the  consolation  of  having  found 
at  least  one  good  friend  in  the  Commander. 

The  day  of  election  is  over,  and  Mr.  John 
Smith  is  elected. 

There  sits  the  Commander,  and  his  re- 
creant nephew  ;  who,  curious  to  say,  wears  a 
white  cravat,  and  near,  very  near  him,  is  the 
pretty  adopted  god-daughter ;  who,  stranger 
still,  wears  orange-blossoms  in  her  bonnet. 
It  is  wonderful  how  old  people  can  forget  their 
prejudices  in  their  kindness. 

To  work  !  A  whistle  is  heard,  and  every 
boy  is  in  his  place  and  at  his  post  in  a  minute. 
But  without  confusion. 

Class  after  class  come  up ;  the  multiplication- 
table  goes  round  the  junior  class.  Pounce  on 
which  boy  you  will ;  ask  the  most  refined  and 
awkward  combinations  that  anything  times 
anything  can  produce ;  and  still  it  "  comes 
right."  How  distinctly  are  the  "parts  taken" 
for  that  elaborate  question  about  the  merchant 
who  wants  so  many  and  three-quarters  of 
something  or  other,  at  so  much  and  so  many 
fractions  the  item !  What  can  philosophy 
expect  more  accurate  than  the  definition  which 
that  small  boy  in  the  wide  pinafore  is  giving 
of  latitude  and  longitude  ;  or  what  can  be  a 
better  help  than  that  great,  big,  black-lined, 
brightly-coloured  map,  to  which  he  points  as 
he  explains  the  rules  ? 

And  with  what  clear,  manly  voices  some  of 
those  elder  youths,  and  with  what  equally 
clear,  but  less  decided  tones,  those  little  lads, 
are  reading  our  English  Testament  1  How 
plain  and  straight-forward  are  the  answers, 
and  how  plain  and  sensible  are  the  questions 
that  elicit  them ! 

But,  our  gymnastics  and  our  whistling  have 
not  been  cast  out.  No.  In  moderation  they 
have  their  use,  and  are  a  capital  help  to  regu- 
larity and  economy  of  time.  How,  withal,  do 
the  boys  of  Broad-Bumble  get  more  half- 
holidays,  more  games  at  cricket,  and  more 
trips  in  tilted  waggons,  than  were  heard  of 
even  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant, 
and  yet  do  more  work  than  they  ever  did 
before  1  Why,  it  seems  that  Air.  John  Smith 
knows  play  to  be  as  much  a  boy's  duty  as 
work,  and  teaches  a  boy  how  to  play,  how  to 
work,  and  how  to  enjoy  both. 

Another  signal,  and  allv  are  on  their  knees. 
It  is  a  beautiful  sight,  and  simple  words  are 
wafting  upward  with  a  beautiful  sound. 
Another  signal  ;  all  are  erect ;  a  volume  of 
human  voices  breaks  forth  in  simple  unison 
with  "  Glory  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night ; " 
and  the  school  is  dispersed. 


I'ublished  at  the  Office,  No  IS,  VfcUi?s'oa  Streei  Sorth,  Strand.    Frmtsil  '>y  B« 


A  KTJJS.  Whitefri.tr>,  LOTJ  too. 


•Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."—  s 


IIAKESrEABB. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A   WEEKLY-  JOUBNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


No.  J20.] 


SATURDAY,  JULY  10,  1852. 


[P 


A  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  BIEDS. 


GOSSIP  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  entertaining 
when  it  dwells  upon  the  deeds  and  habits  of 
bird,  beast,  or  fish.  They  can  do  nothing  imper- 
tinent. When  Mr.  Dixon  tells  us  how  his  tame 
guans  in  winter  sat  upon  the  kitchen  fender  to 
enjoy  the  roasting  fire ;  how  if  a  window  or  door 
were  left  open,  they  would  make  themselves  at 
home  upstairs  and  downstairs,  and  disturb  the 
house  with  their  sonorous  outcries ;  how  one 
morning  while  busy  writing,  he  heard  a  great 
clatter  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  and  on 
inspecting  the  cause,  found  one  of  the  guans 
on  the  drawing-room  mantel-piece,  admiring 
itself  in  the  glass,  and  making  room  for  its 
mate  by  clearing  off  the  china  ornaments  ; — 
when  we  hear  such  things  told  we  almost 
think  that  we  should  like  to  keep  a  pair  of 
guans.  They  must  be  pleasant  birds. 

We  have  been  reading  Mr.  Dixon's  book 
upon  the  Dovecote  and  the  Aviary.  Our 
thoughts  are  fluttering  full  of  guans,  curassows, 
cassowaries,  emeus,  and  the  like  ;  it  is  good 
for  our  peace  that  we  should  let  some  of 
them  fly. 

The  curassow,  for  example.  He  is  a  bird 
who  will  follow  you  about  like  a  dog ;  his 
ways  are  most  engaging  ;  he  is  a  large  fowl, 
and  pre-eminently  eatable.  Pheasant  is  not 
so  exquisite  a  meat  as  curassow.  Well,  there 
be  curassows  in  England  ;  they  will  live  here, 
they  will  fatten  here,  they  will  appear  to  be 
extremely  happy  here  ;  .why  can't  they  be  ac- 
climatised, and  bred  in  our  farm-yards  as 
pheasants  have  been  acclimatised,  and  turkeys  ? 
The  question  has  been  often  asked,  and  Mr. 
Dixon  gives  in  answer  his  experience  upon 
the  mutter. 

The  curassows  are  somewhat  smaller  than 
tin-keys,  and  they  live  in  flocks.  The  guans, 
which  are  a  genus  of  the  same  family — the 
Cracidse — are  somewhat  larger  than  phe'asants, 
and  they  live  in  pairs. '  When  caught  young 
and  tamed,  the  curassows  make  themselves  at 
home,  and  become  full  of  sly  and  sociable  ways 
with  us,  as  is  the  case  with  parrots  or  monkeys. 
They  like  to  establish  themselves  in-doors  as 
members  of  the .  family,  and  they  live  on 
friendly  terms  with  all  the  poultry  in  a  farm. 
Why  is  it  then,  that  although  the  curassow 
has  been  introduced  into  Europe  for  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  years,  it  still  remains  a  curiosity  j 


among  us,  while  the  turkey — which  was  first 
introduced  at  nearly  the  same  time — is  to  be 
found  strutting  alive  in  almost  every  farm- 
yard, and  boiled  or  roasted  upon  almost  every 
dinner  table  about  Christmas  time.  Why  do 
we  not  get  the  curassow  to  breed  among  us  ; 
that  is,  in  fact,  the  question.  The  taming  of 
it  is  an  easy  matter. 

One  difficulty  lies  in  the  fact,  that  they 
are  in  this  country  greenhouse  birds  during 
the  winter  ;  they  may  lose  their  toes  through 
dabbling  over  cold,  wet  soil,  their  home  being 
among  the  forest  trees  of  a  hot  climate.  It  is 
because  of  their  dwelling  in  the  dense  forest, 
where  their  forms  are  closely  shrouded  in  the 
luxuriant  foliage,  that  these  sociable  birds  are 
provided  with  so  loud  a  voice  for  trumpeting 
their  whereabouts  to  one  another.  The  wind- 
pipe of  the  curassow,  or  guan,  is  lengthened 
out  and  twisted  under  the  skin  of  the  throat 
into  a  form  much  like  that  of  a  trumpet,  and 
on  account  of  this  provision  the  bird  is  able 
to  produce  a  large  volume  of  sound.  From 
the  hot  forests  of  South  America  to  the  cold 
sloppiness  of  winter  on  an  English  farm,  the 
change  is  great  for  the  most  good-humoured 
of  birds,  and  it  may  well  come  down  to  be 
roasted  prematurely  by  the  kitchen  fire. 

But  when  these  birds  are  placed,  by 
artificial  means,  in  the  best  circumstances  as 
to  climate,  they  do  indeed  lay  occasional  eggs, 
and  now  and  then  rear  young ;  but  they  do 
riot  increase  and  multiply  freely  in  any 
natural  proportion.  Nothing  could  have  been 
pleasanter  than  the  arrangement  for  the 
curassows  in'  the  menagerie  at  Knowsley. 
Mr.  Dixon  describes  what  he  found  there  in 
the  summer  of  1849.  "The  curassows  and 
guans  were  lodged  in  a  series  of  lofty  and 
charming  aviaries,  open  to  the  air  and  sun- 
shine, and  inclosed  only  by  wire  netting, 
except  at  the  back,  which  consists  of  a  range 
of  houses  to  which  the  birds  can  retire  at 
pleasure,  and  which  in  cold  and  damp  weather 
are  kept  at  an  agreeable  temperature.  Their 
enclosures  are  planted  with  shrubs  and 
flawers  ;  green  turf,  varied  with  clean  gravel, 
covers  the  ground  ;  a  small,  clear  stream  of 
water  is  ever  flowing  through  each  separate 
little  garden  ;  not  cleanliness  merely,  but  the 
most  pleasing  neatness  is  preserved."  Never- 
theless these  birds  did  little  in  the  way  of 
rearing  young.  "  One  male  bird,"  we  are 


382 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


tolil,  "yielding  a  little  to  the  fascination  cf 
the  spot,  had  prepared  for  his  mate  a  bower 
of  love.  And  where  does  the  reader  thiuk 
it  was  placed.  The  gallant  curassow  had 
mounted  a  tall  holly-bush,  and  thereon  made 
a  nest  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  peck 
basket,  interlacing  the  twigs,  and  then  lining 
them  with  the  prickly  leaves,  which  he  had 
cropped,  as  a  comfortable  couch  for  the  hen 
and  her  nestlings.  The  whole  thing  was  an 
insult  to  any  incubating  female,  and  she 
treated  it  with  the  neglect  that  such  a 
structure  of  chevcmx-de-f rises  deserved." 

There  seems  to  be  especial  difficulty  about 
the  acclimatising  into  Europe  the  birds  of 
South  America.  This  may  be  in  some  degree 
accounted  for  by  the  reversal  of  the  seasons, 
consequent  on  a  transfer  from  the  southern 
to  the  northern  hemisphere.  Periodicity 
of  moulting  time,  being  established  in  the 
body  of  a  bird  and  suited  to  its  habitat,  a 
change  of  habitat  which  turns  the  seasons 
upside  down,  must  expose  the  animal  to  many 
risks.  In  the  case,  however,  of  the  black 
swan  and  some  other  Australian  birds,  this 
difficulty  seems  to  have  been  overcome. 
'  Then  there  is  the  water-hen  to  talk  about  ; 
concerning  which  Aldrovaudi  wrote  during 
our  "  good  old  times."  "  In  the  stagnant 
waters,"  he  says,  "  which  fence  the  houses  of 
the  nobility,  and  in  fish-ponds,  it  mostly  dwells 
amongst  the  English."  It  can  skim  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  run  upon  the  floating  leaves 
of  water-lilies,  dive,  swim  in  the  water  or  on 
the  water,  fly  in  the  air,  or  climb  trees.  The 
young  look  like  mice  upon  two  legs  ;  for  on 
them  is  rather  a  fur  than  a  down  that  keeps 
the  water  out.  As  the  bird  grows,  the  fur 
becomes  a  downy  undercoat,  concerning  which 
a  friend  whom  Mr.  Dixon  quotes  discourses 
pleasantly  and  profitably.  "  The  linsey- 
woolsey  undercoat  of  the  water-hen  is  ad- 
mirably adapted  to  its  amphibious  mode 
of  life.  Man  has  been  unable  hitherto 
to  devise  anything  approaching  to  the  soft, 
warm,  and  elastic  waterproof  mantle  of  the 

talliimle.  All  our  combinations  of  Welsh 
annel,  Llama  cloth,  and  Mackintosh  are 
in  finitely  inferior  to  the  coverings  of  the  duck 
and  the  goose.  The  way  in  which  this 
clothing  is  distributed  on  the  body  of  the 
water-hen,  is  well  worthy  of  notice.  The 
whole  is  warm  and  waterproof,  but  the 
inner  garment  over  the  crop,  where  it  meets 
the  brush  of  the  water  in  the  act  of  running- 
through  wet  grass  and  in  diving,  is  much 
thicker  than  on  the  breast,  within  which  the 
vital  organs  are  well  shielded  by  muscles 
and  bone.  Over  the  belly  the  thick,  close, 
impervious  down  covers  the  intestines,  and 
preserves  them  effectually  from  the  wet  and 
cold  to  which  they  are  so  much  exposed  in 
wading  through  the  moist,  rank  herbage  of 
their  favourite  swamps.  It  has  often  struck 
me,  in  examining  waterfowl,  that  the  air 
enclosed  in  the  delicate  network  of  down 
must  be  one  provision  for  keeping  the  bird 


dry,  as  if  it  were  sailing  upon  a  natural  air 
cushion." 

Then  there  is  the  kingfisher  with  his 
glittering  metallic  foliage — in  flight  all  blue,  in 
repose  all  ruddy  brown.  He  is  a  restless 
fellow :  suddenly  dashing  on  the  water,  he 
seems  to  rebound  from  it  in  upward  flight  as 
a  cricket  ball  from  the  bat.  Then  he  will 
settle  on  the  nearest  twig,  in  an  impetuous, 
thoughtless  way.  A  veracious  friend  of  Mr. 
Dixou's,  angling  near  [Norwich,  was  quietly 
watching  his  float,  when  a  kingfisher  darted 
under  the  arch  of  an  adjacent  bridge,  and 
settled  on  his  fishing  rod,  the  nearest  twig. 
Of  course  he  soon  flew  oiF  again.  From  a 
twig  the  busy  bird  looks  down  into  the  stream 
till  he  espies  a  fish  ;  then  with  a  sure  aim  he 
darts  upon  it,  and  rising  from  the  water  with 
iinwetted  wings,  flies  off  to  take  a  dinner  in 
his  nest.  A  surgeon  of  TJxbridge,  Mr.  W. 
Eayner,  has  kept  as  a  sort  of  happy  family  in 
one  aviary,  thirty-three  feet  long,  ten  wide, 
and  seventeen  high,  ninety-four  species  of 
birds.  Trees  were  planted  in  the  aviary — fir, 
box.  birch,  and  beech ;  there  was  also  a 
fountain,  and  the  birds  followed  their  natural 
instincts.  Among  the  birds  in  a  separate 
long  cage  was  a  nest  of  kingfishers  confined 
with  two  hobby  hawks.  The  young  king- 
fishers acquired  a  taste  for  the  meat  given  to 
the  hawks,  and  when  they  had  a  piece  of 
meat  they  would  hold  it  in  their  bill  and 
strike  each  end  against  the  perch  for  a  few 
seconds,  as  they  are  in  the  habit  of  striking 
any  fish  to  stun  before  they  swallow  it.  The 
minnows  in  the  fountain  were,  however,  their 
real  diet.  Having  feasted  upon  these,  a  king- 
fisher, says  the  surgeon  by  whom  these  birds 
were  kept,  "  becomes  inactive  for  some  quarter 
of  an  hour  or  twenty  minutes,  its  feathers 
rumpled,  and  sitting  all  of  a  heap,  sleepy  and 
stupid.  Tiiis  lasts  during  digestion,  which 
is  very  rapid  ;  and  as  soon  as  it  is  completed, 
the  bird  is  observed  to  be  opening  its  bill 
very  wide  two  or  three  times,  and  at  length 
ejects  a  pellet  about  an  inch  long,  composed 
of  bones,  beautifully  matted  together,  and 
not  unlike  a  lump  of  Epsom  salts,  (you  see  I 
cannot  help  comparisons  which  are  natural 
to  me).  This  mass  is  perfectly  inodorous, 
|  and  forms,  in  the  wild  state,  the  nidus  for  the 
deposit  of  their  eggs,  in  the  holes  to  which 
they  continue  to  resort,  year  after  year,  for 
breeding  purposes." 

Mr.  Rayner's  nest  contained  seven  young 
kingfishers,  but  as  they  approached  mature 
years  they  fought  together  until  one  oidy 
survived.  The  kingfisher  is  a  solitary  bird ; 
except  about  breeding  time  it  is  not  even  seen 
in  pairs.  It  needs  much  elbow  room,  and  in 
a  wild  state  loves  to  flit  from  stream  to 
stream.  It  is  curious  that,  while  the  king- 
fishers here  live  upon  fish,  and  frequent 
exclusively  the  water  sides,  there  are  king- 
fishers in  Australia  which  never  see  water  at 
all,  and  never  drink  it.  They  were  to  be 
found,  healthy  and  breeding,  on  the  parched 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  FLIGHT  WITH  THE  BIEDS. 


383 


plains  of  the  interior,  during  a  severe  drought, 
and  far  removed  from  water.  They  feed  upon 
small  animals  of  any  kind — quadrupeds,  birds, 
snakes,  lizards ;  and  the  fluid  that  they  find 
contained  within  their  prey  appears  to  be 
sufficient  for  their  nourishment. 

Among  birds  of  Australia  we  should  not 
forget  to  talk  about  the  emeu,  which,  together 
with  the  kangaroo,  is  giving  place  before  the 
dogs  and  guns  of  European  settlers.  The 
kangaroo  is  the  food  of  the  Australian  natives. 
We  punish  them  if  they  lay  finger  on  our 
sheep  and  oxen,  but  they  cannot  punish  us 
for  the  havoc  we  commit  among  the  kan- 
garoos. "  Almost  every  stockman,"  says  Sir 
Thomas  Mitchell,  "  has  several  kangaroo 
dogs,  and  it  would  be  only  an  act  of  j  ustice 
towards  the  aborigines  to  prohibit  white  men 
from  killing  these  creatures,  which  are  as 
essential  to  the  natives  as  cattle  to  the 
Europeans." 

The  natives  have  not  warred  against  the 
emeu  recklessly,  lest  it  should  be  destroyed. 
Emeu's  flesh  is  forbidden  to  their  young  men, 
although  it  is  better  meat  than  kangaroo. 
The  same  care  is  taken  of  the  ducks,  which 
may  be  eaten  only  by  the  married.  The 
Europeans  being  less  particular,  hunt  emeus 
down,  wantonly,  often  for  no  better  object 
than  their  handsome  feathers,  or  for  their 
flesh,  which  is  said  to  resemble  good  beef- 
steak. Emeus  are  able  with  a  kick  to  kill  a 
dog,  or  break  a  horse's  leg ;  but  dogs  are 
taught  to  seize  them  by  the  neck,  and  in  that 
way  overthrow  them  easily.  The  emeu  may 
be  destined  to  become  extinct,  like  the  dinornis 
iu  New  Zealand. — if  the  diuoruis  be  extinct. 
About  this  gigantic  bird  we  have  a  good 
deal  to  say.  In  1844,  Captain  Sir  Everard 


Home    wrote 


I    feel    little     doubt    that 


the  dinornis  exists  in  the  Middle  Island  of 
New  Zealand,  which  is  very  thinly  inhabited 
and  almost  quite  unknown  ;  perhaps,  also,  in 
Stewart's  Island."  Rumours  were  afloat.  The 
natives  of  the  neighbourhood  of  Cloudy 
Bay,  in  Cook's  Straits,  were  said  to  have 
informed  an  Englishman  belonging  to  a 
whaling  party,  "  that  there  was  a  bird  of  ex- 
traordinary size  to  be  seen  only  at  night  on 
the  side  of  a  hill  near  there  ;  and  that  he, 
with  the  native  and  a  second  Englishman, 
\vent  to  the  spot ;  that  after  waiting  some 
time,  they  saw  the  creature  at  some  little 
distance,  which  they  describe  as  fourteen  or 


intei-preter,  stated  to  me  that  in  the  latter  end 
of  1813,  he  saw  the  flesh  of  the  moa  (dinornis) 
in  Molyueux  harbour  ;  since  that  period,  he 
has  seen  feathers  of  the  same  kind  in  the 
natives'  hair.  They  were  of  a  black  or 
dark  colour,  with  a  purple  edge,  having  quills 
like  those  of  the  albatross  in  size,  but  much 
coarser.  He  saw  a  moa  bone  which  reached 
four  inches  above  his  hip  from  the  ground, 
and  as  thick  as  his  knee,  with  flesh  and  sinews 
upon  it.  The  flesh  looked  like  bull  beef.  The 
slaves,  who  were  from  the  interior,  said  that 
it  was  still  to  be  found  inland.  The  natives 
told  him  that  the  one  whose  flesh  he  had  seen 
was  a  dead  one,  which  they  had  found  ac- 
cidentally ;  that  they  had  often  endeavoured 
to  snare  them,  but  without  success.  A.  man, 
named  George  Pauley,  now  living  in  Foveaux 
straits,  told  him  that  he  had  seen  (he  moa, 
which  he  described  as  being  an  immense 
monster,  standing  about  twenty  feet  high. 
He  saw  it  near  a  lake  in  the  interior.  It  ran 
from  him,  and  he  also  ran  from  it." 

Science  has  shown  to  our  wondering  eyes  in 
a  very  remarkable  manner,  the  actual  form 
and  structure  of  a  bird  which  has  never  been 
seen,  except  by  the  persons  above-mentioned. 
Not  many  years  ago,  a  sailor  presented 
at  the  British  Museum  a  huge  marrow-bone 
which  he  desired  to  sell,  and  which  he  had 
brought  from  New  Zealand.  The  officers  of 
that  institution  not  usually  dealing  in  that 
class  of  marine  stores,  referred  him  to  the 
College  of  Surgeons,  where,  they  said,  he 
would  find  a  gentleman — one  Professor  Owen 
— who  had  a  remarkable  predilection  for  old 
sailor  took  his 
who,  finding  it 


bones.      Accordingly,    the 
treasure  to   the  Professor 


unlike  any  bone  even  he  had  any  knowledge 
of,  sent  the  man  away  rejoicing  with  a  fail 
pocket — rejoicing  himself  in  the  acquisition 
of  a  new  subject  for  scientific  inquiry. 
Although  the  bone  had  manifestly  contained 
marrow,  and  was  therefore  unlike  the  bones 
of  birds  in  general,  Mr.  Owen  concluded, 
from  certain  structural  evidences,  that  this 
bone  had  belonged  to  a  bird,  and  a  bird  of  a 
species  hitherto  unknown.  Those  who  have 
ever  experienced  the  flutter  which  the  clue  to 
any  discovery  of  a  scientific  chai'acter  occasions, 
will  at  once  understand  the  excitement  which 
was  felt,  by  the  little  world  of  naturalists,  to 
whom  the  Professor  displayed  his  new  bone. 
It  was  immediately  figured  and  lithographed, 


sixteen  feet  high.  One  of  the  men  proposed  !  and  copies,  with  certain  instructions  for 
to  go  nearer  and  shoot,  but  his  companion  [  finding  other  such  bones,  were  sent  out  to 
was  so  exceedingly  terrified,  or  perhaps  both  New  Zealand  to  be  distributed  wherever 


of  them,  that  they  were  satisfied  with  looking 
at  him,  when  in  a  little  time  he  took  the 
alarm  and  strode  away  up  the  side  of  the 
mountain."  There  is  a  sea-serpenty  flavour 
in  these  stories  ;  but  they  smack  strongly  of 


The  following,  which  is  quoted 


truth,  too. 
from 
in  the 
of   ere 
employed    by 


Euiopeans  had  trod  among  the  ferns  of  that 
colony.  Years  passed.  By  and  bye  a  very  big 
box  arrived  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  London, 
containing  congeners  of  the  sailor's  marrow- 
bone ;  some  of  them  upwards  of  a  yard  long. 


Professor  Owen  set  to  work,  and  built  up  from 


It  must  have  beeu  unable  to  fly  (hence  the 


384 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bjr 


marrow,  instead  of  air,  in  the  bones),  and  must 
have  had  uncommon  pedestrian  powers  (hence 
the  necessity  for  marrow).*  The  structure  of 
the  beak  and  neck  indicates  that  its  power  of 
wrenching  and  grubbing  up  roots  must  have 
been  tremendous.  Its  food  was  fern  roots, 
\vhich  in  New  Zealand  are  so  farinaceous  that 
the  natives  make  bread  of  them  to  this  day. 
It  has  been  named  the  dinornis,  because  it  is 
the  most  stupendous  of  birds  (deinos,  fearfully 
great,  ornis,  bird). 

The  disappearance  of  the  dinornis  is  easily 
accounted  for.  When  the  progenitors  of  the 
present  native  tribes  first  landed  from  the 
South  Seas,  the  dinornis  must  have  been  their 
only  animal  food  ;  for  in  New  Zealand  no 
quadrupeds  are  indigenous.  As  it  took  no 
longer  than  a  century  for  the  Dutch  to  ex- 
tirpate the  dodo  from  the  Mauritius,  a  couple 
of  centuries  would  have  quite  sufficed  to  kill 
and  cook  the  dinornis  off  the  face  of  New 
Zealand.  When  these  birds  had  been  all 
eaten  up,  the  Maoris  took  to  killing  and 
cooking  one  another. 

The  next  great  zoological  excitement  to  be 
looked  for  is  a  real  live  dinornis.  If  one  of 
these  gigantic  birds  be  ever  found  and  brought 
to  Regent's  Park,  the  hippopotamus  may 
accept  the  Chiltern  Hundreds  and  retire 
from  the  representation  of  the  Nile,  disgusted 
at  the  lead  that  will  be  taken  by  the  honour- 
able member  from  New  Zealand. 


THE  THREE  SISTERS. 

IN   FOUR   CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  III. 

"  .  .  Of  whom  may  we  seek  for  succour,  but 
of  Thee,  O  Lord,  who  for  our  sins  art  justly 
displeased  ?  .  . 

" .  .  earth  to  earth,  ashes  to  ashes,  dust  to 
dust ;  in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  the  Resur- 
rection to  eternal  life.  .  . 

"  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,  saying  unto 
me,  Write.  From  henceforth  blessed  are  the 
dead,  which  die  in  the  Lord  ;  even  so  saith 
the  Spirit,  for  they  do  rest  from  their  la- 
bours." 

It  was  a  burial  in  a  village  churchyard,  and 
standing  by  an  open  grave  there  was  one 
mourner  only,  a  woman  —  Bertha  Vaux. 
Alone,  in  sadness  and  silence,  with  few  tears — 
for  she  was  little  used  to  weep — she  stood  and 
looked  upon  her  sister's  funeral  ;  stood  and 
saw  the  coffin  lowered,  and  heard  the  first 
handful  of  earth  fall  rattling  on  the  coffin  lid  ; 
then  turned  aAvay,  slowly,  to  seek  her  solitar}' 
house.  The  few  spectators  thought  her  cold 
and  heartless;  perhaps  if  they  could  have 
raised  that  black  veil,  they  would  have  seen 
such  sorrow  in  her  face  as  might  have  moved 
the  hearts  of  most  of  them. 

The  sun  shone  warmly  over  hill  and  vale 
that  summer's  day,  but  Bertha  Vaux  shivered 
as  she  stepped  within  the  shadow  of  her 
lonely  house.  It  was  so  cold  there  ;  so  cold 
and  damp  and  dark,  as  if  the  shadow  of  that 

*  See  page  399  of  the  present  number. 


death  that  had  entered  it  was  still  lingering 
around.  The  stunted  evergreens,  on  which, 
since  they  first  grew,  no  sunlight  had  ever 
fallen,  no  single  ray  of  golden  light  to 
brighten  their  dark  sad  leaves  for  years, 
looked  gloomier,  darker,  sadder,  than  they 
had  ever  looked  before  ;  the  very  house,  with 
its  closed  shutters — all  closed,  except  one  in 
the  room  where  the  dead  had  lain, — seemed 
mourning  for  the  stern  mistress  it  had  lost. 
A  lonely  woman  now,  lonely  and  sad,  was 
Bertha  Vaux. 

She  sat  in  the  summer  evening  in  her  silent 
cheerless  room.  It  was  so  very  still,  not  even 
a  breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  trees  ;  no  voice  of 
living  thing  to  break  upon  her  solitude  ;  no 
sound  even  of  a  single  footstep  on  the  dusty 
road ;  but  in  the  solitude  that  was  around 
her,  countless  thoughts  seemed  springing  into 
life  ;  things  long  forgotten  ;  feelings  long 
smothered  ;  hopes  once  bright — bright  as  the 
opening  of  her  life  had  been,  that  had  faded 
and  been  buried  long  ago. 

She  thought  of  the  time  when  she  and  her 
sister,  fifteen  years  ago,  had  come  first  to  the 
lonely  house  where  now  she  was  ;  of  a  few 
years  later — two  or  three — when  another 
younger  sister  had  joined  them  there;  and  it 
seemed  to  Bertha,  looking  back,  as  if  the 
house  had  sometimes  then  been  filled  with 
sunlight.  The  dai-k  room  in  which  she  sat 
had  once  been  lightened  up — was  it  with  the 
light  from  Gabrielle's  bright  eyes  1  In  these 
long  sad  fifteen  years,  that  little  time  stood 
out  so  clearly,  so  hopefully  ;  it  brought  the 
tears  to  Bertha's  eyes,  thinking  of  it  in  her 
solitude.  And  how  had  it  ended  1  For  ten 
years  nearly,  now — for  ten  long  years — the 
name  of  Gabrielle  had  never  been  spoken  in 
that  house.  The  light  was  gone — extin- 
guished in  a  moment,  suddenly  ;  a  darkness 
deeper  than  before  had  ever  since  fallen  on 
the  lonely  house. 

The  thought  of  the  years  that  had  passed 
since  then — of  their  eventlessness  and  weary 
sorrow ;  and  then  the  thought  of  the  last 
scene  of  all  —  that  scene  which  still  was 
like  a  living  presence  to  her — her  sister's 
death. 

Joanna  Vaux  had  been  cold,  stern,  and 
unforgiving  to  the  last ;  meeting  death  un- 
moved ;  repenting  of  no  hard  thing  that  she 
had  done  throughout  her  sad,  stern  life  ; 
entering  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death 
fearlessly.  But  that  cold  deathbed  struck 
upon  the  heart  of  the  solitary  woman  who 
watched  beside  it,  and  wakened  thoughts  and 
doubts  there,  which  would  not  rest.  She 
wept  now  as  she  thought  of  it,  sadly  and 
quietly,  and  some  murmured  words  burst 
from  her  lips,  which  sounded  like  a  prayer — 
not  for  herself  only. 

Then  from  her  sister's  deathbed  she  went 
far,  far  back — to  her  own  childhood — and  a 
scene  rose  up  before  her  ;  one  that  she  had 
closed  her  eyes  on  many  a  time  before, 
thinking  vainly  that  so  she  could  crush  it 


Charlfs  Uicktni.] 


THE  THEEE  SISTEES. 


385 


from  her  heart,  but  now  she  did  not  try  to 
force  it  back.  The  dark  room  where  she 
sat,  the  gloomy,  sunless  house,  seemed  fading 
from  her  sight ;  the  long,  long  years,  with 
tliuir  weary  train  of  shame  and  suffering — all 
were  forgotten.  She  was  in  her  old  lost 
home  again — the  home  where  she  was  born  ; 
she  saw  a  sunny  lawn,  embowered  with  trees, 
each  tree  familiar  to  her  and  remembered 
well,  and  she  herself,  a  happy  child,  was 
standing  there ;  and  by  her  side — with  soft 
arms  twining  round  her,  with  tender  voice, 
and  gentle,  loving  eyes,  and  bright  hair  glit- 
tering in  the  sunlight — there  was  one  ! 

Oh,  Bertha  !  hide  thy  face  and  weep.  She 
was  so  lovely  and  so  loving,  so  good  and  true, 
so  patient  and  so  tender,  then.  Oh !  how 
could'st  ihou  forget  it  all,  and  steel  thy  heart 
against  her,  and  vow  the  cruel  vow  never  to 
forgive  her  sin'/  Thy  mother  —  thy  own 
mother,  Bertha  !  think  of  it. 

A  shadow  fell  across  the  window  beside 
which  she  sat,  and  through  her  blinding  tears 
Bertha  looked  up,  and  saw  a  woman  standing 
there,  holding  by  the  hand  a  little  child.  Her 
face  was  very  pale  and  worn,  with  sunken 
eyes  and  cheeks  ;  her  dress  was  mean  and 
poor.  She  looked  haggard  and  weary,  and 
weak  and  ill ;  but  Bertha  knew  that  it  Avas 
Gabrielle  come  back.  She  could  not  speak, 
for  such  a  sudden  rush  of  joy  came  to  her 
softened  heart  that  all  words  seemed  swal- 
lowed up  in  it ;  ,%ich  deep  thankfulness  for 
the  forgiveness  that  seemed  given  her,  that 
her  first  thought  was  not  a  welcome,  but  a 
prayer. 

Gabrielle  stood  without,  looking  at  her  with 
her  sad  eyes. 

"  We  are  alone,"  she  said,  "  and  very  poor ; 
will  you  take  us  in  ?  " 

Sobbing  with  pity  and  with  joy,  Bertha 
rose  from  her  seat  and  hurried  to  the 
door.  Trembling,  she  drew  the  wanderers 
in  ;  then  falling  on  her  sister's  neck,  her 
whole  heart  melted,  and  she  cried,  with 
gushing  tearSj 

"  Gabrielle,  dear  sister  Gabrielle,  I,  too,  am 
all  alone  ! " 

The  tale  that  Gabrielle  had  to  tell  was  full 
enough  of  sadness.  They  had  lived  together, 
she  and  her  mother,  for  about  a  year,  very 
peacefully,  almost  happily ;  and  then  the  mother 
died,  and  Gabrielle  soon  after  married  one  who 
had  little  to  give  her  but  his  love.  And  after 
that  the  years  passed  on  with  many  cares  and 
griefs — for  they  were  very  poor,  and  he  not 
strong — but  with  a  great  love  ever  between 
them,  which  softened  the  pain  of  all  they  had 
to  bear.  At  last,  after  being  long  ill,  he 
died,  and  poor  Gabrielle  and  her  child  were 
left  to  struggle  on  alone. 

"  I  think  I  should  have  died,"  she  said,  as, 
weeping,  she  told  her  story  to  her  sister,  "  if 
it  had  not  been  for  my  boy  ;  and  /  could  so 
well  have  borne  to  die  ;  but,  Bertha,  I  could 
not  leave  him  to  starve  !  It  pierced  my  heart 


with  a  pang  so  bitter  that  I  cannot  speak 
of  it,  to  see  his  little  face  grow  daily  paler.; 
his  little  feeble  form  become  daily  feebler 
and  thinner  ;  to  watch  the  sad,  uncLildlike 
look  fixing  itself  hourly  deeper  in  his  sweet 
eyes — so  mournful,  so  uncomplaining,  so  full 
of  misery.  The  sight  killed  me  day  by  day  ; 
and  then  at  last,  in  my  despair,  I  said  to  myselr 
that  I  would  come  again  to  you.  I  thought, 
sister — I  hoped — that  you  would  take  my 
darling  home,  and  then  I  could  have  gone 
away  and  died.  But  God  bless  you  ! — God 
bless  you  for  the  greater  thing  that  you  have 
done,  my  kind  sister  Bertha.  Yes — kiss  me, 
sister  dear :  it  is  so  sweet.  I  never  thought 
to  feel  a  sister's  kiss  again." 

Then  kneeling  down  by  Gabrielle's  side, 
with  a  low  voice  Bertha  said  : 

"  I  have  thought  of  many  things  to-day. 
Before  you  came,  Gabrielle,  my  heart  was  very 
full ;  for  in  the  still  evening,  as  I  sat  alone, 
the  memories  of  many  years  came  back  to  me 
as  they  have  not  done  for  very  long.  I  thought 
of  my  two  sisters  :  how  the  one  had  ever  been 
so  good  and  loving  and  true-hearted  ;  the 
other — though  she  was  just,  or  believed  her- 
self to  be  so — so  hard,  and  stern,  and  harsh — 
as,  God  forgive  me,  Gabrielle,  I  too  have  been. 
I  thought  of  this,  and  understood  it  clearly, 
as  I  had  never  clone  before :  and  then  my 
thoughts  went  back,  and  rested  on  my  mother 
— on  our  old  home — on  all  the  things  that  I 
had  loved  so  well,  long  ago,  and  that  for  years 
had  been  crushed  down  in  my  heart  and 
smothered  there.  Oh,  Gabrielle,  such  things 
rushed  back  upon  me  ;  such  thoughts  of  her 
whom  we  have  scorned  so  many  years  ;  such 
dreams  of  happy  by-gone  days  ;  such  passion- 
ate regrets  ;  such  hope,  awakening  from  its 
long,  long  sleep — no,  sister,  let  me  weep — do 
not  wipe  the  tears  away :  let  me  tell  you  of 
my  penitence  and  grief — it  does  me  good  ;  my 
heart  is  so  full — so  full  that  I  must  speak  now, 
or  it  would  burst !  " 

"  Then  you  shall  speak  to  me,  and  tell  me 
all,  dear  sister.  Ah  !  we  have  both  suffered 
— we  will  weep  together.  Lie  down  beside 
me  ;  see,  there  is  room  here  for  both.  Yes  ; 
lay  your  head  upon  me ;  rest  it  on  my 
shoulder.  Give  me  your  hand  now — ah !  how 
thin  it  is — almost  as  thin  as  mine.  Poor 
sister  Bertha  :  poor,  kind  sister  !  " 

So  gently  Gabrielle  soothed  her,  forgetting 
her  own  grief  and  weariness  in  Bertha's  more 
bitter  suffering  and  remorse.  It  was  very 
beautiful  to  see  how  tenderly  and  patiently 
she  did  ifc,  and  how  her  gentle  words  calmed 
down  the  other's  passionate  sorrow.  So  dif- 
ferent from  one  another  their  grief  was. 
Gabrielle's  was  a  slow,  weary  pain,  which, 
day  by  day,  had  gradually  withered  her, 
eating  its  way  into  her  heart ;  then  resting 
there,  fixing  itself  there  for  ever.  Bertha's 
was  like  the  quick,  sudden  piercing  of  a  knife 
— a  violent  sorrow,  that  did  its  work  in  houia 
instead  of  years,  convulsing  body  and  soul  for 
a  little  while,  purifying  them  as  with  a  sharp 


38G 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


fire,  then  passing  away  and  leaving  no  aching 
pain  behind,  but  a  new  cleansed  spirit. 

In  the  long  summer  twilight — the  beautiful 
summer  twilight  that  never  sinks  into  perfect 
night — these  two  women  lay  side  by  side 
together;  she  that  was  oldest  in  suifering  still 
comforting  the  other,  until  Bertha's  tears 
were  dried,  and  exhausted  with  the  grief  that 
was  so  new  to  her,  she  lay  silent  in  Gabrielle's 
arms — both  silent,  looking  into  the  summer 
night,  and  thinking  of  the  days  that  were 
for  ever  past.  And  sleeping  at  their  feet  lay 
Gabrielle's  child,  not  forgotten  by  her  watch- 
ful love,  though  the  night  had  deepened  so 
that  she  could  not  see  him  where  he  lay. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

"We  will  not  stay  here,  sister,"  Bertha  had 
said.  "This  gloomy  house  will  always  make 
us  sad.  It  is  so  dark  and  cold  here,  and 
Willie,  more  than  any  of  us,  needs  the  sun- 
light to  strengthen  and  cheer  him,  poor  boy." 

"  And  I  too  shall  be  glad  to  leave  it," 
Gabrielle  answered. 

So  they  went.  They  did  not  leave  the 
village  ;  it  was  a  pretty  quiet  place,  and  was 
full  of  old  recollections  to  them — more  bitter 
than  sweet,  perhaps,  most  of  them — but  still 
such  as  it  would  have  been  pain  to  separate 
themselves  from  entirely,  as,  indeed,  it  is 
always  sad  to  part  from  things  and  places 
which  years,  either  of  joy  or  sorrow,  have 
made  us  used  to.  So  they  did  not  leave  it,  but 
chose  a  little  cottage,  a  mile  or  so  from  their 
former  house — a  pleasant  little  cottage  in  a 
dell,  looking  to  the  south,  with  honeysuckle 
and  ivy  twining  together  over  it,  up  to  the 
thatched  roof.  A  cheerful  little  nook  it  was, 
not  over  bright  or  gay,  but  shaded  with  large 
trees  all  round  it,  through  whose  green 
branches  the  sunlight  came,  softened  and 
mellowed,  into  the  quiet  rooms.  An  old 
garden,  too,  there  was,  closed  in  all  round 
with  elm  trees — a  peaceful,  quiet  place, 
where  one  would  love  to  wander,  or  to  lie 
for  hours  upon  the  grass,  looking  through 
the  green  leaves  upwards  to  the  calm 
blue  sky. 

To  Gabrielle,  wearied  with  her  sorrow,  this 
place  was  like  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  It  was 
so  new  a  thing  to  her  to  find  rest  anywhere  : 
to  find  one  little  spot  where  she  could  lay  her 
down,  feeling  no  care  for  the  morrow.  Like 
one  exhausted  with  long  watching,  she  seemed 
now  for  a  time  to  fall  asleep. 

The  summer  faded  into  autumn ;  the 
autumn  into  winter.  A  long,  cold  winter  it 
was,  the  snow  lying  for  weeks  together  on  the 
frozen  ground ;  the  bitter,  withering,  east 
wind  moaning  day  and  night,  through  the 
great  branches  of  the  bare  old  elms,  sway- 
ing them  to  and  fro,  and  strewing  the 
snowy  earth  with  broken  boughs  ;  a  cold 
and  bitter  winter,  withering  not  only  trees 
and  shrubs,  but  sapping  out  the  life  from 
human  hearts. 

He  was  a  little  delicate  boy.  that  child  of 


Gabrielle's.  To  look  at  him,  it  seemed  a 
wonder  how  he  ever  could  have  lived  through 
all  their  poverty  and  daily  struggles  to  get 
bread  ;  how  that  little  feeble  boxly  had  not 
sunk  into  its  grave  long  ago.  In  the  bright 
summer's  days  a  ray  of  sunlight  had  seemed 
to  pierce  to  the  little  frozen  heart,  and 
warming  the  chilled  blood  once  more,  had 
sent  it  flowing  through  his  veins,  tinging  the 
pale  cheek  with  rose  ;  but  the  rose  faded  as 
the  summer  passed  away,  and  the  little 
marble  face  was  pale  as  ever  when  the  winter 
snow  began  to  fall ;  the  large  dark  eyes,  which 
had  reflected  the  sunbeams  for  a  few  short 
months,  were  heavy  and  dim  again.  And 
then  presently  there  came  another  change. 
A  spot  of  crimson — a  deep  red  rose — not 
pale  and  delicate  like  the  last,  glowed  often 
on  each  hollow  cheek ;  a  brilliant  light 
burned  in  the  feverish  restless  eye  ;  a  hollow, 
painful  cough  shook  the  little  emaciated 
frame.  So  thin  he  was,  so  feeble,  so  soon 
wearied.  Day  by  day  the  small  thin  hand 
grew  thinner  and  more  transparent ;  the 
gentle  voice  and  childish  laugh  lower  and 
feebler  ;  the  sweet  smile  sweeter,  and  fainter, 
and  sadder. 

And  Gabrielle  saw  it  all,  and  bowing  to 
the  earth  in.  bitter  mourning,  prepared  her- 
self for  this  last  great  sorrow. 

The  spring  came  slowly  on — slowly,  very 
slowly.  The  green  leaves  opened  themselves, 
struggling  in  their  birth^with  the  cold  wind. 
It  was  very  clear  and  bright  ;  the  sun 
shone  all  day  long  ;  but  for  many  weeks 
there  had  been  no  rain,  and  the  ground  was 
quite  parched  up. 

"No,  Willie,  dear,"  Gabrielle  said,  "you 
mustn't  go  out  to-day.  It  is  too  cold  for  you 
yet,  dear  boy." 

"  But.  indeed,  it  isn't  cold,  mother.  Feel 
here,  where  the  sun  is  falling,  how  warm  it 
is  ;  put  your  hand  upon  it.  Oh,  mother,  let 
me  go  out,"  poor  Willie  said,  imploringly. 
"  I  am  so  weary  of  the  hours.  I  won't  try  to 
run  about,  only  let  me  go  and  lie  in  the 
sunlight  ? " 

"  Not  to-day,  my  darling,  wait  another  day ; 
perhaps  the  warm  winds  will  come.  Willie, 
dear  child,  it  would  make  you  ill,  you  must 
not  go." 

"You  say  so  ev6ry  day,  mother,"  Willie 
said,  sadly,  "  and  my  head  is  aching  so  with 
staying  in  the  house." 

And  at  last,  he  praying  so  much  for  it,  one 
day  they  took  him  out.  It  was  a  very  sunny 
day,  with  scarcely  a  cloud  in  the  bright  blue 
sky ;  and  Bertha  and  Gabrielle  made  a  couch 
for  him  in  a  warm  sheltered  corner,  and  laid 
him  on  it.  Poor  child,  he  was  so  glad  to  feel 
himself  in  the  open  air  again.  It  made  him 
so  happy,  that  he  laughed  and  talked  as  he 
had  not  done  for  months  before  ;  lying  with 
his  mother's  hand  in  his,  supported  in  her 
arms,  she  kneeling  so  lovingly  beside  him, 
listening  with  a  strange  passionate  mingling 
of  joy  and  misery  to  the  feeble  but  merry 


Charlei  Dickens.J 


THE  THREE  SISTEES. 


387 


little  voice  that,  scarcely  ever  ceasing,  talked 
to  her. 

Poor  Gabrielle,  it  seemed  to  her  such  a 
fearful  mockery  of  the  happiness  that  she 
knew  could  never  be  hers  any  more  for 
ever ;  but,  forcing  back  her  grief  upon  her 
own  sad  heart,  she  laughed  and  talked  gaily 
with  him,  showing  by  no  sign  how  sorrowful 
she  was. 

"  Mother,  mother !  "  he  cried,  suddenly 
clapping  his  little  wasted  hands,  "  I  see  a 
violet — a  pure  white  violet,  in  the  dark  leaves 
there.  Ob,  fetch  it  to  me !  It's  the  first 
spring  flower.  The  very  first  violet  of  all ! 
Oh,  mother,  dear,  I  love  them — the  little 
sweet-smelling  flowers." 

"  Your  eyes  are  quicker  than  mine,  Willie  ; 
I  shouldn't  have  seen  it,  it  is  such  a  little 
thing.  There  it  is,  dear  boy.  I  wish  there 
were  more  for  you." 

"Ah,  they  will  soon  come  now.  lam  so 
glad  I  have  seen  the  first.  Mother,  do  you 
remember  how  I  used  to  gather  them  at  home, 
and  bring  them  to  Papa  when  he  was  ill  ? 
He  liked  them  too — just  as  I  do  now." 

"I  remember  it  well,  dear,"  Gabrielle 
answered  softly. 

"  How  long  ago  that  time  seems  now," 
Willie  said  ;  then  after  a  moment's  peace  he 
asked  a  little  sadly,  "  Mother,  what  makes 
me  so  different  now  from  what  I  used  to  be  ? 
I  was  so  strong  and  well  once,  and  could  run 
about  the  whole  day  long ;  mother,  dear, 
when  shall  I  run  about  again  1 " 

"  You  are  very  weak,  dear  child,  just  now. 
We  mustn't  talk  of  running  about  for  a  little 
time  to  come." 

"  No,  not  for  a  little  time  ;  but  when  do 
you  think,  mother  ?  "  The  little  voice  trem- 
bled suddenly :  "  I  feel  sometimes  so  weak 
— so  weak,  as  if  I  never  could  get  strong 
again." 

Hush,  Gabrielle !  Press  back  that  bitter 
sob  into  thy  sorrowful  heart,  lest  the  dying 
child  hear  it  ! 

"  Do  not  fear,  my  darling,  do  not  fear.  You 
will  be  quite  well,  very  soon  now." 

He  looked  into  her  tearful  eye,  as  she  tried 
to  smile  on  him,  with  a  strange  unchildlike 
look,  as  if  he  partly  guessed  the  meaning  in 
her  words,  but  did  not  answer  her,  nor  could 
she  speak  again,  just  then. 

"  Mother,  sing  to  me,"  he  said,  "  sing  one 
of  the  old  songs  I  used  to  love.  I  haven't 
heard  you  sing  for — oh  so  long  ! " 

Pressing  her  hand  upon  her  bosom,  to  still 
her  heart's  unquiet  beating,  Gabrielle  tried  to 
sing  one  of  the  old  childish  songs  with  which, 
in  days  long  past,  she  had  been  wont  to  nurse 
her  child  asleep.  The  long  silent  voice — 
silent  here  so  many  years — awoke  again, 
ringing  through  the  still  air  with  all  its 
former  sweetness.  Though  fainter  than  it 
was  of  old,  Bertha  heard  it,  moving  through 
the  house  ;  and  came  to  the  open  window  to 
stand  there  and  listen,  smiling  to  herself  to 
think  that  Gabrielle  could  sing  again,  and ' 


half  weeping  at  some  other  thoughts  which 
the  long  unheard  voice  recalled  to  her. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  like  that,"  Willie  mur- 
mured softly,  as  the  song  died  away,  "  It's  like 
long  ago  to  hear  you  sing." 

They  looked  into  one  another's  eyes,  both 
filling  fast  with  tears  ;  then  Willie,  with 
childish  sympathy,  though  knowing  little  why 
she  grieved,  laid  his  arm  round  her  neck, 
trying  with  his  feeble  strength  to  draw  her 
towards  him.  She  bent  forward  to  kiss 
him  ;  then  hid  her  face  upon  his  neck  that 
he  might  not  see  how  bitterly  she  wept,  and 
he,  stroking  her  soft  hair  with  his  little 
hand,  murmured  the  while  some  gentle  words 
that  only  made  her  tears  flow  faster.  So  they 
lay,  she  growing  calmer  presently,  for  a  long 
while. 

"Now,  darling,  you  have  staid  here  long 
enough,"  Gabrielle  said  at  last,  "  you  must  let 
me  carry  you  into  the  house  again." 

"  Must  I  go  so  soon,  mother  1  See  how 
bright  the  sun  is  still." 

"  But  see,  too,  how  long  and  deep  the 
shadows  are  getting,  Willie.  No,  my  dear 
one,  you  must  come  in  now." 

"  Mother,  dear,  I  am  so  happy  to  day — so 
happy,  and  so  much  better  than  I  have  been 
for  a  long  time,  and  I  know  it  is  only  because 
you  have  let  me  come  out  here,  and  lie  in  the 
sunlight.  You  will  let  me  come  again — every 
day,  dear  mother  ? " 

How  could  she  refuse  the  pleading  voice 
its  last  request  ?  How  could  she  look  upon 
the  little  shrunken  figure,  upon  the  little  face, 
with  its  beseeching  gentle  eyes,  and  deny  him 
what  he  asked — that  she  might  keep  him  to 
herself  a  few  short  days  longer  ? 

"  You  shall  come,  my  darling,  if  it  makes 
you  so  happy,"  she  said  very  softly  :  then  she 
took  him  in  her  arms,  and  bore  him  to  the 
house,  kissing  him  with  a  wild  passion  that  she 
could  not  hide. 

And  so  for  two  or  three  weeks,  in  the 
bright  sunny  morning,  Willie  was  always  laid 
on  his  couch  in  the  sheltered  corner  near  the 
elm  trees  ;  but  though  he  was  very  happy 
lying  there,  and  would  often  talk  gaily  of  the 
time  when  he  should  be  well  again,  he  never 
got  strong  any  more. 

Day  by  day  Gabrielle  watched  him,  knowing 
that  the  end  was  coming  very  near  ;  but,  with 
her  strong  mother's  love,  hiding  her  sorrow 
from  him.  She  never  told  him  that  he  was 
dying ;  but  sometimes  they  spoke  together 
of  death,  and  often — for  he  liked  to  hear 
her — she  would  sing  sweet  hymns  to  him, 
that  told  of  the  heaven  he  was  so  soon 
going  to. 

For  two  or  three  weeks  it  went  on  thus, 
and  then  the  last  day  came.  He  had  been 
suffering  very  much  with  the  terrible  cough, 
each  paroxysm  of  which  shook  the  wasted 
frame  with  a  pain  that  pierced  to  Ga- 
brielle's  heart :  and  all  day  he  had  had 
no  rest.  It  was  a  day  in  May — a  soft 
warm  day.  But  the  couch  beneath  the 


388 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducts d  br 


trees  was  empty,  lie  was  too  weak  even  to 
be  carried  there,  but  lay  restlessly  turning  on 
his  little  bed,  through  the  long  hours,  showing 
by  his  burning  cheek,  and  bright  but  heavy 
eye,  how  ill  and  full  of  pain  he  was.  And  by 
Lis  side,  as  ever,  Gabrielle  knelt,  soothing 
him  with  tender  words  ;  bathing  the  little 
hands,  and  moistening  the  lips  ;  bending  over 
him  and  gazing  on  him  with  all  her  passionate 
love  beaming  in  her  tearful  eyes.  But  she 
was  wonderfully  calm — watching  like  a  gentle 
angel  over  him. 

Through  the  long  day,  and  far  into  the 
night,  and  still  no  rest  or  ease.  Gabrielle 
never  moved  from  beside  him  :  she  could  feel 
no  fatigue  :  her  sorrow  seemed  to  bear  her  up 
with  a  strange  strength.  At  last,  he  was  so 
weak  that  he  could  not  raise  his  head  from 
the  pillow. 

He  lay  very  still,  witli  liis  mother's  hand  in 
his  ;  the  flush  gradually  passing  away  from 
his  cheek,  until  it  became  quite  pale,  like 
marble  ;  the  weary  eye  half  closed. 

"  You  are  not  suffering  much,  my  child  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  mother,  not  now.  I  am  so  much 
better  !  " 

So  much  better  !  How  deep  the  words  went 
down  into  her  heart ! 

"  I  am  so  sleepy,"  said  the  little  plaintive 
voice  again.  "  If  I  go  to  sleep,  wouldn't 
you  sleep  too  1  You  must  be-  so  tired, 
mother." 

"  See,  my  darling,  I  will  lay  down  here  by 
you  ;  let  me  raise  your  head  a  moment — there 
— lay  it  upon  me.  Can  you  sleep  so  1  " 

"  Ah,  yes,  mother  ;  that  is  very  good." 

He  was  closing  his  eyes,  when  a  strong  im- 
pulse that  GabrieLe  could  not  resist,  made 
her  rouse  him  for  a  moment,  for  she  knew 
that  lie  was  dying. 

"  Willie,  before  you  sleep,  have  you  strength 
to  say  your  evening  prayer  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

Meekly  folding  the  little  thin,  white  hands, 
he  offered  up  his  simple  thanksgiving ;  then 
said,  "  Our  Father."  The  little  voice,  towards 
the  end,  was  very  faint  and  weak  ;  and  as  he 
finished,  his  head,  which  he  had  feebly  tried 
to  bend  forward,  fell  back  more  heavily  on 
Gabrielle's  bosom. 

"  Good  night,  mother  dear.     Go  to  sleep." 

"  Good  night,  my  darling.  God  bless  you, 
Willie,  my  child  !  " 

And  then  they  never  spoke  to  one  another 
any  more.  One  sweet  look  upwards  to  his 
mother's  face,  and  the  gentle  eyes  closed  for 
ever. 

As  he  fell  asleep,  through  the  parted  cur- 
tains, the  morning  light  stole  faintly  in. 
Another  day  was  breaking  ;  but  before  the 
sun  rose,  Gabrielle's  child  was  dead.  Softly 
in  his  4eep  the  spirit  had  passed  away.  When 
Bertha  came  in,  after  the  few  hours'  rest  that 
she  had  snatched,  she  found  the  chamber  all 
quiet,  and  Gabrielle  still  holding,  folded  in 
her  arms,  the  lifeless  form  that  had  been  so 
very  dear  to  her. 


There  was  no  violent  grief  in  her.  His 
death  had  been  so  peaceful  and  so  holy,  that 
at  first  she  did  not  even  shed  tears.  Quite 
calmly  she  knelt  down  by  his  side,  when  they 
had  laid  him  in  his  white  dress  on  the  bed, 
and  kissed  his  pale  brow  and  lips,  looking 
almost  reproachfully  on  Bertha  as,  standing 
by  her  side,  she  sobbed  aloud  ;  quite  calmly, 
too,  she  let  them  lead  her  from  the  room  ;  and 
as  they  bade  her,  she  lay  down  upon  her  bed, 
and  closed  her  eyes  as  if  to  sleep.  And  then 
in  her  solitude,  in  the  darkened  room,  she 
wept  quite  silently,  stretching  out  her  arms, 
and  crying  for  her  child. 

For  many  years,  two  gentle,  quiet  women 
lived  alone,  in  the  little  cottage  in  the  dell ; 
moving  amongst  the  dwellers  in  that  country 
village  like  two  ministering  angels  ;  nursing 
the  sick,  comforting  the  sorrowful,  helping 
the  needy,  soothing  many  a  deathbed  with 
their  gentle,  holy  words  ;  spreading  peace 
around  them  wheresoever  their  footsteps  went. 
And  often  in  the  summer  evenings,  one  of 
them,  the  youngest  and  most  beautiful,  would 
wend  her  quiet  way  to  the  old  churchyard  ; 
and  there,  in  a  green,  sunny  spot,  would  calmly 
sit  and  work  for  hours,  while  the  lime-trees 
waved  their  leaves  above  her,  and  the  sunlight 
shining  through  them,  danced  and  sparkled 
on  a  little  grave. 

OUR  DOUBLES. 


Mr  philosophy  makes  no  pretence  to  be 
elucidative  or  doctrinal  ;  it  is  humbly  sugges- 
tive. I  do  not  presume  to  explain  or  to  advise  ; 
I  only  crave  the  liberty,  timidly  and  respect- 
fully to  hint. 

My  philosophy,  like  ray  attire,  is  ragged. 
It  is  disjointed,  threadbare,  looped  and  win- 
dowed with  the  holes  that  have  been  picked 
in  it  ;  patched,  pinned  instead  of  buttoned, 
flimsy  and  unsubstantial,  and  consequently 
undeserving  (as  all  rags  must  be)  of  respect. 
But  it  may  serve  to  wile  away  some  ten 
minutes  or  so,  even  as  a  tattered  little  raga- 
muffin was  wont,  in  the  days  of  long  stages, 
to  amuse  the  outside  passengers  by  keeping 
pace  with  the  "spanking  tits  "  for  the  contin- 
gent reversion  of  a  halfpenny. 

I  have  been  philosophising  lately,  after  my 
poor  manner,  on  the  dualities  of  men  and 
women,  of  the  properties  we  all  have,  more  or 
less,  of  casting  our  skin — of  being  one  man 
abroad  and  another  at  home,  one  character  for 
the  foot-lights  and  another  for  the  greenroom  ; 
of  the  marvellous  capacity  with  which  we  are 
all  gifted,  in  greater  or  smaller  proportions, 
for  playing  a  part,  and  not  only  for  playing 
one  radically  and  fundamentally  different 
from  the  one  we  enact  in  private  life,  but 
for  playing  it  simultaneously  with  the 
other,  and  for  being  (to  use  a  very  trite 
Malapropism)  two  gentlemen  at  once.  Every- 
body, so  it  seems  to  me,  can  be,  and  is  some- 
body else. 

You  know  this  already,  you  say,  reader  ; 


Charles  Dickens.] 


OUR  DOUBLES. 


389 


but  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me  for  telling 
you  what  yon  knew  before.  To  be  told  what 
we  know,  flatters  our  self-love,  and  makes 
us  think,  with  some  self-gratulation,  whal 
sharp  fellows  we  are  ;  but  to  be  told  what  we 
don't  know  generally  wounds  our  vanity  or 
excites  our  scepticism,  and  inclines  us  to  a 
suspicion  that  our  informant,  though  doubt- 
less a  well-informed  person,  is  playing  upon 
our  credulity  or  making  game  of  our  ignorance 
You  will,  perhaps,  object  that  in  my  theory 
of  corporeal  duality,  (I  don't  hint  at  the 
duality  of  the  mind,  for  that  is  a  subject  above 
my  I'each,  and  above  my  ken),  I  am  but  giving 
another  name  to  the  hypocrisy  of  mankind. 
But  the  duality  I  mean  is  not  always  hypo- 
critical. The  double  man  is  frequently  un- 
conscious of  his  duality.  He  is  as  sincere  in 
one  part  as  he  is  in  the  other,  and  believes 
himself  just  as  firmly  to  be  the  person  he  is 
representing,  as  an  accomplished  actress,  such 
as  Miss  O'Neil,  would  shed  real,  scalding  tears, 
and  sob  out  words  that  came  really  from  the 
heart  ;  or  as  tipsy  Manager  Elliston,  in  the 
height  and  glory,  the  tinsel  and  Dutch  metal 
of  a  cardboard  coronation,  thought  himself 
George  the  Fourth  in  reality,  and  blessed  his 
people  with  vinous  solemnity  and  sincerity. 
If  people  would  believe  a  little  more  in  this 
duality,  this  Siamese-twin  quality  of  their 
neighbours  and  of  themselves,  they  would 
be  more  tolerant  ;  they  would  not  accuse 
of  unblushing  disregard  of  truth  the  gentle- 
man who,  when  they  had  knocked  at  his 
door,  entei'ed  his  hall,  and  felt  his  oilcloth 
beneath  their  very  feet,  called,  himself,  over 
the  bannisters,  that  he  was  not  at  home.  Mr. 
Smith,  they  might  thus  reason,  the  working, 
novel-writing,  statistic-hatching,  or  simply 
lazy  and  dun-hating  Mr.  Smith,  may  certainly 
be,  and  is,  on  the  first  floor  landing ;  but  the 
other  Mr.  Smith,  his  double,  who  has  time  to 
spare,  and  likes  morning  calls,  and  can  con- 
veniently settle  the  little  bill  they  have  called 
about,  is  not  at  home.  He  is  a  hundred 
miles  away.  He  has  just  stepped  out.  It 
is  uncertain  when  he  will  return.  Duality, 
like  charity,  would  cover  a  multitude  of 
sins. 

Some  men  are  double  willingly,  knowingly, 
and  with  premeditation — who  can  be  both 
wolves  and  lambs  ;  and  with  these,  most 
frequently  the  lamb's  face  is  the  mask,  and 
the  wolf's  the  genuine  article.  Many  put  on 
masquerade  knowingly  but  unwillingly,  and 
curse  the  mask  and  domino  while  they  wear 
them.  A  great  many  wear  double  skins  un- 
consciously, and  would  be  surprised  if  you 
were  to  tell  them  that  they  once  were  some  one 
else  than  what  they  are  now,  and  have  still 
another  skin  beneath  the  masquerading  one. 
Such  is  the  ploughboy,  over  whose  uncouth 
limbs  has  been  dragged,  slowly  and  pain- 
fully, a  tightly  fitting  garment  of  discipline 
and  drill.  Such  is  the  schoolmaster  who 
has  a  cricket-loving,  child-petting,  laughter- 
exciting,  joke-cracking  skin  for  inmost  cover- 


ing, but  is  swathed  without  in  parchment 
bands  of  authority  and  stern  words — bands 
scribbled  over  witli  declensions  and  perfects 
forming  in  avi,  stained  with  ink,  dusty  with 
the  powder  ot  slate  pencils,  stockaded  with  a 
chevaux-de-frise  of  cane  and  birch.  There  is 
the  duality  donned  by  the  exigency  of  position. 
The  fat  man  who  knows  himself  inwardly, 
and  is  notoriously  at  home  a  ninny,  yet,  awake 
to  the  responsibility  of  a  cocked  hat  and  staff 
and  gold  laced  coat,  frowns  himself  into  the 
semblance  of  the  most  austere  of  beadles. 
Necessity  is  the  mother  not  only  of  inven- 
tion, but  of  duality  in  men  ;  and  habit  is 
the  great  wet  nurse.  She  suckles  the  twins, 
and  sends  them  forth  into  the  world. 

Look  at  Lord  de  Rougecoffer,  Secretary  of 
the  department  of  State  for  no  matter  what 
afl'nrs,  and  see  how  double  a  man  habit  has 
made  him.  To  look  at  him,  throning  on  the 
Treasury  bench,  you  would  think  that  nothing 
less  than  the  great  cauldron  of  broth  political 
could  simmer  and  bubble  beneath  his  hat,  and 
that  the  domestic  pot-au-feu,  could  find  no 
place  there.  To  hear  him  pleading  with  all 
the  majesty  of  official  eloquence  the  cause  of 
tapeology,  irremediably  crushing  into  an  inert 
and  shapeless  mass  her  Maje.sty's  Opposition 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house  (lie  has  been 
crushed  himself,  many  a  time,  when  he  sat 
opposite),  sonorously  rapping  the  tin  box  of 
office,  zealously  coughing  down  injudicious 
grievance-mongers,  nay,  even  imitating  the 
cries  of  the  inferior  animals,  for  the  better 
carrying  on  of  the  Government  of  which  he  is 
a  member.  To  watch  the  wearying  and 
laborious  course  of  his  official  life,  the  tread- 
mill industry  to  which  he  is  daily  and  nightly 
doomed,  the  matter-of-fact  phraseology  and 
action  to  which  he  is  confined  ;  to  observe  all 
this  you  might  think  that  he  was  an  incarna- 
tion of  Hansard's  Debates,  Babbage's  cal- 
culating machines,  and  Walkingarne's  Tutor's 
Assistant,  indefinitely  multiplied ;  that  his 
bowels  were  of  red  tape,  his  blood  of  liquefied 
sealing-wax,  his  brain  a  pulp  of  mashed  blue- 
books.  Yet  this  Lord  de  Rougecoffer  of 
Downing  Street,  the  Treasury  bench,  and  the 
division  lobby,  this  crusher  of  Oppositions, 
and  pooh-pooiier  of  deputations,  has  a  double 
in  Belgrave  Square,  enthusiastically  devoted 
to  the  acquisition  of  Raphaels,  Correggios, 
Dresden  china  and  Etruscan  vases  ;  a  double 
so  thoroughly  a  magister  coquince  that  he 
seriously  contemplates  writing  a  cookery- 
book  ;  a  double  enjoying  Punch,  and  with  an 
acknowledged  partiality  for  Ethiopian  sere- 
naders  ;  a  double  at  a  beautiful  park  down 
in  Hampshire,  who  is  regarded  as  an  oracle 
on  all  matters  connected  with  agriculture  by 
ill-used  and  ruined  gentlemen  with  top-boots 
arid  heavy  gold  chains  ;  who  has  a  penchant 
ilmost  amounting  to  a  foible  for  the  cultiva- 
tion of  t\\e  pelargonium  ;  a  double  who  is  the 
lelight  of  the' smaller  branches  of  a  large 
iamily  ;  who  can  do  the  doll  trick  to  a  nicety, 
make  plum-puddings  in  his  hat,  cut  an  orange 


390 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Conducted  by 


into  a  perfect  multiplication  table  of  shapes, 
and  make  as  excellent  a  "  back  "  at  leap  frog 
as  any  young  gentleman  from  the  ages  of  eight 
to  twelve,  inclusive,  could  desire.  The  Lord 
in  Downing  Street  vomits  statistics  by  the 
column  ;  the  Lord  in  Belgrave  Square  is  an 
indifferent  hand  at  counting  at  whist,  and 
never  could  understand  a  betting-book.  The 
Lord  in  private  life  is  a  nobleman  of  unim- 
peachable veracity,  of  unquestioned  candour 
and  sincerity,  and  enjoys  the  possession  of  an 
excellent  memory  ;  the  Lord  in  St.  Stephen's 
confidently  affirms  black  to  be  white,  shuffles, 
prevaricates,  and  backs  out  of  obligations  in 
an  unseemly  manner,  and  has  a  convenient 
forgetfuluess  of  what  he  has  said  or  done,  and 
what  he  ought  and  has  promised,  to  say  or  do, 
which  is  really  surprising. 

Habit  gives  a  double  cuticle  to  Mr.  *  ihn 
Trett  (of  the  firm  of  Tare  and  Trett)  of  the 
city  of  London,  ship-broker.  One  Mr.  Trett 
is  a  morose  despot,  with  a  fierce  whisker,  a 
malevolent  white  neckcloth,  and  an  evil  eye. 
He  is  the  terror  of  his  clerks,  the  bane  of 
ship  captains,  the  bugbear  of  the  Jerusalem 
coffee-house.  His  surly  talk  is  of  ships  that 
ought  not  to  have  come  home  in  ballast,  and 
underwriters  on  whom  he  will  be  "  down  ; " 
of  confounded  owners,  of  freights  not  worth 
twopence,  of  ships  gone  to  the  dogs,  and 
customers  not  worth  working  for.  He  is  a 
hard  man,  and  those  who  serve  him,  he  says, 
do  not  earn  their  salt.  He  is  a  temperate 
man,  and  refuses  chop-and-sherry  invita- 
tions with  scorn.  He  is  a  shabbily  dressed 
man,  and  groans  at  the  hardness  of  the 
times ;  yet  he  has  a  double  at  Dalston 
worth  fifty  thousand  pounds,  the  merriest, 
most  jovial,  chirruping,  middle-aged  gentle- 
man, with  the  handsomest  house,  the  most 
attached  servants,  the  largest  assortment  of 
comic  albums  and  scrap  books,  and  the 
prettiest  daughters  that  eyes  could  wish  to 
behold.  He  is  something  more  than  an 
amateur  on  the  violoncello,  although  Giuseppe 
Pizzicato,  from  Genoa,  was  last  week  brought 
to  Guildhall,  at  the  complaint  of  Mr.  Trett's 
double,  charged  with  outraging  the  tranquil- 
lity of  Copperbottom  Court,  Threadueedle 
Street,  where  the  ship-brokers  have  their 
offices,  by  the  performance  of  airs  from  Don 
Giovanni  on  the  hurdy-gurdy.  East  of 
Temple  Bar  he  abhors  the  juice  of  the  grape  ; 
at  Dalston  he  has  an  undeniable  taste  for  old 
Port,  and  ie  irresistible  in  the  proposition  of 
"another  botUe."  It  is  quite  a  sight,  when 
he  insists  on  fetching  this  same  "other  bottle" 
from  some  peculiar  and  ouly-to-himself  known 
bin,  to  see  him  emerging  from  the  cellar 
beaming  with  smiles,  cobwebs,  and  old  Port 
wine.  He  is  an  excellent  father,  a  liberal 
master,  a  jewel  of  a  man  at  Dalston:  only 
beware  of  him  in  Copperbottom  Court. 
Temple  Bar  is  the  scarifier  that  performs  the 
Laurentiau  operation  upon  him,  and  trust  me, 
the  city  skin  is  a  rough  one. 

When  you  walk  into    Lincoln's  Inn  old ' 


square,  and  up  the  rotten  staircase  (worn 
with  hopeless  clients'  footsteps)  of  No.  202  ; 
when  you  read  on  a  scowling  door  an  inscrip- 
tion purporting  it  to  be  the  entrance  to 
Messrs.  Harrow  and  Wrench's  offices  ;  when, 
opening  that  door,  which  creaks  on  its  hinges 
as  though  clients  were  being  squeezed  behind 
it,  you  push  open  the  inner  door  of  baize, 
which  yields  with  a  softness  equal  to  the 
velvet  of  a  cat's  paw  ;  when  you  have  waited 
a  sufficient  time  in  the  outer  office,  and  shud- 
dered at  the  white-faced  runners,  and  the 
ghastly  Law  Almanack,  like  Charles  the 
First's  death  warrant  in  a  black  frame,  and 
listened  to  the  infernal  music  of  the  busy- 
writing  clerks,  scoring  the  doom  of  clients  on 
parchment  cut  from  clients'  skins,  with  pens 
plucked  from  clients'  feathers,  with  ink 
distilled  from  clients'  blood,  tempered  with 
the  gall  of  law  (as  all  these  matters  appear 
to  you)  ;  when  you  are  at  last  admitted  to 
the  inner  sanctum,  and  to  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Harrow  ;  when,  as  a  debtor,  you 
have  begged  for  time,  for  lenity,  for  mercy, 
and  have  been  refused  ;  or,  as  a  creditor, 
listened  to  Mr.  Harrow's  bland  promises  to 
sell  Brown  up,  to  seize  Jones's  sticks,  to 
take  care  that  Smith  does  not  pass  his 
last  examination,  to  serve  Tompkins  with  a 
ne  exeat,  and  to  take  out  process  of  outlawry 
against  Kobinson  ;  when  you  have  paid  a  bill 
of  costs,  or  have  been  presented  with  oue  which 
you  have  not  the  remotest  chance  of  paying ; 
when  you  have  sustained  all  the  misery  and 
madness  of  the  law's  delay,  and  all  the  insolence 
of  the  office,  you  will  very  probably  descend 
the  staircase,  commending  the  whole  temple 
of  injustice,  cruelty,  and  chicane,  to  the  in- 
fernal gods.  Mr.  Harrow  will  &eem  to  you 
an  embodied  ghoule  ;  Mr.  Wrench,  a  vampire, 
with  an  arsenal  of  legal  sticks  and  staves 
through  what  ought  to  be  his  heart,  but  is 
a  rule  to  show  cause ;  the  scribbling  clerks, 
the  white- faced  runners,  the  greasy  process- 
servers,  the  villainous  bailiff's  followers  snuff- 
ing up  the  scent  of  a  debtor  to  be  trapped 
from  the  instructions  of  a  clerk — all  these 
will  appear  to  you  cannibals,  blood-suckers, 
venomous  reptiles,  hating  their  fellow- 
creatures,  and  a-hungered  for  their  entrails. 
Yet,  all  these  useful  members  of  society  are 
dualities  ;  they  have  all  their  doubles.  Mr. 
Harrow  leaves  his  inexorable  severity,  his 
savage  appetite  for  prey  on  his  faded  green- 
baize  table.  In  Guildford  Street,  Eussell 
Square,  he  gives  delightful  evening  parties, 
loses  his  money  at  cards  with  charming 
complacency,  and  is  never  proof  against 
petitions  for  new  bonnets  from  his  daughters, 
Ear  autumn  excursions  from  his  wife,  fur  ten- 
pound  notes  from  his  son  at  Cambridge. 
Mr.  Wrench  (who  more  particularly  looks 
after  the  selling-up  and  scarifying  business) 
is  an  active  member  of  the  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  and 
is  quite  a  Providence  to  the  poor  cros- 
sing-sweepers in  the  neighbourhood  of  his 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CLIMATE  OF  AUSTEALIA. 


391 


residence.  The  chief  clerk  (who  has  the  keenest 
nose  and  sharpest  talon  for  a  recalcitrant 
bankrupt  of  any  managing  clerk  in  the 
square)  keeps  rabbits,  portioned  his  laundress's 
daughter  when  she  married,  and  always  weeps 
when  he  goes  to  the  play,  and  the  "Rent 
Day"  is  performed.  The  clerks  who  write 
the  doom  of  clients,  the  runners,  the  process- 
servers,  leave  their  deadly  cunning,  and  re- 
morseless writs,  and  life-destroying  processes 
in  their  desks  and  blue  bags  and  greasy 
leathern  pouches  ;  they  leave  their  skin  behind 
too  ;  and,  after  office-hours,  are  joyous  boon 
companions,  irreproachable  husbands  in  small 
suburban  cottages,  sweethearts  leaving  nothing 
to  be  desired,  free-hearted  roysterers  always 
willing  to  be  their  twopence  to  another's 
twopence,  men  and  brothers  feeling  another's 
woe,  hiding  the  faults  they  see,  showing 
mercy,  inte"r  aiding  and  assisting  each  other. 
And.  believe  me,  this  species  of  duality  is  not 
the  most  uncommon.  The  butcher  is,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  kind-hearted  and  peaceable 
at  home ;  Sanson,  the  executioner,  had  a 
passion  for  the  cultivation  of  flowers,  and 
played  prettily  on  the  piano ;  General  Haynau, 
I  dare  say  (for  the  sake  of  argument,  at  least), 
is  a  "  love"  of  an  old  gentleman  in  private  life, 
with  such  "  loves  "  of  grey  moustachios,  and  so 
full  of  anecdote  !  Do  you  think  the  tiger 
is  savage  and  brutal  in  domestic  life  ;  that 
the  hyena  does  not  laugh  good-humouredly  in 
the  bosom  of  his  family  ;  that  the  wolf  can't 
be  sociable  1  No  such  thing.  I  dare  say 
that  clouds  do  sometimes  obscure  the  zoolo- 
gical felicity ;  that  Mrs.  Tiger  occasionally 
complains,  should  the  antelope  be  tough  or 
the  marrow  scanty  ;  that  Miss  Hyena  may 
lament  the  hardness  of  the  times  and  the 
scarcity  of  carrion  ;  and  that  Mr.  Lupus  may 
do  worse  than  he  expected  during  the  winter  ; 
but,  perhaps,  they  don't  howl,  and  yell,  and 
craunch,  and  tear  at  home? 

We  grow  so  accustomed  to  see  people  in 
one  character  and  costume,  that  we  can 
scarcely  f;mcy  the  possibility  of  the  duality 
they  certainly  possess.  For  us  the  lion  must 
be  alwajs  lying  in  a  hole  under  a  rock,  wait- 
ing for  a  traveller.  We  ignore  his  duality, 
the  lion  at  home.  We  have  grown  so  ac- 
customed to  a  Mr.  Charles  Kean  in  a  spangled 
tunic,  or  a  Mr.  Buckstoue  in  a  skyblue  coat  and 
scanty  nankeen  trousers,  that  we  can't  fancy 
them  in  private  life  save  in  similar  costumes, 
asking  for  beer  in  blank  verse,  in  the  first  case  ; 
throwing  the  spectators  into  convulsions  of 
laughter  by  poking  the  fire,  in  the  second. 
We  so  mix  up  double  men  and  double  dresses 
and  double  avocations,  that  we  fail  to  recog- 
nise even  persons  with  whom  we  are  familiar 
when  they  have  laid  the  state  dress  and  state 
character  aside,  and  walk  abroad  plain  men. 
We  see  a  quiet-looking  gentleman  in  plain 
black  cheapening  asparagus  in  Covent  Garden 
Market,  and  are  told  that  he  is  the  Speaker  of 
the  House  of  Commons.  Where  is  his  bag- 
wig,  his  mace  that  he  should  use  as  a  walking- 


stick,  or  at  least  carry  under  his  arm  like  an 
umbrella  ?  Where  is  his  three-cornered  hat, 
with  which  he  does  those  curious  hanky-panky 
tricks  in  counting  members  ?  We  are  shown  a 
stout  gentleman  in  a  white  hat  and  a  cut-away 
coat  close  to  a  handsome  quiet-looking  man, 
smoking  a  cigar,  and  are  told  that  one  designed 
the  Crystal  Palace,  and  that  the  other  raised 
the  Britannia  Bridge.  Where  are  their  com- 
passes, their  rules,  their  squares  ?  Why  don't 
they  walk  about  the  streets  with  their  hands 
thrust  in  their  waistcoats,  their  hair  thrown 
back,  their  eyes  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling  ? 
Without  going  quite  so  far  as  the  boy  who 
believed  that  every  judge  was  born  with  a 
wig  on  his  head  and  ermine  on  his  shoulders, 
can  you,  can  I,  fancy  a  judge  in  a  jacket  and 
a  wide-awake  hat  ?  Is  there  not  something 
unnatural  and  inharmonious  in  the  realisa- 
tion of  the  picture  of  an  archbishop  in  a 
nightcap  ?  We  can  fancy  a  burglar  clean- 
ing his  dark  lantern,  oiling  his  centre-bit, 
loading  his  pistols ;  but  can  we  fancy  him 
tending  his  sick  wife,  or  playing  with  his 
children  ? 

It  may  be  the  ruling  habit,  after  all,  and 
not  the  ruling  passion  that  is  strong  in 
death.  The  schoolmaster  who  directed  his 
scholars  to  be  dismissed  ;  the  judge  who  sent 
the  jury  to  consider  of  their  verdict  ;  the 
warrior  who  murmured  t&te  d'armee !  the 
mathematician  who  gave  the  square  of  twelve ; 
the  comedian  who  said,  "  drop  the  curtain  ; 
the  farce  is  over ;"  all  these  responded  more  to 
some  watchword  of  habit,  than  of  a  predomi- 
nant passion.  Doctor  Black,  though  an  ex- 
cellent schoolmaster,  can  scarcely  be  said  to 
have  had  a  passion  for  teaching  boys  their 
accidence  ;  it  was,  perhaps,  more  the  habit  of 
the  judge  to  sum  up  evidence  for  the  jury,  than 
his  passion ;  though  Napoleon  certainly  had  a 
passion  for  war  ;  the  mathematician  (I  forget 
his  name)  was  habituated  to  arithmetical 
exercises,  and  gave  the  square  of  twelve 
through  the  force  of  habit  ;  and  as  for  the 
actor,  as  for  poor  Moliere,  he  was  a  comedian 
through  necessity,  and  not,  Heaven  knows, 
through  any  passion  for  performing.  Among 
the  instances  where  the  ruling  passion  does 
really  seem  to  have  been  strong  in  death, 
those  of  the  miser  who  wished  the  candle  to 
be  extinguished,  as  "he  could  die  in  the 
dark,"  and  the  Highland  Cateran  who  ob- 
jected to  extreme  unction  as  an  "  unco  waste 
of  ulzie,"  seem  to  me  the  most  worthy  of 
notice  ;  though  I  am  afraid  the  foundation  on 
which  their  authenticity  rests  is  rather 
dubious. 


CHIP  S. 


CLIMATE  OP  AUSTRALIA. 

SOME  information  on  this  subject  may  be 
useful,  just  now : — Port  Jackson,  in  New 
South  Wales,  on  which  the  city  of  Sydney 
stands,  is  found,  by  thermometrical  corn- 


292 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


{Conducted  by 


parison,  to  have  the  summer  of  Avignon, 
Constantinople,  Baltimore,  or  Philadelphia, 
in  the  United  States,  and  a  winter  very 
nearly  similar  to  that  of  Cairo  in  Egypt.  Its 
fluctuations  correspond  with  those  of  Paris, 
anditsannual  mean  temperature  with  Messina 
and  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope. 

Port  Philip,  the  bay  into  which  the  river 
port  of  Melbourne  flows,  resembles,  in  its 
summer  season,  Baden,  Marseilles,  and  Bour- 
deaux ;  in  its  winter,  Palermo  or  Buenos 
Ayres  ;  the  fluctuations  of  its  temperature 
are  those  of  Montpellier,  and  its  annual  mean 
is  that  of  Naples. 

Launceston,  in  Van  Dieman's  Land,  re- 
sembles Mannheim,  La  Rochelle.and  Toulouse, 
and,  in  its  winter  and  its  annual  mean,  Lisbon 
and  Perpignan. 

Lastly,  Port  Arthur,  the  extreme  southern 
station  of  Van  Dieman's  Land,  possesses  the 
summer  of  Tilsit,  Dautzic,  Augsburg,  and 
Jena,  and  a  winter  like  that  of  Smyrna. 

According,  then,  to  these  statements,  the 
thermometrical  fluctuations  assimilate  New 
South  Wales  and  Van  Dieman's  Land  to  a 
tropical  region.  The  summer  season  of  the  two 
colonies  resembles  the  summer  of  that  part  of 
Western  Europe  which  lies  between  the  lati- 
tudes of  forty-one  degrees,  fifty-three  minutes, 
and  fifty-five  degrees,  fifty-seven  minutes  ;  and 
the  winter  that  part  of  the  Mediterranean 
which — enclosed  between  the  coasts  of  Spain, 
Italy,  France,  and  Algiers — extends  to  Tunis 
and  Cairo.  Thus  are  concentrated  within 
the  space  of  eleven  degrees  of  latitude  the 
elements  of  seasons  most  requisite  and  essential 
for  exalting  all  the  energies  of  animal  and 
vegetable  life. 

The  climatic  condition  of  New  South  Wales 
and  of  all  Australia  is  represented  in  the  most 
favourable  light  by  its  rich  flora,  and  the 
healthy  condition  of  its  aborigines  and 
indigenous  animals.  At  Tahlee,  near  Port 
Stephens,  the  plantain  grows  in  company 
with  the  vine,  the  peach,  the  apple,  the 
English  oak,  and  in  close  vicinity  to  the 
eucalyptoe  and  mimosa.  Kangaroo,  sheep, 
emeu,  and  horned  cattle,  .roam  together  in  the 
.same  forests,  seeking  sustenance  from  the  same 
herbage. 

But  what  mainly  illustrates  the  fertility  and 
salubrity  of  these  countries  is  the  healthiness 
of  the  English  settlers  who  have  taken  root  in 
the  soil.  No  endemic,  and  seldom  any  epidemic 
diseases  of  grave  character,  prevail  ;  and 
if  even  partial  deterioration  of  the  progeny 
is  sometimes  seen,  it  is  to  be  traced  to  the 
pertinacity  with  which  the  English  race  cling 
to  their  original  modes  of  living — to  the 
abuse  of  strong  wines,  malt  liquors,  and 
particularly  to  the  excessive  consumption  of 
animal  food  of  the  richest  description. 
Even  to  the  mode  of  clothing  and  housing 
may  be  traced  individual  diseases,  such 
as  dyspepsia,  premature  decay  of  teeth, 
and  affection  of  the  brain.  Much  useful 
information,  of  the  character  here  produced. 


may  be  gleaned  from  "  New  South  Wales 
ami  Van  Dieman's  Laud,"  by  Count  P.  E. 
de  Strzelecki. 


THE  FIRST-BORN. 

THE  First-born  is  a  Fuiry  child, 

A  wondrous  eniniintion ! 
A  tameless  creiiture,  fond  and  wild — 

A  moving  exultation ! 
Beside  the  hearth,  upon  the  stair, 

Its  footstep  liinghs  with  lightness: 
And  cradled,  nil  its  features  fair 

Are  touched  with  mystic  brightness. 

First  pledge  of  their  betrothed  love — 

0,  happy  they  that  claim  it! 
First  gift  direct  from  Heav'n  above — 

O,  happy  they  that  name  it ! 
It  tunes  the  household  with  its  voice, 

And,  with  quick  laughter  ringing, 
Makes  the  inanimate  rooms  rejoice, 

A  hidden  rapture  bringing. 

Ils  beauty  nil  the  beauteous  things 

By  kindred  light  resembles; 
But,  evermore  with  fluttering  wings, 

On  fairy  confines  trembles. 
So  much  of  those  that  gnve  it  birth, 

Of  Father  and  of  Mother : 
So  much  ofthis  world  built  on  earth, 

And  so  much  of  another  ! 


SHADOWS. 

THE  SHADOW  OF  FANNY  BURNEY  AT  COURT. 

It  is  1779.  There  is  an  amusing  scpne  in  Mr. 
Thrale's  villa  at  Streatham.  The  house,  as 
usual,  is  full  of  company.  Mr.  Boswell,  who 
has  recently  arrived  in  London,  comes  for  a 
morning  visit ;  and  what  was  then  called  a 
"  collation"  is  ordered.  The  sprightly  hostess 
takes  her  seat,  with  Dr.  Johnson  on  her  right. 
Next  him  is  a  vacant  chair,  which  Boswell  is 
about  to  occupy,  according  to  his  wont  as  the 
umbra  of  his  illustrious  friend.  Mr.  Seward 
interferes  with — "Mr.  Boswell,  that  seat  is 
Miss  Burney's."  Into  the  chair  slides  "the 
little  Burney  ;"  and  the  good  Doctor  rolls 
about,  and  glares  upon  Fanny  with  his  large 
one  eye,  and  caresses  her  as  he  would  a  petted 
child.  Boswell  is  mad  with  jealousy.  He 
will  not  eat  ;  he  takes  no  place  at  the  table  ; 
but  seizes  a  chair,  and  plants  himself  behind 
the  sage  and  his  protegee.  There  is  a  laugh 
and  a  whisper  about  "  Bozzy,"  when  another 
wig  is  thrust  between  the  Doctor's  wig  and 
the  lady's  powdered  toupfe.  Terrible  is  the 
reproof :  "  What  do  you  do  here,  sir  ?  Go  to 
the  table,  sir.  One  would  take  you  for  a 
Brangton." — "  A  Brangton,  sir?  What  is  a 
Brangton,  sir  ?  "— "  What  company  have  you 
kept  not  to  know  that,  sir  ?  "  Poor  Boswell 
is  soon  informed.  Brangton  is  the  name  of 
a  viilgar  family  in  "  Evelina  ;"  and  the  little 
lady  who  has  dispossessed  him  of  the  place  of 
honour  is  the  authoress  of  that  novel. 

Four  years  pass  on,  and  Boswell  knows  his 
cue  better.  He  culls  at  Johnson's  house,  and 


Charlei  Dickens.] 


SHADOWS. 


393 


finds  him  at  tea  with  "the  celebrated  Miss   satisfied.     "Are   you  sure  you   never  play? 


Burney."  He  is  evidently  in  the  way.  Johnson, 
in  answer  to  something  about  parliamentary 
speakers,  says,  "  Wliy  do  you  speak  here  ? 
Either  to  instruct  or  entertain,  which  is  a 
benevolent  motive  ;  or  for  distinction,  which 
is  a  selfish  motive."  The  canny  Scot  disarms 
him — he  mentions  "  Cecilia  ; "  and  then  John- 
son, with  an  air  of  animated  satisfaction,  as 
the  biographer  records — "  Sir,  if  you  talk  of 
'  Cecilia,'  talk  on." 

The  gentleness  to  Fanny,  and  the  roughness 
to  Bozzy,  are  all  over.  Johnson  has  pressed 
her  hand  for  the  last  time,  and  said,  "Ah,priez 
Dieu  pour  moi." 

It  is  the  16th  of  December,  1785,  and  "the 
celebrated  Miss  Burney"  is  on  a  visit  to 
Mrs.  Delaiiy,  at  Windsor.  This  is  the  widow 
of  Dr.  Delany,  the  friend  and  panegyrist  of 
Swift  ;  so  that  she  formed  a  link  between  the 
times  of  George  the  Third  and  the  times  of 
Anne.  The  King  had  given  Mrs.  Delany  the 
occupation  of  a  small  house  close  by  the  .Royal 
Lodge  at  Windsor  ;  and  he  would  occasionally 
walk  in  for  a  gossip  with  the  ancient  lady. 
The  Queen,  too,  would  sometimes  come. 
Fanny  Burney  had  been  in  a  nutter  for  many 
days  about  these  visits,  ready  to  fly  off  if  any 
one  knocked  at  the  street-door.  On  this 
wintry  afternoon  she  is  in  the  drawing-room, 
•with  Mrs.  Delany 's  niece,  and  a  little  girl, 
playing  at  puss-in-the-corner.  Without  any 
announcement,  the  door  opens,  and  a  large 
man,  in  dee))  mourning,  enters,  shutting  the 
door  himself.  The  niece  exclaims,  "  Aunt, 
the  King,  the  King  ;"  and  the  kittens  rush  to 
the  sides  of  the  room,  as  if  they  had  been 
mice,  and  a  real  grimalkin  had  appeared 
amongst  them.  Fanny  is  planted  against  the 
wall,  and  she  says,  that  she  hoped  to  glide 
out  of  the  room  ;  but  Majesty  asks,  "Is  thaC 
Miss  Burney  ? "  And  then,  Misa  Burney — 
standing  against  the  wall,  as  everybody  else 
stood,  with  the  exception  of  the  venerable  lady 
— had,  after  sundry  royal  monologues  about 
James's  powder,  and  whooping-cough,  and 


rheumatism,    the    happiness     (for    wl 


who    can 


doubt  that  it  was  happiness)  to  hear  the  King 
begin  to  talk  about  "Evelina;"  and  how  she 
never  told  her  father  about  the  book.  Then 
the  King,  coming  up  close,  said,  "  But  what  ? 
what  1  how  was  it  ?  " — "  Sir  !  " — '•'  How  came 
you  1  how  happened  it  1  what  ?  what  ?  " — "  I 
— I — only  wrote,  sir,  for  my  own  amusement, 
only  in  some  odd  idle  hours." — "  But  vour 
publishing,  your  printing,  how  was  that 


"  That  was,  sir,  only  because 


«  What  ? " 


•"  I  thought,  sir,  it  would  look  very  well  in 
print." — "  Ha  !  ha  !  very  fair,  indeed  !  that's 
being  very  fair  and  honest !  " 

Now  comes  the  Queen — and  then  the  King 
i"  repeats  all  that  he  had  said,  and  all  that 
Miss  Burney  had  said — and  coming  up  to  the 
bewildered  maiden  again,  asks,  "  Are  you 
musical  ?  " — "  Not  a  performer,  sir."  The 
King  crosses  to  the  Queen,  and  communicates 
the  fact.  But  the  royal  curiosity  is  not  quite 


never  touch  the  keys  at  all  I" — "Never  to 
acknowledge  it,  sir." — "  Oh  that's  it  ;"  and 
he  imparts  to  the  Queen,  "  She  does  play,  but 
not  to  acknowledge  it."  There  is  then  a  great 
deal  of  talk  in  the  middle  of  the  room — while 
those  against  the  wall  answer  if  spoken  to — 
when  the  Queen,  in  a  low  voice,  says,  "  Miss 
Burney  ;" — and  upon  Miss  Burney  coming  up 
to  her,  whispers — "  But  shall  we  have  no 
more — nothing  more  ?  "  and  Fanny  cannot 
but  understand  her,  and  shakes  her  head. 

We  see  the  shadow  of  "  little  Burney,"  as 
she  writes  twenty  pages  of  her  diary  on  that 
eventful  evening,  smiling  with  ineifable  happi- 
ness, and,  we  almost  fear,  forgetting  that  she 
had  lived  with  those  whose  commendation 
was  worth — shall  we  say  it  ? — almost  as  much 
as  "  the  excessive  condescension"  to  the 
authoress  standing  against  the  wall  in  Mrs. 
Delany's  drawing-room. 

In  July  1786,  Miss  Burney  has  attained,  in 

promotion. 
She  has  a 


the  view  of  the   world,   a   h'igh 
She  is  of  the  Queen's  household. 


drawing-room  and  a  bed-room  in  the  Lodge 
at  Windsor  ;  a  footman,  and  two  hundred 
a  year.  Is  the  authoress  of  "  Evelina  "  a  con- 
fidential amanuensis, — or  English  reader — or 
instructress  of  a  Princess  ?  We  see  her  shadow 
in  the  unvarying  course  of  her  daily  life. 

Fanny  rises  at  six  o'clock.  She  dresses  iu 
a  morning-gown  and  cap,  and  waits  her  first 
summons.  What  summons  her  1  A  bell. 
"  The  celebrated  Miss  Burney,"  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  can  never  hear  that  bell  with- 
out a  start,  and  a  blush  of  conscious  shame  at 
her  own  strange  degradation.  These  are  her 
own  words.  Poor  little  Burney  !  Your  father, 
we  would  fain  believe,  forced  you  to  wear 
these  chains  of  servitude  ;  or  perhaps  you 
thought  that  to  wait  upon  a  "  sweet  Queen  " 
as  a  lady's  maid — yes,  Fanny,  a  lady's  maid, 
nothing  more  nor  less — was  to  be  a  bright 
fairy  dressing  a  born  princess  all  in  silk  and 
diamonds  for  a  ball,  where  the  fairy  hersell 
might  sometimes  dance.  It  is  really  very 
prosaic  work  ;  Miss  Burney  has  a  helper- 
one  Mrs.  Thielky  ;  but  there  is  also  a  lady 
above  her  in  office,  one  Mrs.  Schwellenberg. 
Between  seven  and  eight  o'clock  there  is  the 
Queen's  morning  dressing.  Mrs.  Thielky 
hands  "  the  things,"  and  Fanny  puts  them  on. 
At  a  quarter  before  one  begins  the  dressing 
for  the  day.  Fanny  ought  to  be  dressed 
herself  before  she  enters  the  royal  presence  ; 
but,  we  grieve  to  say,  she  is  often  unpunctual 
and  half-uupowdered.  Perhaps  she  has  been 
musing  over  the  remembrance  of  the  wisdom 
of  Burke,  or  the  kindness  of  Reynolds,  wrapt 
in  a  dream  of  the  old  familiar  faces.  The 
bell  rings,  and  she  must  go.  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg is  there,  and  Mrs.  Thielky;  and  they 
help  the  Queen  off  with  her  gown,  and 
on  with  her  powdering  tilings,  and  then 
the  hair-dresser  is  admitted  ;  the  Queen 
reading  the  newspaper  during  the  operation. 


394 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


'Conducted  by 


At  three  o'clock  the  ceremony  is  finished  ; 

there  is  an  end  of  free  will.    The  condition  of 

and   "  the    celebrated   authoress  "    has  actu- 

existence in  those  dreary  walls  is  unmitigated 

ally   two  hours  of  freedom.     Is  she  jotting 

slavery.     The  very  highest  are  the  slaves  of 

down   notes  for  "  Camilla,"  or  does  she  get 

their  own  forms  ;  their  attendants,  from  the 

a  breezy  walk  in  the  Little  Park,  shaded  from 

Lady  of  the   Bedchamber  to   Miss  Buwney, 

that   July  sun  by  those   o'er-archiug  elms, 

"  the  dresser,"  —  from  the  Lord  Chamberlain 

solemn  as  a  cathedral  aisle  —  as  solemn,  but 

to   Colonel    Goldsworthy,  the   Equerry  —  are 

how  much  more  sweet  !     Poor   Fanny  !  she 

equally  slaves.     The  man  of  dry  humour  thus 

also  has  had    to    put    on    her    powdering 

describes  the  life  which  would   have   killed 

things  —  the  hair-dresser  has  been   with   her 

Major  Price,  if  he  had  not  resigned  :  "  Riding, 

also  a  little  after  noon,  and  she  has  had  no 

and  walking,   and   standing,   and   bowing,  — 

leisure  to  read  the  newspaper.     She  must  sit 

what  a  life  it  is.     Well  ;  it  's  honour  !  that  's 

still,  lest  the  curls  should  be  deranged,  till 

one  comfort  ;  one  has  the  honour  to  stand  till 

she  goes  to  dine  with  cross  Mrs.  Schwellenberg, 

one  has  not  a  foot  left  ;  and  to  ride  till  one's 

punctually  at  five.     No  wonder  that  she  gives 

stiff,  and  to  walk  till  one's  ready  to  drop  ;  and 

way  to  dejection  of  spirits,  and  mopes  over 

then  one  makes  one's  lowest  bow,  d'ye  see,  and 

her  diary.    For  three  hours  Fanny  is  tete-a- 

blesses   one's-self  with  joy  for  the   honour." 

tete  with  the  superior  lady  of  the  dressing- 

Fanny  is  never  invited  to  hear  the  evening 

room  mysteries,  who  propitiates  the  novice 

concert  ;  but  Colonel   Goldsworthy  tells  her 

after  this  fashion  :  "  I  tell  you  once,  I  shall 

how  those  who  do  hear  it  have  to  stand  in  an 

do  for  you  what  I  can  ;  you  are  to  have  a 

outer  room  for  two  hours.     To   be   able   to 

gown.     The  Queen  will  give  you  a  gown  ! 

stand  for  hours  without  dropping,  to  walk  out 

The   Queen  says  you  are  not  rich."    Fanny 

of  a  room  backwards,  and  never  to  cough  or 

pouts  :   "  I  have  two  new  gowns,  and  there- 

sneeze —  these   were   the  qualifications   for   a 

fore  do  not  require  another."  —  "  Miss  Bernar, 

court  life,  in  the  absence  of  which  no  talent 

I  tell  you  once,  when  the  Queen  will  give  you 

and  no  virtue  would  be  equivalents. 

a  gown,   you    must    be    humble,   thankful." 

We  see  the  shadow  of  Fanny  Burney,  as  on 

Poor  little   Burney  !     At  eight   o'clock  the 

two  occasions,  separated  by  an  interval  of  less 

Equerry-in-waiting    comes    to    tea    in   Mrs. 

than  three  months,   she  walks  on  Windsor 

Schwellenberg's    room,   and   with    him    any 

terrace. 

gentlemen  that  the  King  or  Queen  may  have 

On  the  21st  May,  1786  —  five  months  after 

invited  for  the  evening.     Fanny,  for  an  hour, 

the  introduction  to  royalty  at  Mrs.  Deluny's  — 

is  in  good  society,  as  the  world  terms  it  ;  but 

Doctor  Buruey,  who   is  desirous  to   be  .ap- 

it is  not  quite  the  society  to  which  she  has 

pointed  Master  of  the  King's  BMid,  when  the 

been  accustomed.     There  is  General   Budc, 

decease  should  ensue  of  the  then  master,  is 

with  a  sneer  in  his  smile  that  looks  sarcastic  ; 

thus  advised  :  "  Take  your  daughter  in  your 

but  Major  Price  is  kind  and  good-humoured  ; 

hand,  and  walk  upon  the  terrace  ;  the  King 

and  Colonel  Goldsworthy,  although  a  man  of 

will  understand."     The  King  was  well  expe- 

but little  cultivation  or  literature,  delights  in 

rienced   in   such  hints.     Was  the  Bishop  of 

<x  socciGS  of"  Oi*v  liiiiiiou.r      .A_ii  occtision  £ii'i*iv(?s 

\_          "111  declining*  lic*xl^"li        uncnic^tion'iulv 

for  the   "  celebrated   authoress  "   to   form   a 

the  Very  Reverend  the  Dean  of  B  would 

"grand   design."      Her    superior    is    left   in 

be  on  Windsor  Terrace  with  his   daughter. 

London,  and  the  presidency  of  the  tea-table 

Was   "  Gold    Stick  "   confined   to   his   bed  — 

devolves  upon  Miss  Burney.     She  determines 

"Silver   Stick"  would    soon   be   shining   on 

to  cut  the  Equerries,  and  goes  out  ;  she  had 

Windsor  Terrace.     We  have  seen  the  process 

no  official  commands  to  make  tea  for  them. 

in  our  boyhood,  some  twenty  years  later  than 

The   man   of  little   literature   is  angry,  and 

the  Sunday  evening  on  which  Miss  Burney 

Miss  Burney   gets   through   the  affair   very 

stood    to    attract    notice    in    this    "  Vanity 

awkwardly.     Fanny  !  you   are  tethered,  you 

Fair."      It    was    a    curious    scene.      Abowt 

had  better  not  tug  at  the  chain.     The  "  sweet 

live  o'clock,  carriage  after  carriage  began  to 

Queen"  is  very  condescending  ;  but  she  rarely 

roll  up  the  Castle  hill.     That  hill  was  then  a 

lets  Miss  Burney  forget  that  she  is  there  as 

sort  of  street,  with  house  after  house,  close  up 

the   servant,   and    not    as   the   novel-writer. 

to  the  ugly  barrack,  called  the  Lodge,  which 

The  Queen  has  gone  out  early  with  the  King, 

Sir  William  Chambers  had  erected  opposite  the 

and  Miss  Burney  thinks  she  may  have  a  long  great  southern  gate  of  the  Castle.    Tl 
walk  :    she    is    too    late    for    the   noon-tide    was  the  seat  of  Fanny  Burnev's  criefs 


dressing  ;  but  she  rushes  into  the  room  where 
Majesty  is  already  under  the  hands  of  the  hair- 
dresser, with  no  Burney  to  have  disrobed  her. 
"  Where  have  you  been,  Miss  Buruey  ? "  It  was 
small  compliment  to  the  authoress  of  ''Eve- 
lina," when  the  thunder-cloud  had  p;is.-;:x],  to 
be  told  to  look  at  Lady  Frances  Howard's 
gown,  and  see  if  it  was  not  very  pretty. 
But  the  poor  thing  receives  it  as  kin.  in  ess,  and 
dries  her  tears.  It  was  kindness.  The  Queen 
is  really  kind  to  her  ;  but,  within  that  circle, 


separated  from  the  road  to  the  terrace  by  ;in 
enclosed  lawn.  The  eastern  ten-ace  was  the 
great  point  of  attraction.  Here  the  aspirants 
for  royal  smiles  clustered  on  benches  placed 
under  the  Castle  windows,  whilst  the  com- 
monalty were  happy  to  get  a  seat  on  the  low 
wall  that  looked  down  upon  what  was  then  a 
smooth  turf,  but  now  a  garden.  There  is  a 
sudden  hush  ;  a  door  is  opened,  and  Majesty 
is  seen  descending  the  steps.  The  bands 
burst  out  with  "  God  save  the  King  !  "  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SHADOWS. 


395 


multitude  are  uncovered.  Fanny  has  not 
arrived  quite  in  good  time  ;  but  she  is  brought 
with  Lady  Louisa  Clayton,  and  a  place  is 
obtained.  Up  and  down  walk  the  King  and 
Queen,  and  the  Princesses,  and  the  Equerries  ; 
the  crowd  squeeze  themselves  into  the  nar- 
rowest space  as  they  come,  and  close  in  after 
they  have  passed.  Fanny  is  shy,  and  draws 
her  hat  over  her  face  ;  she  thinks  her  real 
errand  will  be  suspected  ;  but  her  chaperon 
puts  her  forward.  The  King  has  his  how 
d'ye  do — and  when  did  you  come — and  how 
long  shall  you  stay — and  when  do  you  come 
again  —  and — happy  little  Burney — "Pray, 
how  goes  on  the  Muse  ?  " — "  Not  at  all, 
sir."  — "No!  But  why?  why  not?"— 
"  I — I — I  am  afraid,  sir." — ''  And  why  ?  of 
what  ?  " — and  the  King  pokes  his  head  under 
her  hat — "Oh!  she's  afraid."  Doctor  Burney 
had  no  word — and  he  didn't  get  the  place. 

It  is  the  7th  of  August  of  the  same  year — 
the  birthday  of  the  little  Princess  Amelia. 
All  the  royal  family  are  "new  dressed;" 
people  of  distinction  come  to  the  terrace  as  to 
a  drawing-room.  Miss  Burney,  too — who  is 
now  one  of  the  queen's  attendants — is  new 
dressed  ;  and  why  should  phe  not  go  to  the 
terrace  ?  She  does  go  with  Mrs.  Delany. 
The  King  stops  to  speak  to  the  good  old  lady 
— and  he  once  or  twice  addresses  her  com- 
panion. The  Queen — when  her  attendant 
catches  her  eye — expresses,  by  one  look  of 
surprise,  that  she  ought  not  to  have  been 
there.  Fanny,  in  a'  flutter,  kisses  the  little 
Princess  of  three  years'  old — and  before  the 
people  of  distinction,  too  !  In  truth,  Miss 
Burney,  you  are  much  too  impulsive  ;  three 
months  have  made  a  great  difference  in  your 
position,  which  you  rather  fail  to  comprehend. 
A  spiteful  Quarterly  .Reviewer — who  found 
out  that  you  were  h've-and-twenty,  and  not, 
seventeen,  when  you  wrote  ".Evelina" — says, 
with  the  grandest  of  airs,  that  your  chief,  if 
not  sole  recommendations  to  the  royal  favour 
were  your  "literary  merits,"  and  your  "  per- 
sonal manners  !  "  No  doubt,  you  presumed 
upon  those  qualities,  sometimes — and  it  was 
long  before  you  were  aware  that  they  were 
not  wanted  in  your  position. 

"  Literary  merits "  have  not  very  often 
public  recognition,  and  when  a  demonstration 
comes  it  is  generally  embarrassing.  There 
was  a  time  when  Miss  Burney,  with  the 
Montagues  and  Thrales  about  her,  would 
have  sate  calmly  in  a  box  at  the  theatre,  and 
received,  without  much  blushing,  a  tribute  to 
her  reputation.  She  is  now  in  the  Equerries' 
box — the  balcony  box — at  one  of  the  great 
theatres,  in  the  front  row  ;  the  Royal  Family 
and  their  suite  immediately  opposite.  The 
second  Lady  of  the  llobes  has  been  kindly 
permitted  a  few  hours  of  relaxation.  Miss 
Farren  comes  on  'to  speak  the  epilogue  to  a 
new  play.  Fanny  leans  forward  with  her 
opera-glass,  intent  upon  the  graceful  actress. 
There  is  a  compliment  to  female  writers,  and 
she  listens  with  breathless  attention.  What  ? 


Is  it  herself — who  has  been  doomed  to  hear, 
from  rude  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  that  she  "  hates 
all  novels  " — to  whom  these  two  lines  apply  ? 

"  Let  sweet  Cecilia  gain  your  just  applause, 
Whose  every  passion  yields  to  Nature's  laws." 

The  King  raises  his  opera-glass  to  look  at 
her,  and  laughs  immoderately  ;  the  Queen 
looks  up  too  ;  the  Princesses  look  ;  the  maids 
of  honour  look.  Fanny  puts  up  her  fan,  and 
sits  back  for  the  rest  of  the  night.  Popular 
applause — and  that  midnight  "  bell "  when 
she  returns  to  the  palace  ! 

We  have  read  the  "  Diary  and  Letters  of 
Madame  D'Arblay,"  with  a  real  feeling  of 
pity  for  her  in  those  Miss  Burney  days  at 
Windsor,  and  Kew,  and  Buckingham  Palace. 
Never  was  a  flattered  and  petted  lady — the 
most  successful  writer  of  fiction  in  an  age 
when  authoresses  were  few — subjected  to  such 
bitter  mortifications,  as  in  those  two  or  three 
years  of  her  imprisonment  in  that  waiting- 
maid  life.  We  see  her  restless  shadow  as  she 
enters,  with  the  royaj  cortege,  an  imbidden 
guest,  into  the  halls  of  Nuneham  ;  no  servant 
to  show  her  to  her  room — no  welcome — no 
offered  refreshment.  Plain  Mrs.  Schwellen- 
berg gives  her  a  premonition  when,  with 
her  own  pretensions  as  Miss  Burney,  she  tells 
the  German  lady  that  she  had  been  introduced 
to  Lord  Harcourt  at  Sir  Joshua  Keynolds's  : 
— "  O  !  it  is  the  same — that  is  nothing — when 
you  go  with  the  Queen,  it  is  enough ;  they 
1  might  be  civil  to  you  for  that  sake.  You 
I  might  go  quite  without  no,  what  you  call, 
;  fuss  ;  you  might  take  no  gown  but  what  you 
|  go  in  ;  that  is  enough — you  might  have  no 
'  servant — for  what  ?  You  might  keep  on  your 
riding-dress.  There  is  no  need  you  might  be 
seen.  I  shall  do  every  thing  I  can  to  assist 
you  to  appear  for  nobody."  Literary  merits, 
and  personal  manners  !  —  put  them  up  in 
i  lavender,  Miss  Burney ;  they  will  not  wear 
well  here  with  the  new  gown  that  the  Queen 
gtves  you. 

It  is  the  1st  of  January,  1787,  and  Fanny 
Burney  is  entering  a  wise  resolve  in  her 
diary  :  "  I  opened  the  new  year  with  what 
composure  I  could  acquire.  I  considered  it 
as  the  first  year  of  my  being  settled  in  a  per- 
1  manent  situation,  and  made  anew  the  best 
'resolutions  I  was  equal  to  forming,  that  I 
j  would  do  what  I  could  to  curb  all  spirit  of 
repining,  and  to  content  myself  calmly,  unre- 
sistingly at  least,  with  my  destiny."  She  has 
:  mistaken  the  real  nature  of  the  "  permanent 
situation."  It  is  no  fault  of  hers  that  she  is 
unfitted  for  it  ;  it  is  no  fault  of  her  royal  bene- 
factors— for  they  wished  to  be  so — that  her 
promotion  is  degradation.  Her  destiny  is  an 
unnatural  one,  and  she  must  repine.  Tfie 
habitues  of  a  court  have  their  own  exclusive 
associations  of  rank  and  ambition,  of  fashion 
and  parade,  to  console  them  for  the  incon- 
veniences of  the  "  honour  "  in  which  they  live. 
But  the  literary  lady's-maid — what  sympathy 
has  she  ?  Tke  Queen  is  condescending,  but 


396 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


reserved  ;  the  King  has  his  what  1  what  ?  as 
he  has  with  every  one  ;  the  Princesses  are 
affable  ;  the  Equerries  are  polite  ;  celebrities, 
though  of  a  somewhat  heavy  character,  come 
sometimes  to  the  tea-rourn — Mr.  De  Luc  the 
geologist,  Mr.  Bryant  the  mythologist,  and 
Dr.  Herschel  the  astronomer.  But  she  meets 
Thomas  Warton,  the  poet,  in  a  hasty  walk, 
and  she  must  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his  raptures, 
for  she  dare  not  ask  him  to  her  room.  No 
man  must  come  there  ;  no  lady,  not  in  the 
permitted  list.  Her  correspondence  with 
Madame  de  Genlis  is  forbidden.  She  is 
allowed  to  attend  one  day  at  the  trial  of 
Warren  Hastings.  Edmund  Burke — a  name 
that  then  stank  in  the  court  nostrils — espies 
her,  and  places  himself  by  her  side.  Oh, 
Fanny,  there  are  eyes  upon  you.  You 
stammer  as  your  old  friend — the  greatest 
man  of  liis  time — looks  in  your  unaccustomed 
face  with  the  familiar  look  of  sincere  affec- 
tion. The  tie  is  broken.  He  is  the  same ; 
but  you  must  wenr  a  mask. 

We  see  the  shadow  of  Fanny  Burney   as 


there  are  deep  holes.  We  are  comparatively 
well  off  for  water  here,  having  only  to  go  two 
miles  to  fetch  it.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed, 
however,  that  we  abide  by  this  natural  ar- 
rangement. Since  the  rainy  season  we  have 
had  plenty  of  water  close  at  hand,  in  our 
reservoir  or  water-hole. 

Our  choice  having  ultimately  fallen  upon  a 
situation  for  our  farm,  distant  a  few  miles 
from  Geelong,  at  Mount  Swardle,  we  settled 
about  the  land,  and,  in  the  next  place,  pro- 
ceeded to  provide  ourselves  with  that  universal 
means  of  transport  here — a  bullock-dray,  and 
its  accompanying  animals ;  also  a  man  to 
drive.  In  the  last  respect  we  were  parti- 
cularly fortunate.  Tom  is  a  treasure  ;  a  very 
respectable  fellow,  the  son  of  an  English 
farmer,  and  has  been  out  in  the  colony  long 
enough  to  be  quite  handy  at  all  the  work 
required  for  the  conversion  of  a  wild  piece 
of  lorest  land  into  a  well-cultivated  farm. 

Having  arranged  with  a  carpenter  in 
Geelong  for  the  building  of  our  house,  we 
started  for  the  scene  of  our  future  labours. 


illness   gradually  steals   upon   her.     It  must   We  took  with  us  a  dray-load  of  miscellaneous 

"  articles  ;  including  provisions,  axes,  and  other 
implements  wherewith  to  clear  the  forest. 
Our  labours  for  the  first  day  or  two  were  of 
a  rather  desultory  kind  ;  we  occupied  some 


come.     If  she   does  not  send   that  letter   of 

resignation  so  often  proposed,  there  will  be  a 

tear  or  two  in  the  Lodge  at  Windsor,  for  the 

little  woman  that  was  so  clever  and  so  pleasant, 

and  yet  so  fidgetty  and  unhappy.    What  could 

have  ailed  her?     She  had  ''two  new  gowns 

and  everything  handsome"  about  her.     The 

letter  was  sent ;  and  Fanny  soon  grew  well 

at  Norbury  Park,  and  wrote  "  Camilla,"  and 

married  a  pleasant  emif/re,  and  had  a  cottage   here  with  alarming  energy. 

of  her  own  in  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Mole,       On  Tuesday  and  Wednesday,  we  succeeded 


time  in  deciding  upon  a  good  site  for  the 
house,  and  clearing  it  of  trees.  The  situation 
chosen  is  upon  the  side  of  a  little  valley, 
fronting  the  west,  and  sheltered  from  tin; 
south  winds  ;  which  are  apt  to  puff  and  blow 


and  died  at  near  ninety.  We  hope  she  was 
more  at  home  in  a  foreign  land  than  in  that 
ugly  Lodge  at  Windsor,  of  which,  most 
happily,  not  a  brick  is  left. 


WE,  AND  DUE  MAN  TOM. 

Geeloiiff,  1851. 

HERE  AVC  are  all  three  ! 

When  Mr.  Rumble  and  myself  had  decided 
upon  going  to  work  as  Emigrant  Farmers,  of 
course  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  find 
an  eligible  piece  of  land.  After  applying  to 
the  Government  Land  Office,  and  going  to  see 
every  likely  spot  that  we  could  hear  of  within 
twenty  miles  of  Melbourne — the  result  being 
in  every  case  disappointment — we  went  over 
to  Geelong.  Melbourne  and  Geelong  are 
fifty  miles  asunder,  on  opposite  sides  of  Port 
Philip  Bay. 

We  had  some  very  pleasant  excursions, 
principally  on  foot,  through  the  country  round 
Geelong ;  at  last  we  were  attracted  to  the 
spot  upon  which  we  are  now  settled.  The 
grand  drawback  upon  almost  every  place  we 
visited  was  want  of  water.  In  Australia 
there  are  none  of  those  clear,  rippling  streams, 
chat  glitter  about  the  surface  of  an  English 
landscape  ;  there  are  only  a  few,  thinly  scat- 
tered, deep,  black,  sluggish  rivers,  which  in 
hot  seasons  dry  up  altogether,  except  where 


in  bringing  out  from  Geelong  all  the  wood 
for  the  house  with  our  four  bullocks. 
On  Thursday  there  occurred  the  Bush  lire, 
of  which  I  have  already  sent  you  some 
account.  (See  "  Household  Words,"  Vol.  III., 
p.  523.)  The  house  was  completed,  all  but 
the  chimne}',  by  the  Monday  following  ; 
and  so  we  took  possession  of  our  future 
home.  It  is  but  one  story  high,  and  had 
originally  only  three  rooms;  but  we  have 
since  added  a  fourth,  and  are  about  to  add  a 
fifth.  We  had  another  journey  out  to  Geelong, 
to  fetch  bricks  for  the  chimney  :  and  when  all 
was  fairly  finished,  Mrs.  Rumble  came  out 
from  Melbourne  to  join  her  husband,  and  so 
our  proper  housekeeping  began.  Mr.  Rumble 
and  myself  consider  ourselves  two  of  the 
hardest  labourers  in  Port  Philip.  Always 
excepting  our  man  Torn. 

Our  first  great  work,  when  we  had  com- 
fortably settled  ourselves  in  our  house  and 
fenced  in  a  large  garden,  was  to  enclose  the 
whole  of  our  land  with  a  brush-fence.  This 
we  accomplished  in  three  weeks,  to  the  ad- 
miration of  our  neighbours  :  the  fence  being 
altogether  a  mile  and  a  half  long.  I  soon 
found  it  easy  enough  to  buckle  to  work — 
real  hard  work,  under  the  superintendence  of 
Tom.  I  can  cut  down  a  tree  as  well  as  if  I 
had  no  other  desire  or  duty  in  the  world, 
and  stick  to  such  business  for  ten  hours 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WE,  AND  OUR  MAN  TOM. 


397 


a  day.  Without  feeling  tired  at  night,  I  am 
quite  ready  to  sit  down  and  play  my  con- 
certina for  an  hour  or  two  ;  that  is  what  I 
generally  do  every  evening. 

As  soon  as  our  fencing  was  finished,  we 
began  the  digging  of  a  water-hole,  that  we 
might  secure  to  ourselves  a  supply  of  water 
as  soon  as  the  rains  set  in.  The  position  we 
chose  for  this  very  essential  part  of  an  Aus- 
tralian farm  was  in  one  corner  of  the  garden, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  valley  on  one  ?~'de  it 
which  the  house  is  built.  This  \vater-hole  i« 
twelve  feet  in  diameter,  and  thirteen  feet 
deep.  We  three  spent  only  four  days  in 
making  it.  The  hole  having  been  dug,  we 
covered  it  in,  and  cut  trenches  from  it  up  the 
sides  of  the  valley,  to  catch  all  the  water  that 
runs  down  from  the  adjacent  hills.  So  well 
planned  are  our  water-works,  that  about  an 
hour's  smart  rain  gave  a  supply  of  water  that 
was  not  exhausted  for  a  month. 

The  first  rain  occurred  about  a  month  ago. 
I  then  opened  my  packet  of  seeds,  and  planted 
some  of  them  ;  such  as  cabbages  and  lettuces. 
They  have  all  come  up  well.  In  addition  to  my 
own  seeds,  Mr.  Rumble  had  brought  others. 
Some  of  his  peas  are  now  three  inches  high. 
The  winter  is  the  grand  season  for  vegetation 
here.  At  its  commencement  all  the  trees  begin 
to  shoot  out,  just  as  they  do  in  England  in  the 
spring.  About  five  weeks  ago  we  began  to  clear 
a  piece  of  ground  for  our  crop  of  wheat.  The 
laud  is  by  no  means  heavily  timbered,  few  of 
the  trees  being  more  than  two  feet  thick  ;  so 
that  we  have  now  cleared  about  fifteen  acres, 
thirteen  of  which  are  already  ploughed.  The 
trees  are  not  hewn  down,  but  dug  out  by  the 
roots  :  this  is  about  the  hardest  work  we  do  ; 
but  Mr.  Rumble  and  1  manage  to  clear  the 
ground  almost  as  fast  as  our  man  Tom 
can  plough  it.  We  expect  to  be  able  to 
sow  about  thirty  acres  of  wheat  this  year  ; 
which  is  considered  excellent  for  the  first  crop. 

One  of  the  things  which,  no  doubt,  has  been 
very  conducive  to  the  restoration  of  my 
health,  is  the  extraordinary  change  in  my 
hours.  We  are  always  in  bed  at  nine  o'clock, 
and  up  at  day-break.  One  morning  we  under- 
slept  ourselves  through  mistaking  the  light 
of  the  moon  for  daylight.  We  rose  and  set  to 
work  in  the  garden,  chopping  firewood,  and 
all  that.  We  were  just  getting  breakfast 
ready,  when  I  happened  to  look  at  my  watch, 
and  found  that  it  was  then  only  a  quarter 
past  two  in  the  morning.  We  went  quietly 
to  bed  again,  looking  rather  foolish. 

Our  diet  is  not  luxurious;  its  staple  articles 
are  damper  and  salt  beef,  with  oceans  of 
tea.  This  damper,  which  is  so  frequently 
mentioned  in  all  works  on  Australia,  I  like 
extremely  ;  it  is  simply  flour  and  water 
made  into  a  paste  and  baked  in  the  wood- 
ashes.  We  make  it  into  cakes  of  two  feet 
broad  and  four  inches  thick  ;  these  are  by  no 
means  heavy,  but  when  properly  made  are 
just  like  bread  ;  only,  I  should  think,  more 
wholesome. 


I  have  not  yet  given  you  my  notion  of 
Australian  scenery,  nor  of  the  towns  of 
Melbourne  and  Geelong.  To  begin  with 
Melbourne.  The  approach  to  it  from  the  sea 
is  not  agreeable.  The  steamer  takes  you 
from  the  ship's  side  up  six  miles  of  the  river 
Yarra-Yarra,  which  runs  through  a  low 
swamp  covered  with  small  trees.  As  you 
come  near  the  town,  the  banks  are  fringed 
with  boiling-down  establishments ;  which, 
during  the  hot  weather,  emit  an  odour  any- 
thing but  welcome.  The  town  itself  is  on  a 
rising  ground  ;  the  streets  are  very  wide,  and 
quite  straight,  crossing  each  other  at  right 
angles.  This  arrangement  is  not  picturesque. 
There  is,  however,  in  the  streets  of  Mel- 
bourne, a  pleasing  variety  in  the  appearance 
of  the  dwellings ;  you  may  see  an  obtrusive 
newly-built  brick  house,  running  out  to 
claim  as  much  of  the  street  as  the  limit  of 
the  proprietor's  land  will  permit ;  next  door 
to  it,  you  may  find,  perhaps,  an  old  wooden 
cottage  shrinking  bashfully  into  the  street 
behind.  Some  of  the  shops  are  quite  of 
London  magnitude. 

Geelong  is  a  far  prettier  place  than  Mel- 
bourne. It  is  built  close  to  the  bay  on  mode- 
rately high  ground ;  so  that,  from  almost 
every  part  of  it,  you  can  see  either  over 
the  bay,  or  far  out  into  the  country,  just  as 
you  can  in  Edinburgh.  It  is  laid  out  much  in 
the  same  way  as  Melbourne,  except  that  it  has 
the  advantage  of  a  fine  large  market  square  in 
the  centre.  Considering  that  it  lias  only  been 
eight  years  in  existence,  I  may  say  that  it 
is  a  large  town.  Ft  supports  a  theatre.  It 
contains  English,  Scotch,  and  Roman  Catholic 
churches.  In  the  Catholic  church  is  the  one 
thing  that  interests  me  in  Geelong — a  very 
well-toned  organ.  One  evening  I  stood  for 
half-an-hour  outside  the  building,  listening  to 
the  organist  playing  Adeste  fideles.  It  was  the 
first  organ  I  had  heard  since  that  Easter 
Sunday  when  you  and  I  attended  service  in 
Westminster  Abbey. 

On  my  first  landing  at  Port  Philip,  I 
thought  the  country  had  an  ugly  aspect  ; 
every  thing  looked  so  dry  and  burnt  up — not 
a  single  blade  of  green  grass  was  to  be  found 
anywhere  ;  and  yet  the  trees  are  always 
green.  One  sort  of  tree,  however,  which  is 
very  common — the  she-oak  they  call  it — is 
never  green  ;  indeed,  it  lias  no  leaves  at  all, 
but  merely  bunches  of  a  sort  of  vegetable 
twine  depending  from  the  branches.  It  is 
the  darkest  and  most  sepulchral-looking  tree 
I  ever  saw.  I  think  some  enterprising  ceme- 
tery company  might  do  well  to  introduce  it 
into  England. 

During  our  excursions  round  Melbourne, 
although  none  of  them  extended  beyond 
twenty  miles,  I  saw  some  wild  forests,  in 
which  the  trees  were  growing  in  such  dense 
masses  that  you  could  often  scarcely  pass 
between  the  trunks,  many  rising  sixty  i'eet 
without  a  branch.  This  place  was  in  the 
"  Stringy-bark  Ranges,"  so  called  from  the 


398 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


kind  of  trees  there  growing.  The  dreary 
appearance  produced  by  the  universal  brown 
of  the  grass,  was,  however,  nothing  to  that- 
presented  by  the  country  round  here  after  the 
great  Bush  fire,  in  the  beginning  of  this  year. 
I  went  to  the  top  of  our  Mount  Swanlle  a  day 
or  two  afterwards,  on  purpose  to  have  a  look 
at  the  scene.  On  every  side  there  was  nothing 
but  a  great  black  plain — like  a  smooth  pall  ; 
the  uniformity  of  black  absorbing  all  the 
shadows  which  distinguish  hills  and  valleys  to 
the  eye. 

One  unpleasant  fact  about  this  country  is 
the  extraordinary  number  of  malicious  little 
insects.  First,  there  are  the  musquitoes, 
then  there  are  countless  varieties  of  ants — of 
all  sizes  up  to  an  inch  in  length  ;  the  largest 
are,  on  account  of  their  ferocity,  appropriately 
named  "  colonial  bulldogs."  Their  bite  is 
severe,  as  I  can  personally  testify.  In  addi- 
tion we  have  centipedes ;  not  to  forget  spiders 
as  large  as  the  top  of  a  tea-cup. 

In  Australia  there  is  nothing  old  ;  no  old 
castles  or  old  houses.  One  hardly  ever  sees 
an  old  man  or  an  old  woman  ;  and  I  don't 
think  the  traditions  of  the  natives  ever  extend 
beyond  the  time  of  their  grandfathers.  Even 
the  phrase  "  as  old  as  the  hills,"  almost  loses 
its  point  in  Australia  ;  many  of  them — our 
Mount  Swai'dle  for  instance — being  extinct 
volcanoes  ;  infants,  geologically,  not  above  a 
thousand  years  or  so  old. 

ANIMAL  MECHANICS. 

WHOEVER  has  had  the  pleasure  of  studying 
Dr.  Arnott's  Elements  of  Physics,  must  have 
dwelt  with  peculiar  zest  on  the  many  illustra- 
tions of  its  doctrines  which  the  author  has 
drawn  from  the  structure  of  the  human  body. 
Well  do  we  remember  with  what  a  flutter  of 
surprise  the  professors  and  students  of  two 
distinguished  schools  of  medicine  first  learned 
from  Dr.  Aruott's  book,  that  atmospheric 
pressure  is  one  of  the  forces  by  which  the 
stability  of  the  joints  is  secured  ;  and  that  in 
the  knee  joint,  for  instance,  the  articulating 
surfaces  of  the  bones  are  pressed  together  by 
about  sixty  pounds'  weight  of  air.  For  a 
whole  session  teachers  and  pupils  never  tired 
of  talking  about  this  wonderful  discovery  ; 
and  endless  were  the  experiments  made  on 
tortured  cats  and  dogs,  as  well  as  upon  the 
dead  subject,  to  prove  the  truth  of  a  proposi- 
tion which  ought  to  have  been  self-evident 
to  men  but  moderately  versed  in  natural 
philosophy.  It  was  not  that  those  learned 
professors  and  those  earnest  students  had 
been  previously  unacquainted  with  the  phe- 
nomenon of  atmospheric  pressure  ;  they  knew 
as  wall,  as  Dr.  Arnott  that  every  square  inch 
of  the  surface  of  the  human  body  sustained 
its  airy  burthen  of  fifteen  pounds  ;  they  knew 
as  well  as  he,  that  between  the  articulating 
surfaces  of  bones  there  was  no  elastic  medium 
interposed  which  could  counteract  that  pres- 
sure ;  but,  unlike  him,  they  had  not  learned 


to  put  those  two  facts  together,  but  had 
suffered  them  to  roll  about  in  their  minds  in 
unprofitable  isolation,  like  the  loose  grains 
in  a  sportsman's  shot  pouch.  If  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  man  to  know  the  extent  of  his 
own  ignorance,  on  the  other  hand,  it  appears 
to  us  scarcely  less  desirable  that  he  should  be 
able  to  make  out  a  true  inventory  of  his  know- 
ledge for  the  readier  use  thereof.  "Happy 
the  man  who  knows  what  he  knows,"  exclaims 
the  .erj  tent  ions  Jacotot. 

D:.  Arnott's  work  was  soon  followed 
by  an  essay  from  the  pen  of  the  late  Sir 
Charles  Bell,  entitled  "  Animal  Mechanics  " 
It  is  strange  that  the  example  of  these 
writers  has  hitherto  incited  i\~w  inqxiirers, 
if  any,  to  follow  them  upon  this  new  field 
of  study.  New  it  is,  at  least  in  modern 
times  ;  for  since  the  extinction  of  what 
may  be  called  the  Mechanical  School  of 
Physiology,  of  which  the  last  eminent  repre- 
sentative, Baglivi,  died  in  170G,  scarcely  any 
anatomist  ban  thought  of  comparing  the  facts 
revealed  by  the  scalpel  with  the  principles  of 
physical  statics  and  dynamics.  Even  now  it 
is  but  just  beginning  to  be  acknowledged  that 
the  cultivators  of  biological  and  of  physical 
science — or,  in  other  words,  of  that  which 
relates  to  living  and  that  which  relates 
to  dead  matter — are  too  often  content  to 
remain  more  or  less  ignorant,  to  their  great 
mutual  detriment,  each  of  the  subjects  oil  the 
other's  speculations.  Hence  comes  defective 
knowledge  on  both  sides,  now  and  then 
clumsily  pieced  out  with  conjectures  caught 
up,  wrong  end  foremost,  in  wild  adventurous 
forays  across  the  common  border.  Science 
suffers  from  this  want  of  reciprocal  commerce 
between  its  votaries.  The  arts,  too,  are  de- 
prived of  many  useful  inventions,  which  a 
more  intimate  knowledge  of  animated  nature 
might  suggest  to  men  of  constructive  in- 
genuity. It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  inventor 
of  the  ball  and  socket  joint,,  whoever  he  may 
have  been,  derived  the  ideas,  though  it  were 
even  unconsciously,  from  the  articulation  of 
the  thigh  bone  of  a  quadruped,  or  of  man  with 
the  haunch.  The  celebrated  shield  used  in 
excavating  the  Thames  Tunnel  was  avowedly 
imitated  by  Mr.  Brunei,  from  the  headpiece 
of  a  species  of  worm  that  burrows  under  the 
silt  at  the  bottom  of  rivers. 

Most  of  the  mechanical  principles  exhibited 
in  bones  have  been  elucidated  by  Arnott  and 
Bell  ;  but  a  very  interesting  part  of  the 
subject  has  wholly  escaped  their  notice.  They 
have  shown,  for  instance,  that  sundry  advan- 
tages result  from  the  hollowness  of  the  long 
bones  of  the  limbs  ;  that  it  affords  not  only  an 
ampler  sxirface  for  the  attachment  of  muscles, 
but  also  increase  of  strength  without  increase 
of  weight.  The  strength  of  a  cylinder  of 
given  length  and  material  is  exactly  in  propor- 
tion to  its  diameter,  and  if  the  mass  remain 
the  same,  the  diameter  can  be  increased  only 
by  making  the  cylinder  hollow.  In  fact,  it  is 
only  a  certain  thickness  of  the  outer  ring  that 


Charles  Dickens. J 


ANIMAL  MECHANICS. 


399 


resists  fracture  ;  the  central  portion  con- 
tributes nothing  to  the  amount  of  that  resist- 
ance. The  force  which  tends  to  break  any 
straight  bar,  compresses  the  particles  on  one 
side  and  distends  those  on  the  opposite  side  ; 
hence,  a  very  slight  notch  in  the  under  surface 
of  a  transverse  beam  supporting  a  heavy 
weight  in  the  middle,  may  be  sufficient  to 
cause  its  destruction.  If  the  beam  be  arched 
with  its  convexity  downwards,  the  danger  is 
greatly  increased  ;  if,  ou  tht  ^her  hand,  the 
convexity  be  upwards,  the  danj.^'  vanishes, 
for  then  the  incumbent  weight  tends  to  com- 
press both  surfaces  alike.  A  plain  cylinder  is 
manifest!}'  weaker  than  one  of  similar  dimen- 
sions with  superadded  ribs  or  flutings  ;  and 
lastly,  the  power  of  resistance  may  be  in- 
creased by  widening  the  surface  liable  to  com- 
pression and  augmenting  its  density,  lengthen- 
ing the  transverse  diameter  in  the  dii'ection 
of  Una  probable  line  of  fracture,  and  providing 
for  the  greater  cohesiveness  of  the  side  liable 
to  disruption.  All  these  contrivances  are  ex- 
emplified in  the  long  bones.  They  are  not 
quite  cylindrical  (though  so  called),  but  have 
a  more  or  less  flattened  surface  on  one  side, 
ami  opposite  to  this  a  longitudinal  projecting 
ridge  or  spine.  They  appear  as  if  slightly 
twisted  round  their  own  axis,  the  effect  of 
which  is,  that  the  broad  surfaces  and  the 
longitudinal  spines  present  themselves  in  the 
most  advantageous  positions  to  resist  the 
strain  of  the  adjacent  muscles.  To  the  same 
end.  they  are  sometimes  considerably  arched 
from  one  extremity  to  the  other,  as  in  the 
instance  of  the  human  thigh  bone.  The 
density  and  hardness  of  their  surface  vary  in 
different  parts,  and  are  always  greatest  where 
those  qualities  are  most  needed. 

So  much  we  find  set  forth  in  detail  by 
Arnolt  and  Bell  ;  but  no  writer  has  assigned 
any  satisfactory  reason  for  the  fact,  that  the 
long  bones  of  man  and  of  quadrupeds  are 
filled  with  marrow.  What  may  be  the  use  of 
this  substance  is  a  question  which  remains  for 
us  to  solve.  It  is  one  which,  as  Mr.  Ephraim 
Jenkinson  observes  of  the  cosmogony  and  the 
creation  of  the  world,  has  puzzled  philosophers 
in  all  ages.  Anatomical  writers  have  long 
given  it  up  in  despair,  or  have  contented 
themselves  with  the  unmeaning  conclusion, 
that  the  marrow  is  there  for  no  very  par- 
ticular use,  but  simply  as  a  light  material  to 
fill  up  vacant  space.  Assuredly,  nature's 
workmanship  is  never  disgraced  by  any  sucl 
superfluous  cobbling.  Our  solution  of  the 
question  is,  that  the  marrow  serves  to  increase 
the  rigidity  of  the  bone,  by  acting  as  a  medium 
through  which  the  strength  of  every  part  of 
its  containing  walls  is  simultaneously  exerted 
to  resist  an  excessive  strain  at  any  one  point. 

It  is  a  well-known  principle  of  hydrostatics, 
that  a  pressure  exerted  on  any  part  of  a  mass 
of  fluid  is  immediately  propagated  through 
every  other  portion.  If  a  tightly  fitting  tube, 
furnished  with  a  piston,  the  surface  of  which 
measures,  say  one  square  inch,  be  inserted 


into  the  head  of  a  full  cask,  and  if  a  weight  of 
ten  pounds  be  laid  on  the  piston  rod,  that 
pressure  will  not  be  transmitted  solely  to 
the  inch  of  surface  at  the  bottom  which  cor- 
responds to  the  column  of  fluid  directly  under 
the  piston,  but  every  inch  of  the  interior  sur- 
face of  the  cask,  top  and  sides  as  well  as 
bottom,  will  have  to  bear  an  additional  pres- 
sure of  ten  pounds.  If  any  one  of  them  is 
unable  to  withstand  that  additional  pres- 
sure, the  cask  will  burst ;  if  they  are  all  able 
to  do  so,  the  top,  sides,  and  bottom  of  the 
cask  will  react  against  the  pressure,  so  that 
the  equilibrium  will  be  maintained,  and  the 
piston  cannot  descend.  Now,  marrow  consists 
of  a  delicate  network  of  cellular  tissue,  and  of 
a  fine  oil  which  occupies  its  interstices,  and 
we  may  consider  it  practically  as  a  fluid 
filling  a  narrow,  elongated,  little  cask.  The 
cavity  in  which  it  is  confined  is  nearly  cylin- 
drical, whatever  be  the  irregularities  of  form 
on  the  outer  surface  of  the  bone.  The 
shape  of  such  a  cavity  cannot  be  altered 
without  diminishing  its  capacity,  and  conse- 
quently compressing  its  contents.  But  such 
alteration  and  such  compression  must  neces- 
sarily take  place  before  the  bone  can  break  or 
even  bend  considerably  ;  and,  in  consequence 
of  the  hydrostatic  law  above  stated,  the  ten- 
dency to  this  compression  at  any  one  or  more 
points  will  be  resisted  by  the  cohesive  force  of 
every  other  point  in  the  bony  case. 

The  hollows  in  the  bones  of  birds  of  flight 
are  filled  not  with  marrow  but  with  air, 
whereby  the  specific  gravity  of  the  whole 
body  is  diminished.  These  air  cavities  are 
also  in  a  measure  supplementary  to  the  lungs, 
and  help  to  furnish  the  muscles  with  that 
large  supply  of  aerated  blood  which  their 
rapid  and  continuous  action  demands.  Besides 
these  two  functions,  the  air  in  the  bones  fulfils 
a  third  also,  analogous  to  that  which  we  have 
ascribed  to  marrow.  Air,  being  an  elastic 
fluid,  is  less  capable  than  oil  of  resisting  pres- 
sure ;  but  that  confined  air  can  yet  impart 
considerable  rigidity  to  the  walls  of  its 
chamber,  any  one  may  easily  convince  himself 
by  handling  a  blown  bladder  or  gut,  such  as  is 
used  by  sausage-makers.  The  inferior  stiffness 
of  a  bird's  bones  is  no  doubt  compensated  for 
by  the  low  specific  gravity  which  imposes  so 
much  the  less  strain  on  the  skeleton. 

May  we  not  hope  to  see  the  principle  of 
these  beautiful  natural  contrivances  applied 
to  a  variety  of  useful  purposes  in  art  1  We 
think  we  may.  Nevertheless  there  are  certain 
difficulties  which  we  must  not  overlook.  To 
shut  up  air  in  cases,  whether  flat,  tubular,  or 
of  any  other  form,  is  a  simple  matter  enough  ; 
but  it  is  rot  quite  so  easy  a  thing  as  it  may 
seem  to  fill  a  tube  with  a  liquid  so  that  it 
shall  contain  no  air,  and  then  to  seal  the  tube 
hermetically  in  such  a  manner  that  the  sealed 
end  shall  be  as  strong  as  any  other  part  to 
resist  a  disruptive  force  from  within.  We  must 
also  bear  in  mind  how  dissimilarly  solids 
and  liquids  expand  and  contract  under  the 


400 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


influence  of  heat  and  cold.  In  the  living 
subject  marrow  and  bone  remain  constantly 
at  the  same  temperature.  An  imitation  of 


them  in  water  and  iron  would  be  ill-fitted  for 
enduring  great  alternations  of  heat  and  cold. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOEY   OF  ENGLAND. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


another  time  with  the  new  one,  and  seldom 
true  for  any  length  of  time  to  any  one.  They 
soon  began  to  plot  again.  A  conspiracy  was 


formed  to  invite  the  King  to  a  tournament  at 
Oxford,  and  then  to  take  him  by  surprise  and 
kill  him.  This  murderous  enterprise,  which 
was  agreed  upon  at  seci'et  meetings  in  the 
house  of  the  Abbot  of  Westminster,  was  be- 
trayed by  the  Earl  of  Rutland — one  of  the 
DURING  the  last  reign,  the  preaching  of  j  conspirators.  The  King,  instead  of  going  to 


Wickliffe  against  the  pride  and  cunning  of 
the  Pope  and  all  his  men,  had  made  a  great 
noise  in  England.  Whether  the  new  King 
wished  to  be  in  favour  with  the  priests,  or 
whether  he  hoped,  by  pretending  to  be  very 
religious,  to  cheat  Heaven  itself  into  the  belief 
that  he  was  not  an  usurper,  I  don't  know. 
Both  suppositions  are  likely  enough.  It  is 
certain  that  he  began  his  reign  by  making  a 
strong  show  against  the  followers  of  Wickliffe, 
who  were  called  Lollards,  or  heretics — 
although  his  father,  John  of  Gaunt,  had  been 
of  that  way  of  thinking,  as  he  himself  had 
been  more  than  suspected  of  being.  It  is 
no  less  certain  that  he  first  established  in 
England  the  detestable  and  atrocious  custom, 
brought  from  abroad,  of  burning  those  people 
as  a  punishment  for  their  opinions.  It  was 
the  importation  into  England  of  one  of  the 
practices  of  what  was  called  the  Holy  Inqui- 
sition :  which  was  the  most  unholy  and  the 
most  infamous  tribunal  that  ever  disgraced 
mankind,  and  made  men  more  like  demons 
than  followers  of  Our  Saviour. 

No  real  right  to  the  crown,  as  you  know,  was 
in  this  King.  Edward  Mortimer,  the  young 
Earl  of  March — who  was  only  eight  or  nine 
years  old,  and  who  was  descended  from  the 
Duke  of  Clarence,  the  elder  brother  of 
Henry's  father — was,  by  succession,  the  real 
heir  to  the  throne.  However,  he  got  his  sou 
declared  Prince  of  Wales  ;  and,  obtaining 
possession  of  the  young  Earl  of  March  and 
his  little  brother,  kept  them  in  confinement 
(but  not  severely)  in  Wiifdsor  Castle.  He 
then  required  the  Parliament  to  decide  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  deposed  King,  who 
was  quiet  enough,  and  who  only  said  that 
he  hoped  his  cousin  Henry  would  be  "a  good 
lord"  to  him.  The  Parliament  replied  that 
they  would  recommend  his  being  kept  in  some 
secret  place  where  the  people  could  not 
resort,  and  where  his  friends  should  not  be 
admitted  to  see  him.  Henry  accordingly 
passed  this  sentence  upon  him,  and  it  now 
began  to  be  pretty  clear  to  the  nation  that 
Richard  the  Second  would  not  live  very  long. 

It  was  a  noisy  Parliament,  as  it  was  an  un- 
principled one,  and  the  Lords  quarrelled  so 
violently  among  themselves  as  to  which  of 
them  had  been  loyal  and  which  disloyal,  and 
which  consistent  and  which  inconsistent,  that 
forty  gauntlets  are  said  to  have  been  thrown 
upon  the  floor  at  one  time  as  challenges  to 
as  many  battles  :  the  truth  being  that  they 
were  all  false  and  base  together,  and  had 
been,  at  one  time  with  the  old  King,  and  at 


the  tournament  or  staying  at  Windsor  (where 
the  conspirators  suddenly  went,  on  finding 
themselves  discovered  with  the  hope  of  soi/ing 
him),  retired  to  London,  proclaimed  them  all 
traitors,  and  advanced  upon  them  witli  a 
great  force.  They  retired  into  the  west  of 
England,  proclaiming  Richard  King  ;  but,  the 
people  rose  against  them,  and  they  were  all 
slain.  Their  treason  hastened  the  death  of 
the  deposed  monarch.  Whether  he  was  killed 
by  hired  assassins,  or  whether  he  was  starved 
to  death,  or  whether  he  refused  food  on  hear- 
ing of  his  brothers  being  killed  (who  were  in 
that  plot)  is  very  doubtful.  He  met  his  death 
somehow  ;  and  his  body  was  publicly  shown 
at  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  with  only  the  lower 
part  of  the  face  uncovered.  I  can  scarcely 
doubt  that  he  was  killed  by  the  King's  orders. 

The  French  wife  of  the  miserable  Richard 
was  now  only  ten  years  old  ;  and,  when  her 
father,  Charles  of  France,  heard  of  her  mis- 
fortunes and  of  her  lonely  condition  iii 
England,  he  went  mad  :  as  he  had  several  times 
done  before,  during  the  last  five  or  six  years. 
The  French  Dukes  of  Burgundy  and  Bourbon 
took  up  the  poor  girl's  cause,  without  caring 
much  about  it,  but  on  the  chance  of  getting 
something  out  of  England.  The  people  of 
Bourdeaux,  who  had  a  sort  of  superstitious 
attachment  to  the  memory  of  Richard,  because 
he  was  born  there,  swore  by  the  Lord  that  lie 
had  been  the  best  man  in  all  his  kingdom — 
which  was  going  rather  far — and  promised  to 
do  great  things  against  the  English.  Never- 
theless, when  they  came  to  consider  that  they, 
and  the  whole  people  of  France,  were  ruined 
by  their  own  nobles,  and  that  the  English 
rule  was  much  the  better  of  the  two,  they 
cooled  down  again  ;  and  the  two  dukes, 
although  they  were  very  great  men,  could  do 
nothing  without  them.  Then,  began  nego- 
ciations  between  France  and  England  for  the 
sending  home  to  Paris  of  the  poor  little 
Queen  with  all  her  jewels  and  her  fortune  of 
two  hundred  thousand  francs  in  gold.  The 
King  was  quite  willing  to  restore  the  young 
lady,  and  even  the  jewels  ;  but  he  said  he 
really  could  not  part  with  the  money.  So, 
at  last  she  was  safely  deposited  at  Paris  with- 
out her  fortune,  and  then  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy (who  was  cousin  to  the  French  King) 
began  to  quarrel  with  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
(who  was  brother  to  the  French  King)  about 
the  whole  matter  ;  and  those  two  dukes  made 
France  even  more  wretched  than  ever. 

As  the  idea  of  conquering  Scotland  was  still 
popular  at  home,  the  King  marched  to  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


401 


river  Tyne  find  demanded  homage  of  the  King 
of  Scotland.  This  being  refused,  he  advanced 
to  Edinburgh,  but  did  little  there  ;  for,  his 
army  being  in  want  of  provisions,  and  the 
Scotch  being  very  careful  to  hold  him  in 
check  without  giving  battle,  he  was  obliged 
to  retire.  It  is  to  his  immortal  honour  that 
in  this  sally  he  burnt  no  villages  and 
slaughtered  no  people,  but  was  particularly 
careful  that  his  army  should  be  merciful  and 
harmless.  It  was  a  great  example  in  those 
ruthless  times. 

A  war  among  the  border  people  of  England 
and  Scotland  went  on  for  twelve  months,  and 
then  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  the  noble- 
man who  had  helped  Henry  to  the  crown, 
began  to  rebel  against  him — probably  because 
nothing  that  Henry  could  do  for  him  would 
satisfy  his  extravagant  expectations.  There 
was  a  certain  Welsh  gentleman,  named  OWEN 
GLENDOWER,  who  had  been  a  student  in 
one  of  the  Inns  of  Court,  and  had  afterwards 
been  in  the  service  of  the  late  King,  whose 
Welsh  property  was  taken  from  him  by  a 
powerful  lord  related  to  the  present  King,  who 
was  his  neighbour.  Appealing  for  redress, 
and  getting  none,  he  took  up  arms,  was  made 
an  outlaw,  and  declared  himself  sovereign  of' 
Wales.  He  pretended  to  be  a  magician  ;  and 
not  only  were  the  Welsh  people  stupid  enough 
to  believe  him,  but,  even  Henry  believed  him 
too  ;  for,  making  three  expeditions  into  Wales, 
and  being  three  times  driven  baok  by  the 
wildness  of  the  country,  the  bad  weather, 
and  the  skill  of  Glendower,  he  thought  he  was 
defeated  by  the  Welshman's  magic  arts.  How- 
ever, he  took  Lord  Grey  and  Sir  Edmund 
Mortimer,  prisoners,  and  allowed  the  relatives 
of  Lord  Grey  to  ransom  him,  but  would  not 
extend  such  favour  to  Sir  Edmund  Mortimer. 
Now,  Henry  Percy,  called  HOTSPUR,  son  of 
the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  who  was  married 
to  Mortimer's  sister,  is  supposed  to  have 
taken  offence  at  this  ;  and,  therefore,  in  con- 
junction with  his  father  and  some  others, 
to  have  joined  Owen  Glendower,  and  risen 
against  Henry.  It  is  by  no  means  clear 
that  this  was  the  real  cause  of  the  con- 
spiracy ;  but  perhaps  it  was  made  the  pretext. 
It  was  formed,  and  was  very  powerful ; 
including  SCROOP,  Archbishop  of  York,  and 
the  EARL  OF  DOUGLAS,  a  powerful  and  brave 
Scottish  nobleman.  The  King  was  prompt 
and  active,  and  the  two  armies  met  at 
Shrewsbury. 

There  were  about  fourteen  thousand  men 
in  each.  The  old  Earl  of  Northumberland 
being  sick,  the  rebel  forces  were  led  by  his 
son.  The  King  wore  plain  armour  to  deceive 
the  enemy  ;  and  four  noblemen,  with  the  same 
object,  wore  the  royal  arms.  The  rebel  charge 
\vas  so  furious,  that  every  one  of  those  gen- 
tlemen was  killed,  the  royal  standard  was 
beaten  down,  and  the  young  Prince  of  Wales 
was  severely  wounded  in  the  face.  But,  he 
was  one  of  the  braves*"  and  best  soldiers  that 
ever  lived,  and  he  fought  so  well,  and  the 


King's  troops  were  so  encouraged  by  his  bold 
example,  that  they  rallied  immediately,  and  cut 
the  enemy's  forces  all  to  pieces.  Hotspur 
was  killed  by  an  arrow  in*  the  brain,  and  the 
rout  was  so  complete  that  the  whole  rebellion 
was  struck  down  by  this  one  blow.  The  Earl 
of  Northumberland  surrendered  himself  soon 
after  hearing  of  the  death  of  his  son,  and 
received  a  pardon  for  all  his  offences. 

There  were  some  lingerings  of  rebellion 
yet :  Owen  Glendower  being  retired  to  Wales, 
and  a  preposterous  story  being  spread  among 
the  ignorant  people  that  King  Richard  was 
still  alive.  How  they  could  have  believed 
such  nonsense  it  is  difficult  to  imagine  ;  but 
they  certainly  did  suppose  that  the  Court  fool 
of  the  late  King,  who  was  something  like 
him,  was  he,  himself;  so  that  it  seemed  as  if. 
after  giving  so  much  trouble  to  the  country 
in  his  life,  he  was  doomed  still  to  trouble  it 
after  his  death.  This  was  not  the  worst. 
The  young  Earl  of  March  and  his  brother 
were  stolen  out  of  Windsor  castle.  Being  re- 
taken, and  being  found  to  have  been  spirited 
away  by  one  Lady  Spencer,  she  accused 
her  own  brother,  that  Earl  of  Rutland  who 
was  in  the  former  conspiracy  and  was  now 
Duke  of  York,  of  being  in  the  plot.  For  this 
he  was  ruined  in  fortune,  though  not  put  to 
death  ;  and  then  another  plot  arose  among 
the  old  Earl  of  Northumberland,  some  other 
lords,  and  that  same  Scroop,  Archbishop  of 
York,  who  was  with  the  rebels  before.  These 
conspirators  caused  a  writing  to  be  posted  on 
the  church  doors,  accusing  the  King  of  a 
variety  of  crimes  ;  but,  the  King  being  eager 
and  vigilant  to  oppose  them,  they  were  all 
taken,  a.  d  the  Archbishop  was  executed.  This 
was  the  very  first  time  that  a  great  churchman 
had  been  slain  by  the  law  in  England  ;  but 
the  King  was  resolved  that  it  should  be  done, 
and  done  it  was. 

The  next  most  remarkable  event  of  this 
time  was  the  seizure,  by  Henry,  of  the  heir  to 
the  Scottish  throne — James,  a  boy  of  nine 
years  old.  He  iiad  been  put  aboard-ship  by 
his  father,  the  Scottish  King  Robert,  to  save 
him  from  the  designs  of  his  uncle,  when, 
on  his  way  to  France,  he  was  accidentally 
taken  by  some  English  cruisers.  He  remained 
a  prisoner  in  England  for  nineteen  years, 
and  became  in  his  prison  a  student  and  a 
famous  poet. 

With  the  exception  of  occasional  troubles 
witli  the  Welch  and  with  the  French,  the 
rest  of  King  Henry's  reign  was  quiet  enough. 
But,  the  King  was  far  from  happy,  and  pro- 
bably was  troubled  in  his  conscience  by 
knowing  that  he  had  usurped  the  crown, 
and  had  occasioned  the  death  of  his  miserable 
cousin.  The  Prince  of  Wales,  though  brave 
and  generous,  is  said  to  have  been  wild  and 
dissipated,  and  even  to  have  drawn  his  sword 
on  GASCOIGNE,  the  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's 
Bench,  because  he  was  firm  in  dealing  impar- 
tially with  one  of  his  dissolute  companions. 
Upon  this  the  Chief  Justice  is  said  to  have 


402 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


^Conducted  by 


ordered  him  immediately  to  prison  ;  the 
Prince  of  Wales  is  said  to  have  submitted 
with  a  good  grace  ;  and  the  King  is  said  to 
have  exclaimed,  "  Happy  is  the  monarch  who 
has  so  just  a  judge,  and  a  son  so  willing  to 
obey  the  laws."  This  is  all  very  doubtful,  and 
so  is  another  story  (of  which  Shakespeare  has 
made  ber.utiful  use),  that  the  Prince  once 
took  the  crown  out  of  his  father's  chamber 
as  he  was  sleeping,  and  tried  it  on  his  own 
head. 

The  King's  health  sank  more  and  more,  he 
became  subject  to  violent  eruptions  on  the  face 
and  to  bad  epileptic  fits,  and  his  spirits  sank 
every  day.  At  last,  as  he  was  praying  before 
the  shrine  of  St.  Edward  at  Westminster 
Abbey,  he  was  seized  with  a  terrible  fit,  and 
was  carried  into  the  Abbot's  chamber,  where 
he  presently  died.  This  was  on  the  twentieth 
of  March,  1413,  in  the  forty-seventh  year  of  his 
age,  and  the  fourteenth  of  his  reign.  He  was 
i  buried  in  Canterbury  Cathedral.  He  had 
been  twice  married,  and  had,  by  his  first  wife, 
a  family  of  four  sons  and  two  daughters. 
Considering  his  duplicity  before  he  came  to 
the  throne,  his  unjust  seizure  of  it,  and,  above 
all,  his  making  that  monstrous  law  for  the 
burning  of  what  the  priests  called  heretics, 
he  was  a  reasonably  good  King,  as  kings  went. 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  Prince  of  Wales  began  his  reign  like  a 
generous  and  honest  man.  He  set  the  young 
Earl  of  March,  free  ;  he  restored  their  estates 
and  their  honours  to  the  Percy  family,  who 
had  lost  them  by  their  rebellion  against  his 
father  ;  he  ordered  the  imbecile  and  unfor- 
tunate Richard  to  be  honourably  buried 
among  the  Kings  of  Eir  land  ;  and  he  dis- 
missed all  his  wild  companions,  with  assurances 
that  they  should  not  want,  if  they  would 
resolve  to  be  steady,  faithful,  and  true. 

It  is  much  easier  to  burn  men  than  to  burn 
their  opinions  ;  and  those  of  the  Lollards  were 
spreading  every  day.  The  Lollards  were  re- 
presented by  the  priests — probably  falsely  for 
the  most  part — to  entertain  treasonable 
designs  against  the  new  King ;  and  Henry, 
suffering  himself  to  be  worked  upon  by  these 
representations,  sacrificed  his  friend  Sir  John 
Oldcastle,  the  Lord  Cobham  to  them,  after 
trying  in  vain  to  convert  him  by  arguments. 
He  was  declared  guilty,  as  the  head  of  the 
sect,  and  sentenced  to  the  flames  ;  but,  he 
escaped  from  the  Tower  before  the  day  of 
execution  ((postponed  for  fifty  days  by  the 
King  himself),  and  summoned  the  Lollards 
to  meet  him  near  London  on  a  certain  day. 
So  the  priests  told  the  King,  at  least.  I 
doubt  whether  there  was  any  conspiracy 
beyond  such  as  was  got  up  by  their  agents. 
On  the  day  appointed,  instead  of  five-and- 
twenty  thousand  men,  under  the  command 
of  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  in  the  meadows  of 
St.  Giles,  the  King  found  only  eighty  men, 
and  no  Sir  John  at  all.  There  was,  in  another 
place,  an  addle-headed  brewer,  who  had  gold 


trappings  to  his  horses,  and  a  pair  of  gilt 
spurs  in  his  breast — expecting  to  be  made  a 
knight  next  day  by  Sir  John,  and  so  to  gain 
the  right  to  wear  them — but  there  was  no  Sir 
John,  nor  did  anybody  give  any  inf/rmation 
respecting  him,  though  the  King  offered  great 
rewards  for  such  intelligence.  Thirty  of  these 
unfortunate  Lollards  were  hanged  and  drawn 
immediately,  and  were  then  burnt,  gallows 
and  all  ;  and  the  various  prisons  in  and 
around  London  were  crammed  full  of  others. 
Some  of  these  unfortunate  men  made  various 
confessions  of  treasonable  designs  ;  but,  such 
confessions  were  easily  got,  under  torture  and 
the  fear  of  fire,  and  are  very  little  to  be 
trusted.  To  finish  the  sad  story  of  Sir  John 
Oldcastle  at  once,  I  may  mention  that  he 
escaped  into  Wales,  and  remained  there, 
safely,  for  four  years.  vVhen  discovered  by 
Lord  Powis,  it  is  very  doubtful  if  he  would 
have  been  taken  alive — so  great  was  the  old 
soldier's  bravery — if  a  miserable  old  woman 
had  not  come  behind  him  and  broken  his 
legs  with  a  stool.  He  was  carried  to  London 
in  a  horse  litter,  was  fastened  by  an  iron 
chain  to  a  gibbet,  and  so  roasted  to  death. 

To  make  the  state  of  France  as  plain  as  I 
can  in  a  few  words,  I  should  tell  you  that  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
commonly  called  "  John  without  fear,"  had 
had  a  grand  reconciliation  of  their  quarrel  in. 
the  last  reign,  and  had  appeared  to  be  in 
quite  a  heavenly  state  of  mind.  Immediately 
after  which,  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  public  streets 
of  Paris,  the  Duke  of  Orleans  was  murdered 
by  a  party  of  twenty  men,  set  on  by  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy — according  to  his  own  deliberate 
confession.  The  widow  of  King  Richard  had 
been  married  in  France  to  the  eldest  son  of 
the  Duke  of  Orleans.  The  poor  mad  King 
was  quite  powerless  to  help  his  daughter,  and 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy  became  the  real 
master  of  France.  Isabella  dying,  her  husband 
(Duke  of  Orleans  since  the  death  of  his 
father)  married  the  daughter  of  the  Count  of 
Armagriac,  who,  being  a  much  abler  man  than 
his  young  son- in-law,  headed  his  party  :  thence 
called  after  him  Armagnacs.  Thus,  France  was 
now  in  this  terrible  condition,  that  it  had  in 
it  the  party  of  the  King's  son,  the  Dauphin 
Louis  ;  the  party  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
who  was  the  father  of  the  Dauphin's  ill-used 
wife  ;  and  the  party  of  the  Armagnacs ;  all 
hating  each  other  ;  all  fighting  together  ;  all 
composed  of  the  most  depraved  nobles  that 
the  earth  has  ever  known  ;  and  all  tearing 
unhappy  France  to  pieces. 

The  late  King  had  watched  these  dis- 
sensions from  England,  sensible  (like  the 
j  French  people)  that  no  enemy  of  France 
i  could  injure  her  more  than  her  own  nobility. 
!  The  present  King  now  advanced  a  claim  to 
'  the  French  throne.  His  demand  being,  of 
course,  refused,  he  reduced  his  proposal  to  a 
certain  large  amount  of  French  territory,  and 
to  demanding  the  French  princess,  Catherine, 
in  marriage  with  a  fortune  of  two  millions  of 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


403 


golden  crowns.  He  was  offered  less  territory 
and  fewer  crowns,  und  nu  princess  ;  but  he 
called  his  ambassadors  home  and  prepared  for 
war.  Theii,  he  proposed  10  take  the  princess 
with  one  million  of  crowns.  The  French 
Court  replied  that  he  should  have  the 
princess  witli  two  hundred  thousand  crowns 
less  ;  he  said  this  would  not  do  (he  had  never 
seen  the  princess  in  his  life),  and  assembled 
his  army  at  Southampton.  There  was  a  short 
plot  at  home  just  at  that  time,  for  deposing 
him,  and  making  the  Earl  of  March  king  ; 
but,  the  conspirators  were  all  speedily  con- 
demned and  executed,  and  the  King  em- 
barked for  France. 

It  is  dreadful  to  observe  how  long  a  bad 
example  will  be  followed  ;  but,  it  is  en- 
couraging to  know  that  a  good  example  is 
never  thrown  away.  The  King's  first  act  on 
disembarking  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  Seine, 
three  miles  from  Harfleur,  was  to  imitate 
his  father,  and  to  proclaim  his  solemn  orders 
that  the  lives  and  property  of  the  peaceable 
inhabitants  should  be  respected  on  pain  of 
death.  It  is  agreed  by  French  writers,  to 
his  lasting  renown,  that  even  while  his 
soldiers  were  suffering  the  greatest  distress 
from  want  of  food,  these  commands  were 
rigidly  obeyed. 

With  an  army  in  all  of  thirty  thousand 
men,  he  besieged  the  town  of  Harfleur  both 
by  sea  and  land  for  five  weeks  ;  at  the  end 
of  which  time  the  town  surrendered,  and.  the 
inhabitants  were  allowed  to  depart  with  only 
five-pence  each,  and  a  part  of  their  clothes. 
All  the  rest  of  their  possessions  was  divided 
amongst  the  English  army.  But,  that  army 
suffered  so  much,  in  spite  of  its  successes, 
from  disease  and  privation,  that  it  was 
already  reduced  one  half.  Still,  the  King 
was  determined  not  to  retire  until  he  had 
struck  a  greater  blow.  Therefore,  against 
the  advice  of  all  his  counsellors,  he  moved  on 
with  his  little  force  towards  Calais.  When 
he  came  up  to  the  river  Somme  he  was  unable 


another  village,  through  which  they  knew 
the  English  must  pass.  They  were  resolved 
that  the  English  should  begin  the  battle.  The 
English  had  no  means  of  retreat,  if  their  King 
had  had  any  such  intention  ;  and  so  the  two 
armies  passed  the  night,  close  together. 

To  understand  these  armies  well,  yon.  must 
bear  in  mind  that  the  immense  French 
army  had,  among  its  notable  persons,  almost 
the  whole  of  that  wicked  nobility,  whose 
debauchery  had  made  France  a  desert  ;  and  so 
besotted  were  they  by  pride,  and  by  contempt 
for  the  common  people,  that  they  had  scarcely 
any  bowmen  (if  indeed  they  had  any  at  all) 
in  their  whole  enormous  number  :  which, 
compared  with  the  English  army,  was  at  least 
as  six  to  one.  For  these  proud  fools  had  said 
that  the  bow  was  not  a  fit  weapon  for  knightly 
hands,  and  that  France  must  be  defended  by 
gentlemen  only.  We  shall  see,  presently, 
what  hand  the  gentlemen  made  of  it. 

Now,  on  the  English  side,  among  the  little 
force,  there  was  a  good  proportion  of  men  who 
were  not  gentlemen  by  any  means,  but  who 
were  good  stout  archers  for  all  that.  Among 
them,  in  the  morning  —  having  slept  little  ab 
night,  while  the  French  were  carousing  and 
making  sure  of  victory  —  the  King  rode,  on  a 
grey  horse  ;  wearing  on  his  head  a  helmet  of 
shining  steel,  surmounted  by  a  crown  of  gold, 
sparkling  with  precious  stones  ;  and  bearing 
over  his  armour,  embroidered  together,  the 
arms  of  England  and  the  arms  of  France. 
The  archers  looked  at  the  shining  helmet 
and  the  crown  of  gold  and  the  sparkling 
jewels,  and  admired  them  all  ;  but,  what 
they  admired  most  was  the  King's  cheerful 
face,  and  his  bright  blue  eye,  as  he  told 
them  that,  for  himself,  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  conquer  there  or  to  die  there, 
and  that  England  should  never  have  a 
ransom  to  pay  for  him.  There  was  one  brave 
knight  who  chanced  to  say  that  he  wished 
some  of  the  many  gallant  gentlemen  and 
good  soldiers,  who  were  then  idle  at  home 


to  cross,  in   consequence  of  the   ford    being  j  in   England,    were   there    to    increase 


fortified  ;  and,  as  the  English  moved  up  the 
left  bank  of  the  river  looking  for  a  crossing, 
the  French,  who  had  broken  all  the  bridges, 
moved  up  the  right  bank,'  watching  them,  and 
waiting  to  attack  them  when  they  should  try 


numbers.      But    the    King    told    him 


their 
that, 


for  his  part,  he  did  not  wish  for  one  more 
man.  "  The  fewer  we  have,"  said  he,  "  the 
greater  will  be  the  honour  we  shall  win  ! " 
His  men,  being  now  all  in  good  heart,  were 
refreshed  with  bread  and  wine,  and  heard 


to   pass   it.     At   last   the    English    found   a 

crossing  and  got  safely  over.  The  French  j  prayers,  and  waited  quietly  for  the  French. 
held  a  council  of  war  at  Rouen,  resolved  to  |  The  King  waited  for  the  French,  because 
give  the  English  battle,  and  sent  heralds  to  j  they  were  drawn  up  thirty  deep  (the  little 
King  Henry  to  know  by  which  road  he  was  |  English  force  was  only  three  deep)  on  very 
soin<r.  "By  the  road  that  will  take  me  difficult  and  heavy  ground  ;  and  he  knew  that 

when  they  moved,  there  must  be  some  con- 
fusion. 

As  they  did  not  move,  he  sent  off  two 
parties  : — one,  to  lie  concealed  in  a  wood  on 
the  left  of  the  French  :  the  other,  to  set  fire  to 
some  houses  behind  the  French  after  the  battle 
should  be  begun.  This  was  scarcely  done, 
when  three  of  the  proud  French  gentlemen, 
who  were  to  defend  their  country  without  any 
help  from  the  base  peasants,  came  riding  out, 


straight  to  Calais  !  "  said  the  King,  and  sent 
them  away  with  a  present  of  a  hundred 
crowns. 

The  English  moved  on,  until  they  beheld 
the  French,  and  then  the  King  gave  orders 
to  form  in  line  of  battle.  The  French  not 
coming  on,  the  army  broke  up  after  remain- 
ing in  battle  array  till  night,  and  got  good 
rest  and  refreshment  at  a  neighbouring 
village.  The  French  were  now  all  lying  in  1 


404 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


calling  upon  the  English  to  surrender.  The 
King  warned  those  gentlemen  himself  to 
retire  with  all  speed  if  they  cared  for  their 
lives,  and  ordered  the  English  banners  to  ad- 
vance. Upon  that,  Sir  Thomas  Erpingham,  a 
great  English  general,  who  commanded  tlie 
archers,  threw  his  truncheon  into  the  air,  joy- 
fully ;  and  all  the  English  men,  kneeling  down 
upon  the  ground  and  biting  it  as  if  they  took 
possession  of  the  country,  rose  up  with  a  great 
shout  and  fell  upon  the  French. 

Every  archer  was  furnished  with  a  great 
stake  tipped  with  iron ;  and  his  orders  were, 
to  thrust  this  stake  into  the  ground,  to 
discharge  his  arrow,  and  then  to  fall  back, 
when  the  French  horsemen  came  on.  As 
the  haughty  French  gentlemen,  who  were 
to  break  the  English  archers  and  utterly 
destroy  them  with  their  knightly  lances,  came 
riding  up,  they  were  received  with  such  a 
blinding  storm  of  arrows,  that  they  broke 
and  turned.  Horses  and  men  rolled  over 
one  another,  and  the  confusion  was  terrific. 
Those  who  rallied  and  charged  the  archers 
got  among  the  stakes  on  slippery  and  boggy 
ground,  and  were  so  bewildered  that  the 
English  arcliers — who  wore  no  armour  and 
even  took  off  their  leathern  eo.-its  to  be  more 
active — cut  them  to  pieces,  root  and  branch. 
Only  three  French  horsemen  got  within  the 
stakes,  and  those  were  instantly  despatched. 
All  this  time  the  dense  French  army,  being 
in  armour,  were  sinking  knee-deep  into  the 
mire  ;  while  the  light  English  archers,  half- 
naked,  were  as  fresh  and  active  as  if  they  were 
fighting  on  a  marble  floor.  But  now,  the 
second  division  of  the  French  coming  to  the 
relief  of  the  first,  closed  up  in  a  firm  mass  ; 
the  English,  headed  by  the  King,  attacked 
them  ;  and  the  deadliest  part  of  the  battle 
began.  The  King's  brother,  the  Duke  of 
Clarence,  was  struck  down,  and  numbers  of 
the  French  surrounded  him ;  but,  King  Henry, 
standing  over  the  body,  fought  like  a  lion 
until  they  were  beaten  off.  Presently,  came 
up  a  band  of  eighteen  French  knights, 
bearing  the  banner  of  a  certain  French  lord, 
who  had  sworn  to  kill  or  take  the  English 
King.  One  of  them  struck  him  such  a 
blow  with  a  battle-axe  that  he  reeled  and  fell 
upon  his  knees  ;  but,  his  faithful  men,  imme- 
diately closing  round  him,  killed  every  one 
of  those  eighteen  knights,  and  so  that  French 
lord  never  kept  his  oath.  The  French  Duke 
of  Aleii§on,  seeing  this,  made  a  desperate 
charge,  and  cut  his  way  close  up  to  the  Royal 
Standard  of  England.  He  beat  down  the 
Duke  of  York,  who  was  standing  near  it ; 
and,  when  the  King  came  to  his  rescue, 
struck  off'  a  piece  of  the  crown  he  wore. 
But,  he  never  struck  another  blow  in  this 
world ;  for,  even  as  he  wr  -  in  the  act  of 
saying  who  he  was,  and  tlr,:  lie  surrendered 
to  the  King;  and  even  as  the  King  stretched 
out  his  hand  to  give  him  n  safe  id  honourable 
acceptance  of  the  offer  ;  ho  toil  deitd,  pierced 
by  innumerable  wounds. 


The  death  of  this  nobleman  decided  the 
battle.  The  third  division  of  the  French 
army,  which  had  never  struck  a  blow  yet,  and 
which  was,  in  itself,  more  than  double  the 
whole  English  power,  broke  and  fled.  At 
this  time  of  the  fight,  the  English,  who  as 
yet  had  made  no  prisoners,  began  to  take 
them  in  immense  numbers,  and  were  still 
occupied  in  doing  so,  or  in  killing  those  who 
Avould  not  surrender,  when  a  great  noise 
arose  in  the  rear  of  the  French — their  flying 
banners  were  seen  to  stop — and  King  Henry, 
supposing  a  great  reinforcement  to  have 
arrived,  gave  orders  that  all  the  prisoners 
should  be  put  to  death.  As  soon,  however, 
as  it  was  found  that  the  noise  was  only 
occasioned  by  a  body  of  plundering  peasants, 
the  terrible  massacre  was  stopped.  Then 
King  Henry  called  to  him  the  French  herald, 
and  asked  him  to  whom  the  victory  belonged. 
The  herald  replied,  "  To  the  King  of  England." 
"  We  have  not  made  this  havoc  and  slaughter," 
said  the  King.  "  It  is  the  wrath  of  Heaven 
on  the  sins  of  France.  "What  is  the  name  of 
that  castle  yonder  ?  "  The  herald  answered 
him,  "My  lord,  it  is  the  castle  of  Azincourt." 
Said  the  King,  "  From  henceforth  this  battle 
shall  be  known  to  posterity,  by  the  name  of 
the  battle  of  Azincourt."  Our  English  histo- 
rians have  made  it  Agincourt ;  but,  uivler 
that  name,  it  will  ever  be  famous  in  English 
annals. 

The  loss  upon  the  French  side  was  enor- 
mous. Three  Dukes  were  killed,  two  more 
were  taken  prisoners,  seven  Counts  were  killed, 
three  more  were  taken  prisoners,  and  ten 
thousand  knights  and  gentlemen  were  slain 
upon  the  field.  The  English  loss  amounted 
to  sixteen  hundred  men,  among  whom  were 
the  Duke  of  York  and  the  Earl  of  Suffolk. 

War  is  a  dreadful  thing  ;  and  it  is  appalling 
to  know  how  the  English  were  obliged,  next 
morning,  to  kill  those  prisoners  mortally 
wounded,  who  yet  writhed  in  agony  upon  the 
ground  ;  how  the  dead  upon  the  French  side 
were  stripped  by  their  own  countrymen  and 
countrywomen,  and  afterwards  buried  in  great 
pits  ;  how  the  dead  upon  the  English  side 
were  piled  up  in  a  great  barn,  and  how  their 
bodies  and  the  barn  were  all  burned  together. 
It  is  in  such  things,  and  in  many  more  much 
too  horrible  to  relate,  that  the  real  desolation 
and  wickedness  of  war  consist.  Nothing  can 
make  war  otherwise  than  horrible.  But  the 
dark  side  of  it  was  little  thought  of  and  soon 
forgotten  ;  and  it  cast  no  shade  of  trouble  on 
the  English  people,  except  on  those  who  had 
lost  friends  or  relations  in  the  fight.  They 
welcomed  their  King  home  with  shouts  of  re- 
joicing, and  plunged  into  the  water  to  bear  him 
ashore  on  their  shoulders,  and  flocked  out  in 
crowds  to  welcome  him  in  every  town  through 
which  he  passed,  and  hung  rich  carpets  and 
tapestries  out  of  the  windows,  and  strewed 
the  streets  with  flowers,  and  made  the  foun- 
tains run  with  wine,  as  the  great  field  of 
Asiucourt  had  run  with  blood. 


h,  s;r.>:ui.    Printed  by  Bu 


l,  IVImelriarn,  \.-j 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS" — SH»KES-.>ICARK. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY   JOURNAL, 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


121.] 


SATURDAY,  JULY  17,  1853. 


[PlUCE 


OFF  TO  THE  DIGGINGS  ! 


THE  future  historian  of  the  latter  portion 
of  this  present  nineteenth  century,  will  be 
called  upon  to  decide  whether  June  1851, 
or  June  1852,  was  the  more  exciting  and 
interesting  period.  At  Midsummer  of  the 
former  year,  Englishmen  were  rushing  in  tens 
of  thousands  to  London  to  witness  the  great 
wonder  of  the  day  at  Hyde  Park.  -Mid- 
summer of  the  present  year  is  sending  quite 
as  many,  and  more,  of  our  countrymen  away 
from  London — to  say  nothing  of  Liverpool  and 
other  places — as  fast  as  sailing  ships  and  steam- 
vessels  can  carry  them,  to  join  in  the  Golden 
Fair  in  Australia  ;  the  great  South  Land. 

There  has  not  been  such  an  exodus  from 
London  within  the  recollection  of  the  oldest 
ship-brokers ;  and  they  have,  generally,  pretty 
good  memories,  too.  The  only  thing  that  is 
reported  to  me  as  at  all  coming  up  to  it — 
though  I  don't  believe  it — was  a  general  flight 
of  elderly  persons  some  fifty  years  since,  when 
it  was  sa.id  that  the  earth  was  on  the  point  of 
being  burnt  up  by  an  exceedingly  powerful 
description  of  comet. 

Go  where  you  will,  everybody  appears  to 
be  going  "  off  to  the  Diggings,"  and  everybody 
is  in  immediate  want  of  outfits  and  passages. 
There  are  sixty  young  men  rushing  frantically 
away  from  their  employers'  counters  in  Saint 
Paul's  Churchyard,  and  there  are  at  least  as 
many  more  longing  to  follow  them.  Fully 
five  score  of  both  sexes  have  bid  adieu  to 
Oxford  Street  and  High  Holborn  :  and  it 
is  computed  that  quite  one  hundred  and  ten 
have  migrated  from  the  warehouses  about 
Cheapside  and  Cripplegate.  Then,  there  is 
the  Old  Lady  of  Threadneedle  Street.  She  has 
furnished  a  respectable  quota  of  clerks  on 
eighty  pounds  a  year,  who  are  thirsting  to 
handle  the  pick  and  the-spade.  I  can't  say  how 
-  many  youths  at  the  Custom  House  and  the 
Docks  have  drawn  their  last  quartei*'s  salary, 
and  are  now  expending  the  amounts  in 
Guernsey  shirts,  canvass  trousers,  American 
boots  and  wide-awakes.  Legions  of  bankers' 
clerks,  merchants'  lads,,  embryo  secretaries. 
and  incipient  cashiers  ;  all  going  with  the 
rush,  and  all  possessing  but  faitit  and  confused 
ideas  of  where  they  are  going,  or  what  they 
are  going  to  do  ;  beg  of  hard-hearted  ship- 
brokers  to  grant  them  the  favour  of  a  berth 


in  their  last  advertised  teak-built,  poop- 
decked,  copper-bottomed,  double  -  fastened, 
fast-sailing,  surgeon-carrying  emigrant  ship. 

Talk  about  the  dreadfully  depressed  condi- 
tion of  the  shipping  interest,  and  the  ruin  of 
British  ship-owners  !  I  should  like  to  find 
a  man  with  whom  to  argue  that  point.  I  'd 
walk  him  down  to  the  snug  little  crowded 
office  of  Messrs.  Hopkins  and  Bung,  ship- 
brokers,  up  one  pair  of  stairs,  in  the  City. 
aud  let  him  see  the  struggling,  and  elbowing, 
and  beseeching  for  passages,  going  on  there 
from  ten  in  the  morning  until  six  in  the 
evening,  with  two  or  three  clerks  taking 
down  the  uames  of  applicants  as  fast  as  pens 
can  write — and  the  pens  at  Hopkins  and 
Bung's  write  uncommonly  fast  !  There's  no 
haggling  aud  bickering  about  the  price.  Three 
words  to  a  steerage  passenger  are  all  that 
the  employers  allow  :  intermediates  are  per- 
mitted half-a-dozen  sentences,  not  one  more. 
.  There  never  were  such  times  for  speculative 
ship-owners  and  brokers.  They  haven't  half 
enough  vessels :  to  say  nothing  of  crews  to  man 
them  with.  There's -a  huge  bill  with  flaring 
letters  against  the  office  wall  at  Messrs.  Hopkins 
and  Bung's,  that  really  looks  quite  imposing  ; 
and,  certainly,  if  the  unsuspecting  crowd  of 
emigrants  who  are  spelling  it,  believe  that 
more  than  half  of  the  vessels  named  in  it  are 
anywhere  within  a  hundred  miles  of  the 
Docks  in  which  they  are  said  to  be  loading, 
it  must  be  a  .very  imposing  list  indeed. 
Why,  one  of  those  big-lettered  ships  was 
spoken  off  Land's  End  only  yesterday  ;  but  I 
suppose  the  brokers  have  brought  her  up  by 
the  electric  telegraph,  for  she  is  stated  to  be 
actually  taking  in  cargo  in  the  London  Docks. 
There's  another  vessel,  with  an  enormously 
long  East  Indian  name  that  none  but  the  chief 
clerk  can  pronounce,  which  is  believed  to  be 
not  very  far  from  the  Chops  of  the  Channel ; 
yet  she  too,  by  some  broker's  sleight-of-hand, 
is  lying  in  the  Docks,  and  will,  positively,  sail 
immediately  after  the  Jeremy  Diddler.  How- 
ever, it's  "  all  right "  witli  the  young  men  from 
Saint  Paul's  Churchyard  and  Cripplegate  ; 
their  only  idea  of  a  voyage  is  an  Easter 
excursion  to  Herne  Bay  and  back  ;  their  sole 
acquaintance  with  sea-going  dietary  consists 
of  unlimited  orders  to  the  steward  for  steaks, 
stout,  and  cigars.  All  day  long,  the  names  of 
eager,  enthusiastic  emigrants  <ire  posted  iu 


406 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


huge  books  that  seem  to  be  teak-built  and 
copper-fastened  like  the  ships  ;  indeed,  there 
are  more  passengers  booked  than  any  of  the 
establishment  know  how  to  dispose  of:  the 
only  chance  of  all  being  accommodated  con- 
sisting in  the  possibility  of  some  amongst 
them  getting  too  ill  to  go,  and,  perhaps,  a  few 
falling  overboard  at  Graveseud.  It  is  dread- 
fully hard  work,  in  the  hot  weather,  at 
Hopkins  and  Bung's.  The  stoutest  and 
youngest  of  their  clerks  are  knocked  up 
long  before  six  o  clock,  and  the  cashier  is 
obliged  to  be  taken  home,  every  evening,  in 
a  cab. 

It  was  a  hot  thundery  day  in  the  early 
part  of  June,  when  I  bent  my  steps  from  the 
little  office  just  named,  towards  the  London 
Docks,  along  Fenchurch  Street,  down  the 
Minories,  and  across  Tower  Hill,  as  fast  as 
the  dense  throng  would  allow  me.  It  ap- 
peared as  if  the  best  part  of  London,  and 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  Provinces, 
were  going  down  on  that  particular  day  to. 
engage  berths  for  Australia.  Every  alternate 
shop  seemed  to  have  been  suddenly  converted 
into  an  outfitting  warehouse.  One  man,  more 
daring  than  his  neighbours,  actually  offered 
the  emigrating  world  complete  outfits  at  forty- 
five  shillings  each,  but  whether  it  was  for 
infants  in  arms  or  adults  I  did  not  learn. 
Until  that  day  I  had  but  a  very  glimmering 
idea  of  the  requirements  of  a  gold-digger  : 
on  my  way  to  the  Docks,  I  learnt  by  the 
placards  in  the  windows,  that  amongst  the 
sundries  needed  at  the  "  Diggings,"  were 
telescopes,  alpaca  umbrellas,  reading-lamps, 
toasting-forks,  easy-chairs,  mirrors,  and  key- 
bugles,  and  many  other  miscellaneous  articles. 

The  crowd  became  densely  uncomfortable 
as  I  approached  the  Dock  gates.  The  man  in 
the  Dock  livery  had  given  up  the  gate  in 
despair :  there  was  no  such  thing  as  keeping 
order.  I  found  him,  forlorn,  in  a  remote  corner, 
besieged  by  a  crowd  of  intending  emigrants, 
who  were  pressing  him  with  a  host  of 
inquiries  about  the  "  Diggings."  Whether 
they  imagined  him  to  have  charge  of  all  the 
shipping  in  the  Docks,  or  whether  they  be- 
lieved that  the  gold-lace  round  his  hat  had 
been  recently  dug  up  at  Mount  Alexander,  did 
not  transpire,  but  it  was  quite  evident  that 
they  felt  confident  in  his  knowing  all  about 
it ;  and  when  I  left  the  spot,  there  was  rather 
a  strong  party  in  favour  of  elevating  the  gate- 
keeper on  the  end  of  a  rum-puncheon,  that 
all  might  catch  his  oracular  words. 

Through  the  defenceless  gates,  past  some 
thousands  of  wine  pipes  that  lay  scattered 
about  as  though  they  didn't  belong  to  any- 
body in  particular,  turning  sharp  round  to 
the  right  along  the  water's  edge,  by  the 
weighing  sheds,  where  groaning,  frowning 
iron  cranes,  and  bales  of  wool,  and  casks  of 
tallow,  threatened  the  unwary  passer-by  ; — 
and  there,  just  before  me,  was  the  jetty. 

What  a  sight  there  was  upon  that  jetty  ! 
I  could  have  fancied  the  whole  export  trade 


of  the  country  had  gone  stark  staring  mad 
with  the  gold-fever,  and  had  plunged  out  of 
bed  and  rushed  down  to  the  Docks.  Boxes 
and  cases,  cart-wheels,  hand-barrows,  casks 
and  barrels,  ploughs,  crates,  and  bales,  were 
all  lying  about  in  wild  disorder,  looking  as 
though  they  would  require  a  couple  of 
years  and  a  small  army  of  labourers  to 
stow  them  away.  As  to  getting  them  all 
into  the  eight  vessels — that  I  considered  a 
matter  of  sheer  impossibility,  and  not  likely 
to  be  attempted. 

On  the  right  side  of  the  jetty,  midway 
down,  lay  the  vessel  I  was  in  search  of,  the 
Jeremy  Diddler,  advertised  "for  the  Gold 
Regions,  with  immediate  dispatch,"  and  pro- 
fessing to  be  provided  with  an  experienced 
surgeon,  patent  ventilators,  family  baths,  and 
altogether  the  most  superior  accommodation 
of  any  ship  or  ships  sailing  from  the  port  of 
London.  A  very  few  days  previously,  the 
Diddler  had  been  choked  up  with  wool  and 
tallow  ;  at  the  moment  of  my  visit,  the  sole 
vestiges  of  Australian  produce  in  the  Jeremy 
Diddler  were  the  cockroaches,  who  were 
running  all  sorts  of  sweepstakes  round  the 
vessel,  evidently  quite  at  home. 

About  and  around  the  ship,  riggers,  caulkers, 
smiths,  carpenters,  painters,  were  all  working 
away,  like  so  many  steam  engines,  with  a 
fifty-mechanic  power,  that  was  quite  invigo- 
rating to  behold.  Old  men  with  grey  hairs 
and  faltering  steps  ;  young  girls,  pale  from 
the  factory  or  the  garret;  countrymen  in 
smock-frocks  ;  lean-faced  artisans  ;  mothers 
with  infants  in  arms  ;  stout  servant  girls  ; 
these  and  many  others  filed-  up  the  narrow 
bending  plank  that  formed  a  bridge  between 
the  old  world  and  the  new ;  and  as  I  watched 
the  motley  troop  pass  on,  I  wondered  much 
how  some  of  those  would  fare  in  the  wild 
gold-fields  of  the  distant  south. 

There  was  no  remaining  on  deck  ;  not  a 
soul  appeared  to  care  a  straw  about  the 
masts,  or  the  rigging,  or  the  poop  :  the  ship 
might  have  been  without  one  or  the  other  for 
aught  they  cared.  All  poured  down  to  the 
"  'tween  decks,"  by  the  little  ricketty  wicked 
ladder  that  always  pretended  to  slip  about, 
yet  never  did  :  causing  no  end  of  little  screams 
from  under  all  sorts  of  bonnets. 

The  cool  shade  of  the  long  range  of  'tween 
decks  seemed  quite  refreshing  after  the  hot 
glare  above.  But,  dear  me,  how  crowded  it 
was  with  candidates  for  emigration  and  sea- 
sickness !  It  was  as  much  as  the  carpenters 
could  do,  to  move  their  saws  and  chisels 
amidst  all  that  myriad  of  limbs,  without  com- 
mitting spontaneous  amputation.  I  expected, 
more  than  once,  to  see  several  young  children 
nailed  down  to  the  decks  by  their  heels. 

The  entire  length  of  the  vessel  had  been 
cleared  out,  and  was  being  marked  off  and 
divided  into  spaces  for  single,  double,  and 
treble  cabins,  as  the  wants  of  passengers 
might  require.  There  were  long  lines,  and 
curves,  and  zig-zags,  chalked  out  on  the  decks 


Charlet  Dickens.] 


OFF  TO  THE  DIGGINGS  ! 


407 


under  our  feet,  which  might  have  been 
intended  for  a  ground  plan  of  the  "  Maze  "  at 
Hampton  Court,  or  the  Catacombs  at  Paris. 
They  were,  in  reality,  sections  of  the  embryo 
cabin  accommodation  ;  but  whether  intended 
to  guide  the  work-people  or  to  puzzle  the 
visitors,  was  not  clear.  On  one  side,  near  the 
wicked  ladder,  an  anxious  group  of  emigrants 
were  listening  in  breathless  silence  to  the 
explanation  given  by  a  very  young  broker's 
clerk,  in  spectacles,  as  to  the  ground  plan  of 
the  Maze.  He  pretended  to  make  them 
understand  where  the  port-holes  would  be 
cut  through — one  in  each  cabin ;  where  the 
doors  were  to  be  placed ;  the  precise  spots 
where  the  sleeping-places  and  the  tables 
would  be  found  by  and  bye — with  a  variety 
of  other  matter,  which  might  as  well  have 
been  told  in  the  Esquimaux  tongue.  All 
listened  with  open  mouths  ;  and,  when  the 
young  spectacles  ceased  and  moved  on  to 
another  group,  they  looked  with  a  kind  of 
hopeless  credulity  at  each  other. 

In  the  stern  of  the  ship,  a  numerous  party 
had  congregated  round  a  little  white  deal 
coffin-like  sort  of  a  cabin — a  model  prison  in 
miniature — run  up  in  half-an-hour,  just  to 
show  the  passengers  that  the  Jeremy  Diddler 
was  not  going  to  do  things  like  common 
ships.  It  was  extremely  amusing  to  see  how 
anxiously  and  curiously  the  many  visitors 
were  scrutinising  that  wretched  packing-case. 
I  could  imagine  them  to  have  been  admiring 
and  gloating  over  the  suite  of  Austrian  apart- 
ments in  the  Great  Exhibition.  To  be  sure,  the 
fittings  set  oft  the  thing  rather  smartly  ;  but, 
I  don't  remember  seeing  any  cabin  of  that  same 
size  in  the  Diddler,  when  I  visited  her  after- 
wards ;  and  certainly  none  with  such  polished 
chairs,  drawers,  and  wash-stand,  nor  with  such 
exquisite  white  bedding  in  them.  The  effect  of 
this  one  cabin  was  perfectly  marvellous 
There  seemed  to  be  something  magical  about 
the  very  wood-work  :  the  door  was  moved  to 
and  fro  as  if  it  were  expected  to  play  tunes 
on  its  hinges  ;  the  brass  hooks  were  eyed  by 
more  than  one  with  a  view  to  see  if  they 
were  not  of  real  Australian  gold.  As  for  the 
swing-tray,  I  am  sure  several  young  women 
believed  it  to  be  some  sort  of  cot  for  an  in- 
fant ;  while  others  gazed  on  the  little  neai 
shelves,  the  sly  drawers  under  the  bed,  the 
hanging  lamp,  and  the  sea-chest,  as  reverently 
and  cautiously  as  if  they  had  all  been-  dan 
gerous  tricks  in  a  pantomime,  chock  full  o 
secret  springs  and  sudden  transformations. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  of  the  whole  crowo 
of  uninitiated  subjects  of  Her  Majesty,  verj 
few  indeed,  if  any,  descended  the  narrow  planL 
to  the  jetty,  with  a  more  approximate  idea  o 
how  they  were  to  be  cabined  and  dieted,  thai 
when  they  left  their  homes  in  the  morning 
All  they  could  have  dreamed  of,  that  nighl 
would  be  a  confused  jumble  of  crookec 
chalk-lines,  port-holes,  swing-trays,  anil  bulk 
heads  ;  but,  whether  they  had  to  go  throug 
the  port-holes  to  their  beds,  or  whether  the 


ould  dine  upon  the  swing-trays,  or  whether 
tie  bulk-heads  had  any  bodies  or  limbs  at- 
ached  to  them,  would  be  far  beyond  their 
omprehension.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my 
enses,  when  I  read  in  a  morning  paper  some 
welve  days  or  so  after  my  visit  to  the  Docks, 
notice  to  passengers  by  the  Jeremy  Diddler, 
nforming  them  that  they  must  be  prepared 
o  join  that  vessel  at  Gravesend  on  the 
ollowing  day.  Having  satisfied  myself 
hat  there  was  really  no  mistake  about 
he  thing,  but  that  she  would  positively 
anchor  off  the  town  of  Gravesend  at  the  time 
Darned,  I  prepared  to  take  my  departure  by 
teamer,  in  order  that  I  might  see  the  last  of 
ler  and  her  human  cargo  on  this  side  the  blue 
waters. 

The  same  boat  which  conveyed  me  from 
Blackwall  carried  several  parties,  evidently  to 
he  same  destination.  There  were  two  or 
Jiree  newly  wedded  couples,  brought  together, 
doubtless,  on  the  strength  of  future  "  Diggings ;" 
a  knot  of  oily-headed,  sleek-visaged  shopmen, 
md  City  clerks  ;  a  few  hale-looking  country 
ads  and  lasses  ;  and  a  rather  extensive  family 
of  nondescripts  ;  all  of  whom,  by  their  conver- 
sation, were  passengers  for  the  Jeremy 
Diddler.  The  morning  had  been  what 
nautical  men  term  "  breezy,"  and  when 
we  reached  the  Terrace  Pier  at  Gravesend, 
the  wind  had  become  quite  violent  in  its  pro- 
ceedings, committing  assaults  of  an  outrageous 
description  on  the  dresses  of  the  lady  passen- 
gers ;  so  much  so,  that  the  police  of  the  Cor- 
Doration  might  very  well  have  interfered  and 
indicted  it  before  the  mayor  for  disorderly 
and  riotous  conduct.  As  for  the  shipping 
at  anchor  off  the  town,  it  was,  evidently, 
out  little  better :  some  of  the  outward- 
bounders  had  no  doubt  been  taking  a  parting 
2flass  with  the  old  Custom-house  hulk  off  the 
Ordnance  wharf,  and  were  rather  the  worse 
for  it.  They  were  rolling,  and  staggering, 
and  bobbing  about,  winking  their  port-holes 
at  each  other,  and  flirting  their  blue-peters  in 
the  air,  in  a  way  that  no  respectable,  steady- 
going  vessels  would  think  of  doing.  It  was 
quite  clear,  that  one  or  two  among  them 
meant  to  make  a  night  of  it,  from  the  deter- 
mined way  in  which  they  kicked  up  their 
keels,  and  splashed  the  water  over  decent 
wherries  and  passenger-boats. 

I  was  rather  glad  to  scramble  up  the  black 
and  white  sides  of  the  Diddler,  out  of  the 
overloaded  boat,  where  the  young  married 
women  were  screaming  as  they  were  being 
packed  by  twos  in  a  cask  and  hauled  up, 
while  the  oily-headed  shopmen  looked  in 
dismay  at  the  rope-ladder  over  the  side,  and 
wished  in  their  hearts  they  were  females,  for 
the  sake  of  the  tub  and  pulley. 

Well,  there  I  was,  once  more,  on  the  deck  of 
this  very  fast-sailing,  clipper-built,  copper- 
fastened,  passenger  ship,  bound  to  the  Gold 
Eegions,  by  the  advertisement  in  the  Times — 
but,  I  should  have  thought,  sailing  to  Botany 
Bay,  by  the  dismal  misery  written  on  the  faces 


408 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


I  Conducted  by 


of  those  on  dock  !  Transportation  for  life,  witl 
stone-breaking  in  heavy  chains,  appeared  dis 
tinctly  visible  in  their  countenances.  Soru 
were  trying  to  look  unconcerned,  and  even 
rather  j  oily,  as  if  they  knew  all  about  it,  anc 
it  was  a  mere  nothing  to  them  ;  others  got  up 
a  little  careless  whistling,  and  put  questions 
to  the  pilot  in  an  imitative  gruff  voice  ;  some 
reeled  and  staggered  from  the  hatchway  to  th 
scuppers  like  drunken  men,  while  others  helc 
on  with  a  gripe  of  despair  by  the  spare  anchoi 
under  the  long-boat,  as  if  expecting  the  ship  to 
founder,  and  they  meant  to  make  a  life-buoy 
of  that.  None  were  actually  ill,  but  there  was 
scattered  about,  every  stage  of  incipient  se; 
sickness. 

I  made  my  way  to  the  main-hatch,  and 
began  to  descend  the  ladder.  "  On  deck  there ! " 
cried  a  voice  below,  that  seemed  to  come  up 
from  the  farthest  corner  of  a  very  deep  cask. 
"  Ay,  ay  !  "  growled  the  sailor  addressed, 
who  was  busily  engaged  in  some  nrysterious 
operation  with  the  long-boat.  "  Where  have 
you  stowed  your  patent  ventilators  ? "  inquired 
the  voice  from  the  cask,  "we're  choking  down 
here."  "  Oh,"  rejoined  the  tar,  as  he  winked 
at  the  cook's  mate,  "  Neptune  will  bring 
them  there  a-board  when  he  visits  us  at  the 
Line  ! " 

The  complaint  was  indeed  well  founded,  as 
I  felt  on  descending  into  the  regions  below, 
where  I  found  the  man  with  the  casky  voice. 
The  complainant  was  a  middle-aged  person,  a 
tailor  or  shoemaker  perhaps,  disguised  as  a 
naval  character  according  to  the  most  ap- 
proved fashion  at  the  Surrey  Theatre.  It  took 
me  some  minutes  before  I  could  distinguish 
the  lights  and  shades  of  the  living  panorama 
moving  in  that  long,  half-obscure  vault  of  a 
place.  How  changed  since  I  saw  it  in  the 
Docks  !  The  uproar,  the  crowd,  the  handing 
about  of  packages  and  clothing,  the  dim  indis- 
tinct light  from  the  far  distant  fore-hatch, 
gave  it  the  appearance  of  Eag  Fair  held  in 
the  Thames  Tunnel  for  novelty's  sake. 

There  was  small  room  for  walking  about. 
I  had  to  clamber  over  all  sorts  of  sharp- 
cornered,  hard-edged  packages.  Children 
were  crying,  women  were  chattering,  men 
were  grumbling  and  swearing,  and  calling 
down  the  ugliest  maledictions  upon  the  heads 
of  all  the  captains,  chief-mates,  brokers,  and 
ship-owners  in  the  known  world.  On  the 
whole,  it  was  confusing  to  a  new-comer,  and 
not  much  plainer,  apparently,  to  those  who 
had  been  on  board  during  the  last  twenty- 
four  hours.  Had  the  captain  poured  the 
entire  contents  of  the  London  Dock  ware- 
house down  an  enormous  funnel  into  that 
particular  'tween  decks,  the  chaos  could 
scarcely  have  been  aggravated.  The  stagger- 
ing motion  of  the  vessel  set  all  landsmen's 
attempts  to  labour  at  complete  defiance.  As 
for  the  women,  they  were  content  to  seat 
themselves  on  anything  that  was  nearest  their 
cabins,  and  there  contemplate  the  encompass- 
ing wilderness  of  property. 


There  were  a  few  exceptions  in  the  way  of 
work,  and  these  at  once  attracted  my  atten- 
tion.    Adjoining  the  main-hatch,  there  was  a 
family  scene  presenting  a  strong  and  interest- 
ing contrast  to  the  angry  idleness  around.  The 
mother    had    placed    three    young    children 
securely  on  the  deck,  between  boxes  lashed 
down  so  that  they  could  not  move,  and  there 
they  played  together  contentedly,  while  she 
busied  herself  with  arranging  the  little  clean 
bed-linen  as  tidily  as  a  head  chambermaid  at 
a  first-class  hotel.     She  had  made  up  her 
orderly  mind  that  there  was  not  to  be  such  a 
thing  as  a  crease  in  the  pillow-case  ;  and,  as 
for  the  snow-white  sheets,   she   seemed    to 
expect  some  of  the  nobility  to  sleep  in  them — 
if  you  could  have  fancied  any  nobility,  however 
old,  being  of  greater  importance  to  her,  at  that 
moment,  than  her  own  plebeian  family.    The 
husband  was  not  less  busily  engaged  in  securing 
their  various  little  cabin  comforts  ;  although 
these  appeared  to  be  few  enough.  He  seemed  to 
know  how  to  make  the  most  of  them,  though  ; 
and  was  bent  upon  not  giving  in  until  he  had 
accomplished  his  task.     It  was  quite  a  relief 
to  watch  that  energetic  persevering  man  and 
bis  bustling  wife,  after  seeing  so  much  dis- 
comfort   about    the    decks.      He    evidently 
prided  himself  upon  the  perfect   manner  in 
which  he  had  fastened  up  a  few  little  pewter 
drinking  mugs  at  the  side  of  the  cabin,  out  of 
all  fear  of  knocking  their  heads  against  the 
handles.      Few  men    on    board  could  have 
accomplished  that  feat.     Then   there  was   a 
long  strip  of  leather  nailed  up  at  intervals,  in 
which  spoons,  forks,  combs,  and  brushes  were 
inserted,  bidding  stern  defiance  to  the  heaviest 
lurches  of  the  ship.  The  little  square  looking- 
glass,  however,  was  his  chef  tfctuvre  ;  he  had 
secured  it  by  nails  and  white  tape,  and  there 
was  not  the  least  fear  of  its  giving  way.     He 
was  not  quite  sure,  though,  that  it  was  in  the 
centre,  and  retreating  from  the  cabin  until  he 
'ell  over  a  whole  waggon-load  of  goods,  he 
;ook  an  elaborate  survey  of  its  position.     He 
ooked  at  it  from  all  sorts  of  distances  and 
loiuts ;   he   peeped   through  both   eyes   and 
;hen  through  only  one  ;  he  gazed  attentively 
rom  the  summit  of  a  sea-chest,  and  then  tried 
.he   effect   of  it   from    one   of   the   opposite 
sabins.    This  man's  destiny  I  saw  at  a  glance, 
rlis  fortune  is  as  good  as  made.     I  shouldn't 
ibject  to  share  in  his  future  prosperity;  for  it 
vill  be  steady  and  lasting,  and  more  ample 
ban  that  of  many  an  emigrant  who  takes 
out  a  lump  of  capital  to  work  upon.     This 
amily  are  all  excellent,  from  the  tips  of  their 
lair  to  the  soles  of  their  feet ;  there's  nothing 
worthless  about  them. 

How  different  the  party  of  men  and  women 
'.  saw  near  them,  half-washed,  half-clad,  half 
xristerous,  half  drowsy.  The  men  were 
•rying  to  get  up  a  game  with  a  dirty  pack  of 
;ards,  but  it  was  scarcely  possible  to  see  the 
narks  on  them.  A  short  distance  from  my 
udustrious  friends  was  another  family  group 
not  less  interesting.  A  grey-haired  old 


Charles  Dickens  1 


OFF  TO  THE  DIGGINGS. 


409 


patriarch  was  nursing  an  infant  to  sleep  in 
his  feeble  arms,  while  a  young  woman  pre- 
pared its  little  bed.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
other  person  of  their  party  ;  their  cabin  was 
but  poorly  furnished,  and  in  her  thin  sorrow- 
ful face  and  the  old  man's  stricken  form.  I 
thought  I  could  read  their  little  history  of 
sorrow  and  suffering.  They  were  not  going 
to  the  Diggings  to  escape  from  the  scenes  of 
the  past ;  a  new  life  in  a  new  world  was  her 
sole  object,  and  the  old  father  cared  for 
nothing  but  to  accompany  her. 

In  one  densely  packed  cabin  I  saw  the 
fragments  of  several  families  busily  engaged 
in  quarrelling  about  their  respective  shares 
of  space.  How  they  intended  to  stow  a 
tithe  of  the  lumber  scattered  and  piled  about, 
I  was  at  a  loss  to  imagine.  Somebody  had 
knocked  the  cork  out  of  a  bottle  of  ink,  the 
contents  of  which  had  flowed  in  sable  streams 
over  bed-clothing,  towelling,  and  children's 
dresses,  indelibly  marking  them  in  the  wrong 
places.  Next  to  these  noisy  malcontents  were  a 
party  of  four  females,  two  of  whom  were  rather 
advanced  in  years,  and  stout  withal.  There 
were  great  lamentations  proceeding  from 
these  ladies,  who  had  evidently  some  deep 
distress  weighing  upon  their  inincls.  As  I 
halted  near  their  cabin  door,  one  of  the  heavy 
females  was  seeking  the  advice  and  consola- 
tion of  a  fellow  passenger,  in  their  difficulty  ; 
which  appeared  to  consist  in  the  dreaded  im- 
possibility of  their  being  able  to  get  into  one 
of  the  beds.  The  lower  sleeping-place  was 
all  right ;  one  stout  lady  woidd  blend 
xvith  a  thin  one  beautifully,  though  there 
would  be  no  width  to  spare  ;  but  how  and 
by  what  imaginary  contrivance  the  other 
stout  lady  was  to  arrive  at  her  destination  for 
the  night,  seemed  to  them  a  matter  of  the 
wildest  speculation.  The  cabin  was  too  low 
for  a  ladder,  and  the  berth  was  too  high  for 
a  box  or  a  folding-stool  to  be  of  the  least 
service  beyond  aggravating  the  temper,  and 
perhaps  bruising  a  few  limbs. 

Passing  forward  to  near  the  fore-hatch- 
way, I  came  upon  a  scene  of  open  war.  One 
of  the  ship's  officers  was  endeavouring  to  read 
a  sort  of  impromptu  riot-act  to  a  party  of 
cockney  warriors  who  were  doing  all  sorts 
of  violent  deeds  in  a  dark  smothered  up  cabin, 
which  was  evidently  in  a  state  of  determined 
siege.  The  lookers-on  cried,  "  Shame  !  turn 
them  out! — where 's  the  captain?"  mingled 
with  rather  warm  benedictions  on  the  ship's 
"broker,  and  the  secretary  of  some  emigration 
committee.  The  officer  would  have  interfered, 
"but  the  bystanders  opposed  him,  and  it  ended 
in  his  disappearing  on  deck,  and  the  siege  of 
the  darkened  little  cabin  being  raised.  I 
leamt  afterwards,  when  quiet  was  partly 
restored,  that  the  fracas  arose  from  the  brokers 
having  shipped  more  passengers  than  could 
be  accommodated ;  a  dozen  persons  had  been, 
two  days  before,  removed  from  the  ship  by 
the  emigration  officers  ;  but  in  their  place  at 
least  a  score  more  had  been  sent  on  board, 


and  where  they  were  to  find  room  was  now 
the  question.  The  captain  had  been  trying  to 
place  two  men  in  some  single  berths. 

But  this,  I  ascertained,  was  not  all  of  the 
mismanagement,  or  imposition,  or  both,  from 
which  these  unfortunate  emigrants  suffered, 
A  great  number  of  them  had  paid  for  their 
passages  through  some  emigration  society, 
which  had  secured  room  for  them  in  the  bulk, 
at  a  stated  sum.  Now,  however,  at  the 
twelfth  hour,  these  poor  people  were  told 
that  the  brokers  had  demanded  two  pounds 
a  head  more  from  the  society,  owing,  it  was 
stated,  to  the  rise  in  sailors'  wages  ;  and  they 
accordingly  found  themselves  called  upon  to 
make  good  the  amount  from  their  scanty 
purses.  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  there- 
fore, that  there  should  be  a  considerable 
amount  of  angry  feeling  amongst  the  three 
hundred  and  odd  emigrants  on  board  the 
Jeremy  Diddler.  Neither  was  it  matter  for 
surprise  that  fault  was  found  with  the  cook 
for  being  too  idle  to  clean  his  soup  coppers 
out,  and  allowing  an  accumulation  of  filthy, 
rank  dirt  around  them,  to  the  actual  spoiling 
of  what  might  have  been  very  respectable 
soup. 

By  way  of  interlude  to  the  recent  siege,  an 
emigrant  orator  mounted  on  a  sea-chest,  as 
well  as  the  pitching  of  the  ship  would  allow 
him,  and  addressing  his  fellow  passengers  iu 
terms  of  brotherly  commiseration,  which 
might  have  suited  Marc  Anthony's  oration  to 
the  Romans,  he  drew  a  heart-rending  picture 
of  their  distresses,  not  omitting  the  dirty  soup 
and  the  absence  of  the  patent  ventilators 
spoken  of  in  such  large  letters  in  the  broker's 
bills.  The  speaker  was  the  man  with  the 
casky  voice  and  the  Surrey  nauticals.  How 
long  he  would  have  held  forth  I  cannot  un- 
dertake to  surmise,  for  his  eloquence  was 
brought  to  a  sudden  close  by  the  heavy  fall 
of  the  fore-hatch,  which  enclosed  us  all  in 
utter  darkness.  The  rain  was  beginning  to 
pour,  and  the  deck  strollers  crept  down  as 
well  as  they  could. 

The  close,  stifled  atmosphere  of  the  'tween 
decks,  breathed  as  it  was  by  several  hundred 
persons,  soon  became  insupportable,  and  there 
was  a  general  attack  made  upon  the  hatch, 
which,  however,  was  too  well  secured  above 
to  allow  of  any  success.  The  tide  of  indigna- 
tion vented  itself  upon  the  main-hatch, 
through  which  a  party  of  a  dozen  passed  to 
the  captain  with  expostulation  as  to  the  want 
of  fresh  air.  After  some  delay,  the  fore  hatch 
was  partially  removed,  and  an  old  tattered 
windsail  was  let  down  as  a  substitute  for  the 
patent  ventilators.  In  spite  of  this  relief,  the 
impurity  and  suffocating  heat  of  the  cabins 
became  as  insupportable  as  the  exhalations 
from  some  Indian  jungle-swamp  ;  and  I  could 
but  picture  to  myself  the  sufferings  of  those 
people  when  approaching  the  equator. 

The  cabins  were  built  up,  two  deep,  on  both 
sides,  and  made  to  contain  never  less  than  two 
sleeping  places ;  often  four.  To  reach  the 


410 


HOUSEHOLD  WOE.DS. 


[Conducted  by 


inner  cabins  the  passengers  Lad  to  grope  their 
way  along  a  narrow  dark  passage  between 
the  outside  cabins  ;  and  inasmuch  as  not  more 
than  every  alternate  one  enjoyed  the  luxury 
of  a  small  round  port-hole,  the  close  heated 
feel  within  them  may  be  imagined.  I  looked 
for  the  neat,  roomy  model  cabin  with  its 
many  fittings,  that  had  attracted  so  much 
notice  when  I  visited  the  ship  in  dock  ;  but 
my  search  was  in  vain.  It  had  gone  the  way 
of  all  models,  or  was  perhaps  doing  duty  on 
board  the  next  vessel  on  the  berth,  together 
with  the  patent  ventilators  and  the  family 
baths. 

It  Avas  some  time  past  twilight  when  I  left 
the  ship's  side,  having  taken  a  parting  peep  at 
the  emigrant  Babel  below ;  and,  with  the  sound 
of  the  casky  voice  still  ringing  in  my  ears, 
complaining  bitterly  of  some  newly  discovered 
mine  of  grievances,  I  bade  my  boatmen  pull 
ashore.  Early  the  following  morning  I 
strolled  down  to  the  Town  Pier,  and  reached 
it  in  time  to  see  the  Jeremy  Diddler  steam- 
tugged  round  the  point  of  land  below.  My 
immediate  reflections  were,  that  I  very  much 
approved  of  emigration,  and  that  it  was  very 
natural  and  reasonable  in  large  numbers  of 
our  home-community,  who  have  little  or  no 
prospect  of  ever  establishing  themselves  in 
life  on  their  own  account,  here,  to  go  with  a 
good  spade  and  as  good  a  will,  to  the  Diggings. 
But,  also,  that  the  Jeremy  Diddler,  and  the 
subject  of  passenger  accommodation  in  ge- 
neral, would  be  none  the  worse  for  a  little 
more  "ventilation." 


THE  GERMAN  WOBKMAN. 


THAT  workmen  in  England  may  have  some 
clear  knowledge  of  the  ways  and  customs  of  a 
large  number  of  their  brethren  on  the  Con- 
tinent, I,  a  German  workman,  here  intend  to 
put  down  for  their  use  a  part  of  my  own 
knowledge  and  experience. 

The  majority  of  trades  in  Germany  are 
formed  into  guilds,  or  companies.  At  the 
head  of  each  guild  stands  an  officer  chosen 
by  the  government,  whatever  it  may  be — for 
you  may  find  a  government  of  any  sort  in 
Germany,  between  an  emperor  and  a  senate 
— this  officer  being  always  a  master,  and  a 
member  of  the  guild.  His  title  diifers  in 
almost  every  German  state,  but  he  is  generally 
called  Trade-master,  or  Deputy.  Associated 
with  him  are  two  or  three  of  the  oldest  em- 
ployers ;  or,  in  some  cases,  workmen  in  the 
trade,  under  the  titles  of  Eldermen,  or 
Masters'  Eepresentatives.  These  three  or  four 
men  govern  the  guild,  and  have  under  them, 
for  the  proper  transaction  of  business,  a 
secretary  and  a  messenger.  Such  officers, 
however,  do  not  represent  their  trade  in  the 
whole  state  or  kingdom  ;  but  are  chosen,  in 
every  large  town,  to  conduct  the  multifarious 
business  that  may  require  attention  within 
its  limits. 

Although  all  these  guilds  are,  in  their  ori- 


ginal constitution,  formed  on  the  same  model, 
they  differ  materially  in  their  internal  arrange- 
ments. Much  depends  upon  the  ruling  govern- 
ment of  the  state  in  which  they  are  situated  ; 
for,  while  in  despotic  Prussia,  what  is  there 
called  Freedom  of  Trade  is  declared  for  all, 
in  the  "  free "  town  of  Hamburgh  every- 
thing is  bound  and  locked  up  in  small  mo- 
nopolies. 

In  some  parts  of  Germany  there  are  "  close 
trades,"  which  means  to  say  that  the  number 
of  masters  in  each  is  definitely  fixed.  This  is 
so  in  Hamburgh.  For  instance,  among  the 
goldsmiths,  the  number  of  new  masters 
annually  to  be  elected  is  three,  being  about 
sufficient  to  fill  up  the  deficiencies  occurring 
from  death  and  other  causes.  I  have  heard 
of  as  many  as  five  being  elected  in  one  year, 
and  I  have  also  heard  it  asserted  that  this 
was  to  be  accounted  for  on  the  supposition 
that  the  aldermen  had  been  "  smeared  in  the 
hand  ; "  that  is  to  say,  bribed. 

There  are  other  trades  locked  up  in  a 
different  way.  There  exist  several  of  this 
kind  in  Nuremberg,  and  thereabouts  ;  as, 
the  awl  and  punch  makers,  lead-pencil 
makers,  hand-bell  makers,  gold  and  silver 
wire-drawers,  and  others.  They  occupy ,  a 
particular  town,  or  district,  and  they  say, 
"Here  we  are.  "We  possess  these  trades, 
and  we  mean  to  keep  them  to  ourselves. 
We  will  teach  no  strangers  our  craft ;  we 
will  confine  it  among  our  relatives  and  towns- 
men ;  and  in  order  to  prevent  the  knowledge 
of  it  from  spreading  any  farther,  we  will  allow 
our  workmen  to  travel  only  within  the  limits 
of  our  town  or  land  ;"  and  so  they  keep  their 
secrets  close. 

In  other  trades,  the  workmen  are  allowed 
to  engage  themselves  only  to  a  privileged 
employer.  That  is  to  say,  they  dare  not 
execute  a  private  order,  but  can  receive  em- 
ployment from  a  master  of  the  craft  only. 
In  Prussia,  and  some  few  other  lands,  each 
workman  can  work  on  his  own  account, 
and  can  offer  his  goods  for  sale  in  the  public 
market  unhindered,  so  long  as  they  are  the 
production  of  his  own  hands  alone ;  but 
should  he  employ  a  journeyman,  then  he  pays 
a  tax  to  Government  of  about  ten  shillings 
annually,  the  tax  increasing  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  men  he  may  employ. 

There  are  also  "endowed"  and  "unendowed" 
trades.  An  endowed  guild  is  one  the  mem- 
bers of  which  pay  a  certain  small  sum  monthly 
while  in  work,  and  thus  form  a  fund  for  the 
relief  of  the  sick  and  the  assistance  of  the 
travelling  members  of  the  trade.  There  are 
few  trades  of  the  unendowed  kind,  for  the 
workmen  of  such  trades  have  to  depend  upon 
the  generosity  of  their  companions  in  the  craft 
in  the  hour  of  need  ;  and  it  is  generally  found 
more  economical  to  pay  a  regular  sum  than 
to  be  called  on  at  uncertain  intervals  for  a 
donation  ;  moreover,  the  respectability  of  the 
craft  is  better  maintained. 

While  we  talk  of  respectability,  we  may  add 


Charles  Dlckens.1 


THE  GEEMAN  WORKMAN. 


411 


that  it  was  formerly  the  especial  care  of  the 
heads  of  each  guild,  to  see  that  no  disreputable 
pei-sons  became  members  of  the  trade  ;  and 
illegitimate  children,  and  even  the  lawful 
offspring  of  shepherds,  bailiffs,  and  town 
servants  were  carefully  excluded.  This  prac- 
tice exists  no  longer,  except  in  some  few 
insignificant  places  ;  but  the  law  is  still  very 
general  which  says  that  no  workman  can 
become  a  master  Avho  has  not  fulfilled  every 
regulation  imposed  by  his  guild ;  that  is  to 
say,  he  must  have  been  apprenticed  at  the 
proper  age  to  a  properly- constituted  master  ; 
must  have  regularly  completed  his  period  of 
apprenticeship,  and  have  passed  the  appointed 
time  in  travel.  The  worst  part  of  all  these 
regulations  is,  that,  as  they  vary  in  almost 
every  state,  the  unfortunate  wanderer  has 
to  conform  to  a  new  set  of  laws  in  every 
new  land  he  enters. 

One  other  regulation  is  almost  universal. 
Each  guild  must  have  a  place  of  meeting  ;  not 
a  sumptuous  hall,  but  mere  accommodation  in 
a  public-house.  It  is  called  the  "  Herberge," 
and  answers,  in  many  respects,  to  our  "  House 
of  Call."  This  is  the  weary  traveller's  place  of 
rest — he  can  claim  a  shelter  here  ;  indeed,  in 
most  cases,  he  dares  sleep  nowhere  else. 
Here  also  the  guild  holds  its  quarterly 
meetings.  By  way  of  illustration,  let  us  take 
the  Goldsmiths'  Herberge  in  Hamburgh  ;  the 
"  Stadt  Bremen "  is  the  sign  of  the  house. 
In  it,  the  goldsmiths  use  a  large,  rectangular 
apartment,  furnished  with  a  few  rough  tables 
and  chairs,  and  a  wooden  bench  running  round 
its  four  walls.  On  the  tables  are  arranged 
long  clay  pipes,  and  in  the  centre  of  each 
table  is  a  small  dish  of  what  the  uninitiated 
might  take  to  be  dried  tea-leaves.  This  is 
uncut  tobacco,  which  the  host,  the  father 
of  the  House  of  Call,  is  bound  to  provide. 
The  secretary  and  messenger  of  the  guild 
of  goldsmiths  are  there,  together  with  one  or 
two  of  the  "  Altgesellen"  (elder  journeymen), 
who  perform  the  active  part  of  the  duties  of 
the  guild.  The  minutes  of  the  last  meeting, 
and  the  incidents  of  the  quarter — possibly, 
also,  an  abstract  of  the  rules — having  been 
read,  and  new  officers,  to  supersede  those  who 
retire,  having  been  balloted  for,  the  business 
of  the  evening  closes.  Then  commences  a 
confusion  of  tongues  ;  for  here  are  congregated 
Russians,  Hungarians,  Danes.  Hamburghers, 
Prussians,  Austrians  ;  possibly  there  may  be 
found  here  a  member  of  every  state  in  the 
German  Union.  None  are  silent,  and  the 
dialect  of  each  is  distinct.  Assiduously,  in  the 
pauses  of  his  private  conversation,  every  man 
smokes  his  long  pipe,  and  drinks  his  beer  or 
punch.  Presently  two  female  harp-players 
enter — sources  of  refreshment  quite  as  popular 
in  Hamburgh  as  the  punch.  They  strike  up 
an  infatuating  waltz.  The  effect  is  wonderful. 
Two  or  three  couples  (men  waltzing  with  men, 
of  course)  are  immediately  on  their  feet, 
scrambling,  kicking,  and  scraping  round  the 
room ;  hugging  each  other  in  the  most  awk- 


ward manner.  Chairs  and  tables  are  huddled 
into  corners  ;  for  the  mania  has  seized  upon 
two-thirds  of  the  company.  The  rest  cannot 
forsake  their  beer,  but  congregate  in  the 
corners,  and  yell,  and  scream  toasts  and 
"  Lebe-hoch  !  "  till  they  are  hoarse. 

Two  girls  enter,  with  trifling  articles  of  male 
attire  for  sale  ;  stocks,  pomatum,  brushes,  and 
beard- wax ;  but  the  said  damsels  are  imme- 
diately pounced  upon  for  partners.  In  the 
intervals  of  the  music  a  grand  tournament 
takes  place  ;  the  weapons  being  clay-pipes, 
which  are  speedily  shattered  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  and  strewn  about  the  room  to  facilitate 
dancing.  Such  a  scene  of  shuffling,  whirling, 
shouting,  and  pipe-crunching  could  scarcely 
be  seen  elsewhere. 

"We  will  take  a  German  youth  destined 
to  become  an  artisan,  and  endeavour  to 
follow  him  through  the  complication  of  con- 
flicting usages  of  which  he  stands  the  ordeal. 
Hans  is  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  has 
just  left  school  with  a  decent  education. 
Hans  has  his  trade  and  master  chosen 
for  him  ;  is  taken  before  the  heads  of  the 
guild,  and  his  indenture  duly  signed  and 
sealed  in  their  presence ;  they  themselves 
witnessing  the  document.  His  term  of  ap- 
prenticeship is  probably  four  years,  perhaps 
six  ;  a  premium  is  seldom  given,  and  when 
it  is,  it  shortens  the  period  of  apprenticeship. 
The  indenture,  together  with  a  certificate  of 
baptism,  in  some  cases  that  of  confirmation 
(which  ceremony  serves  as  an  important  epoch 
in  Germany),  and  even  a  documentary  proof 
of  vaccination,  are  deposited  in  the  coffers  of 
the  guild,  and  kept  at  the  Herberge  for  future 
reference. 

Obedience  to  elders  and  superiors  is  the  one 
great  duty  inculcated  in  the  minds  of  all 
Germans,  and  Hans  is  taught  to  look  upon 
his  master  as  a  second  father ;  to  con- 
sider short  commons  as  a  regulation  for  his 
especial  good,  and  to  bear  cuffing — if  he 
should  fall  in  the  way  of  it — patiently.  If  he 
be  an  apprentice  in  Vienna,  he  may  possibly 
breakfast  upon  a  hunch  of  brown  bread,  and 
an  unlimited  supply  of  water  ;  dine  upon  a 
thin  soup  and  a  block  of  tasteless,  fresh  boiled 
beef ;  and  sup  upon  a  cold  crust.  He  may 
fare  better  or  worse ;  but,  as  a  general  rule, 
he  will  sleep  in  a  vile  hole,  will  look  upon 
coffee  and  butter  as  undeniable  luxuries,  and 
know  the  weight  of  his  master's  hand. 

Hans  has  one  great  soiirce  of  pleasure. 
There  is  a  state  school,  which  he  attends  on 
Sundays,  and  where  he  is  instructed  in  draw- 
ing and  modelling.  In  his  future  travels,  he 
will  find  the  advantage  he  has  acquired  over 
less  educated  mechanics  in  this  necessary 
knowledge  ;  and  should  he  come  to  England, 
he  will  discover  that  his  skill  as  a  draughts- 
man will  place  him  at  once  in  a  position 
superior  to  that  of  the  chance-taught  work- 
men about  him.  He  completes  his  appren- 
ticeship without  attempting  to  run  away. 
That  is  practically  impossible  ;  but  he  yearns, 


412 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


with  all  the  ardour  of  a  young  heart,  for  the 
happy  day  when  he  may  tramp  out  of  his 
native  town  with  his  knapsack  on  his  back, 
and  the  wide  world  before  him. 

We  will  suppose  Hans  out  of  his  time,  and 
declared  a  free  journeyman  by  the  guild. 
The  law  of  his  country  now  has  it  that  he 
must  travel — generally  for  three  years,  per- 
haps four  or  six — before  he  can  take  up  the 
position  of  a  master.  He  may  work  for  a 
short  period  in.  his  native  town  as  a  journey- 
man, but  forth  he  must ;  nor  is  lie  in  any  way 
loth.  One  only  contingency  there  is,  which 
may  serve  to  arrest  him  in  his  course, — he 
may  be  drawn  as  a  conscript — and,  possibly, 
forget  in  the  next  two  or  three  years,  as  a 
soldier,  all  he  has  previously  learned  in  four 
as  a  mechanic.  But  we  suppose  Hans  to 
have  escaped  this  peril,  and  to  be  on  the  eve 
of  his  departure. 

When  an  English  gentleman,  or  mechanic, 
or  beggar,  in  these  isles,  has  resolved  upon 
making  a  journey,  he  has  but  to  pack  up  his 
traps,  whether  it  be  in  his  portmanteau, 
his  deal-box,  or  his  pocket-handkerchief ;  to 
purchase  his  ticket  at  the  railway  or  steam- 
packet  station ;  and  without  asking  or  con- 
sulting with  anybody  about  the  matter,  to 
take  his  seat  in  the  vehicle,  and  off  he 
goes.  Not  so  Hans.  He  gives  his  master 
fourteen  days'  notice  of  his  intention  to 
wander,  applies  to  the  aldermen  of  his  guild 
for  copies  of  the  various  documents  concern- 
ing himself  in  their  possession,  and  obtains 
from  his  employer  a  written  attestation  of 
his  past  services.  This  document  is  called  a 
"  Kundschaft ;"  is  written  in  set  form,  ac- 
knowledges his  probity  and  industry,  and  is 
countersigned  by  the  two  aldermen.  He  is 
now  in  a  condition  to  wait  upon  the  "  Herbergs- 
Vater"  (the  landlord  of  the  House  of  Call), 
and  request  his  signature  also.  The  Vater, 
seeing  that  Hans  owes  nothing  to  him  or  to 
any  other  townsman — and  all  creditors  know 
that  they  have  only  to  report  their  claims  at 
•  the  Herberge  to  obtain  for  them  a  strict 
attention — signs  his  paper,  "  all  quit."  Surely 
he  may  start  forth  now  !  Not  so  ;  the  most 
important  document  is  still  wanting.  He  has, 
as  yet,  no  passport  or  wander-book. 

Hans  goes  to  the  police-bureau,  and  as  he 
is  poor,  has  to  wait  a  long  while.  If  Hans 
were  rich,  or  an  artist,  or  a  master's  son,  it  is 
highly  probable  that  he  would  be  able  to 
obtain  a  passport — and  the  possession  of  a 
passport  guarantees  many  advantages — but 
as  Hans  is  simply  a  workman,  a  "  wander- 
book"  only  is  granted  to  him.  This  does 
indeed  cost  him  less  money,  but  it  thrusts  him 
into  an  unwelcome  position,  from  which  it  is 
not  easy  to  escape.  He  is  placed  under 
stricter  rule ;  and,  among  other  things,  is 
forced,  during  his  wandering,  to  sleep  at  his 
trade  Herberge,  which,  from  the  very  mono- 
poly it  thus  enjoys,  is  about  the  worst  place  he 
could  go  to  for  a  lodging. 

The    good    magistrate    of    Perleberg — the 


frontier  town  of  Prussia,  as  you  enter  from 
Mecklenburg — had  the  kindness  to  ailix  to 
the  passport  carried  by  the  writer  of  this 
paper  a  document  entitled,  "  Ordinance  con- 
cerning the  Wandering  of  Working-men  ;" 
We  will  briefly  translate  its  contents  ; — The 
"  Verordnung  "  commences  with  a  preamble, 
to  the  effect,  that  notwithstanding  the  various 
things  that  have  been  done  and  undone 
with  respect  to  the  aforesaid  journeymen,  it 
still  happens  that  numbers  of  them  wander 
purposeless  about  the  land,  to  the  great 
burden  of  their  particular  trades  and  the 
public  in  general,  and  to  the  imminent  danger 
of  the  common  safety.  Therefore,  be  it 
enacted  that  "  passports,"  that  is  to  say 
"  passes,"  in  which  the  distinct  purpose  of 
the  journey  is  stated,  such  as  a  search  for 
employment ;  or  "  wander-books,"  in  which 
occupation  by  manual  labour  is  the  especial 
object,  are  to  be  granted  to  those  natives  of 
Prussia  only  who  pursue  a  trade  or  art  for 
the  perfection  of  which  travelling  may  be 
considered  useful  or  necessar)r. — To  those 
only  who  are  irreproachable  in  character, 
and  perfectly  healthy  in  body  ;  this  latter 
to  be  attested  by  a  medical  certificate. — To 
those  only  who  have  not  passed  their  thirtieth 
year,  nor  have  travelled  for  the  five  previous 
years  without  intermission. — To  those  only 
who  possess  a  proper  amount  of  clothing, 
including  linen,  as  well  as  a  sum  of  money 
not  less  than  five  dollars  (about  sixteen 
shillings)  for  travelling  expenses.  So  much 
for  natives.  Foreigners  must  possess  all  the 
above-named  requisites ;  must  be  provided 
with  proper  credentials  from  their  home 
authorities,  and  may  not  have  been  more 
than  four  weeks  without  employment  on 
their  arrival  at  the  frontier.  Again,  every 
wanderer  must  distinctly  state  in  what  parti- 
cular town  or  city  he  intends  to  seek  em- 
ployment, and  by  what  route  he  purposes 
to  get  there ;  and  any  deviation  from  the 
chosen  road  (which  will  be  marked  in  the 
wander-book)  will  be  visited  by  the  punish- 
ment of  expulsion  from  the  country.  A  fixed 
number  of  days  will  be  allotted  to  the  wanderer 
in  which  to  reach  his  destination,  but  should 
he  overstep  that  period,  a  similar  punishment 
awaits  him ;  expulsion  from  the  country  always 
meaning  that  the  offender  shall  retrace  his 
steps,  and  quit  the  land  by  the  way  he  had 
entered  it.  This  is  the  substance  of  the 
"  ordinance." 

Hans  is  ready  for  the  road.  He  has 
only  now  to  take  his  farewell.  A  farewell 
among  workmen  is  simply  a  drinking-bout, 
a  parting  glass  taken  overnight.  Hans  has 
many  friends  ;  these  appoint  a  place  of  assem- 
blage, and  invite  him  thither.  It  is  a  point 
of  honour  among  them  that  the  "wander- 
ing boy"  shall  pay  nothing.  Imagine  a  large, 
half-lighted  room,  a  crowded  board  of  bearded 
faces.  On  the  table  steams  a  huge  bowl  of 
punch,  which  the  chosen  head  of  the  party, 
perhaps  Johann's  late  master,  ladles  into  the 


Chtrlet  llickena.] 


THE  GERMAN  WORKMAN. 


413 


tiny  glasses.  He  proclaims  the  toast,  "  The 
Health  of  the  Wanderer ! "  The  little  crowd 
are  on  their  feet,  and  amid  a  pretty  tinkling  of 
glasses,  an  irregular  shout  arises,  a  small 
hurricane  of  voices,  wishing  him  good  speed. 

What  songs  are  sung,  what  healths  are 
drunk,  what  heartfelt  wishes  are  expressed  ! 
The  German  workmen  are  good  friends  to 
one  another — men  who  are  already  away 
from  friends  and  home,  and  whose  tenderest 
recollections  are  awakened  in  the  farewell  ex- 
pressed to  a  departing  companion.  Many 
tears  are  shed,  many  hearty  presses  of  the 
hand  are  given,  and  not  a  few  kisses  impressed 
upon  the  cheek.  Little  tokens  of  affection 
are  interchanged,  and  promises  to  write  are 
made,  but  seldom  kept.  With  this  mingling 
and  outpouring  of  full  hearts,  the  stream  of 
punch  still  flows  through  tiny  glasses  ;  but, 
since  "Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle,"  the 
farewell  thus  taken  ends  sometimes  as  a 
debauch. 

Hans,  in  the  morning,  is,  perhaps,  a  little 
the  worse  for  last  night's  punch.  He  is 
attired  in  a  clean  white  blouse,  strapped  round 
the  waist ;  a  neat  travelling-cap ;  low,  stout 
shoes  ;  and,  possibly,  linen  wrappers,  instead 
of  socks.  The  knapsack,  strapped  to  his  back, 
contains  a  sufficient  change  of  linen,  a  coat 
artistically  packed,  which  is  to  be  worn  in 
cities,  and  a  few  necessary  tools  ;  the  whole 
stock  weighing,  perhaps,  twenty  or  thirty 
pounds.  On  the  sides  of  the  knapsack  are 
little  pouches,  containing  brushes,  blacking, 
and  soap  ;  and,  in  his  breast-pocket  is  stowed 
away  a  little  flask  of  brandy-schnaps,  to 
revive  his  drooping  spirits  on  the  road.  A 
stout  stick  completes  his  equipment.  A  last 
adieu  from  the  one  friend  of  his  heart,  who 
will  walk  a  few  miles  with  him  on  the  way — 
and  so  he  is  launched  fairly  on  his  journey. 

Hans  finds  the  road  much  harder,  and  his 
knapsack  heavier  than  he  had  expected.  Now 
he  is  drenched  with  rain,  and  can  get  no 
shelter  ;  and,  when  he  does,  he  will  find  straw 
an  inconvenient  substitute  for  a  bed.  At  last 
he  arrives  at  Berlin.  He  has  picked  up  a 
companion  on  the  road  ;  and,  as  it  frequently 
happens  that  several  trades  hold  their 
meetings  in  the  same  house,  they  both  are 
bound  to  the  same  Herberge.  Through 
strange,  half-lighted  streets,  along  narrow 
edges  of  pavement,  they  proceed  till  they  enter 
a  court,  or  wynd,  with  no  footpath  at  all,  and 
they  are  in  the  Schuster  Gasse,  before  the 
door  of  the  Herberge.  The  comrade  of  Hans 
announces  them  as  they  pass  the  bar,  and  the 
next  moment  they  are  in  the  travellers'  room, 
amid  as  motley  a  group  as  ever  met  within 
four  walls. 

Tumult  and  hubbub.  An  indescribable 
odour  of  tobacco,  cummin  (carraway),  and 
potato-salad.  A  variety  of  hustled  blouses. 
Sunburnt  and  haggard  faces.  Ragged  beards 
and  unkempt  locks.  A  strong  pipe  hanging 
from  every  lip  ;  beer,  or  kimmel  (a  spirit 
prepared  with  cummin).  Wild  snatches  of 


song,  and  hurried  bursts  of  dialogxie.  Some 
are  all  violence  and  uproar  ;  some  are  half 
dead  with  sleep  and  fatigue,  their  arms  sprawl- 
ing about  the  tables.  Such  is  the  inside  of  a 
German  trade  traveller's  room. 

Hans  and  his  companion  hand  over  their 
papers  to  the  "  father  "  as  a  security,  and  their 
knapsacks  to  a  sluttish-looking  girl,  who  de- 
posits them  in  a  cupboard  in  the  corner  of 
the  room,  and  locks  the  door  upon  them. 
Our  travellers  order  a  measure  of  Berliner 
Weiss  Bier,  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  rest, 
and  long  for  the  hour  of  sleep.  At  length,  a 
stout  young  man  enters,  carrying  a  lighted 
lantern,  and  in  a  loud  voice  of  authority,  he 
summonses  all  to  bed.  And  there  is  a 
scrambling  and  hustling  among  some  of  the 
travellers,  a  hasty  guzzling  of  beer  and 
spirits,  and  a  few  low  murmurs  at  being 
disturbed,  but  none  dare  disobey. 

A  shambling  troop  of  sixteen  or  eighteen, 
they  quit  the  room,  and  enter  a  small  paved 
yard,  preceded  by  the  young  man  with  the 
lantern.  There  is  a  rough  building  resembling 
a  stable,  at  the  other  end  of  the  yard  ;  and, 
in  one  corner,  a  steep  ladder,  with  a  hand- 
rail, which  leads  to  a  chamber  above.  They 
ascend,  and  enter  a  long,  low  loft,  so  com- 
pletely crowded  with  rough  bedsteads  that 
there  remains  but  a  narrow  alley  between 
them,  just  sufficient  to  allow  a  single  person 
to  pass.  Eight  double  beds,  and  the  ceiling 
so  low  that  the  companion  of  Hans  can 
scarcely  stand  upright  with  his  hat  on. 

"New-comers  this  way,"  shouts  the  con- 
ductor. 

"  What's  the  matter,  now  ? "  inquires  Hans 
of  his  comrade. 

"  Take  off  your  coat,"  is  the  answer  in  a 
whisper  ;  "  undo  the  wristbands,  and  throw 
open  the  collar  of  your  shirt." 

"What  for?" 

"  To  be  examined." 

So  they  are  examined  ;  and,  being  pro- 
nounced sound,  are  allowed  to  sleep  with  the 
rest  of  the  flock.  In  this  loft,  each  bed  with 
at  least  two  occupants,  and  the  door  locked — 
without  consideration  for  fire,  accident,  or 
sudden  indisposition,  Hans  passes  the  first 
night  in  Berlin. 

But  there  is  no  work  in  Berlin,  and  Hans 
must  pursue  his  journey.  He  waits  for  hours 
at  the  Police-office,  as  play-goers  wait  at  the 
door  of  a  London  theatre.  By  and  bye,  he  gets 
into  the  small  bureau  with  a  desperate  rush. 
That  business  is  settled,  and  he  is  off  again 

Time  runs  on  ;  and,  after  a  further  tramp 
of  good  two  hundred  miles,  Hans  gets 
settled  at  last  in  the  free  city  of  Hamburgh. 
With  the  exception  of  a  few  factories,  suck 
as  the  silk-works  at  Chemnitz,  in  Saxony,  and 
the  colony  of  goldsmiths  at  Pfortzheim,  in 
Wurtemburg,  there  are  few  extensive  manu- 
factories in  Germany.  Trade  is  split  up  into 
little  masterships  of  from  one  to  five  or  six 
men.  This  circumstance  materially  affects  the 
relation  between  the  employer  and  employed. 


414 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


The  master  under  whom  Hans  serves  at 
Hamburgh  is  a  pleasant,  affable  gentleman ; 
his  apprentice  Peter  may  be  of  a  different 
opinion,  but  that  is  of  no  consequence.  The 
master  has  spent  the  best  years  of  his  life  in 
England  and  France ;  has  learned  to  speak 
the  languages  of  both  countries  with  perfect 
facility,  and  is  one  of  the  lucky  monopolists  of 
his  trade.  He  employs  three  workmen  ;  one 
of  them,  who  is  possessed  of  that  peculiar  cast 
of  countenance  generally  attributed  to  the 
children  of  Israel.  He  has  been  demurred  to 
by  the  guild, — and  why  1  Because  a  Jew  is 
legally  incapable  of  working  in  Hamburgh. 
He  is,  however,  allowed  the  usual  privileges 
on  attesting  that  he  is  not  an  Israelite. 

Our  master  accommodates  under  his  own 

of  one  workman  and  his  apprentice  Peter. 
The  others,  whom  he  cannot  lodge,  are  allowed 
each  one  mark-banco  (fourteen  pence)  per 
week,  to  enable  them  to  find  a  bed-chamber 
elsewhere.  They  suffer  a  pecuniary  loss  by 
the  arrangement.  Hans  sleeps  in  a  narrow 
box,  built  on  the  landing,  into  which  no  ray  of 
heaven's  light  had  ever  penetrated.  His  bed- 
ding is  a  very  simple  affair.  He  is  troubled 
with  neither  blankets  nor  sheets.  An  "  under  " 
and  an  "  over  "  bed,  the  latter  rather  lighter 
than  the  former,  and  both  supposed  to  be  of 
feathers,  form  his  bed  and  bedding.  Hans  is 
as  well  off  as  others,  so  he  does  not  complain. 
As  for  the  apprentice,  Peter,  it  was  known 
that  he  disappeared  at  a  certain  hour  every 
evening ;  and  from  his  appearance  when  he 
turned  out  in  the  morning,  Hans  was  under 
the  impression  that  he  wildly  shot  himself 
into  some  deep  and  narrow  hole,  and  slept  the 
night  through  on  his  head. 

And  how  does  Hans  fare  under  his  master's 
roof?  Considering  the  reminiscences  of  his 
apprenticeship,  he  relishes  his  cup  of  coffee  in 
the  morning,  his  tiny  round  roll  of  white 
bread,  and  the  heavy  black  rye -loaf,  into 
which  he  is  allowed  to  hew  his  way  unchecked, 
and  beautiful  Holsteiu  butter.  Not  being 
accustomed  to  better  food,  it  is  possible  that 
he  enjoys  the  tasteless  fresh  boiled  beef,  the 
sodden  baked  meat,  with  no  atom  of  fat,  which 
form  the  staple  food  at  dinner.  Whether  he 
can  comprehend  the  soups  which  are  some- 
times placed  before  him, — now  made  of 
shredded  lemons,  now  of  strained  apples,  and 
occasionally  of  plain  water,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  rice,  is  another  matter ;  but  the  sour- 
kraut  and  bacon,  the  boiled  beef  and  raisins, 
and  the  baked  veal  and  prunes,  are  certain 
to  be  looked  upon  by  him  as  unusual 
luxuries. 

The  master  presides  at  the  table,  and 
blesses  the  meat  with  the  air  of  a  father  of 
his  people.  Although  workmen  in  Germany 
are  little  better  than  old  apprentices,  this 
daily  and  familiar  intercourse  has  the  effect  of 
breaking  down  the  formal  barriers  which  in 
England  effectually  divide  the  capitalist  and 
the  labourer.  It  creates  a  respectful  fami- 
liarity, which  raises  the  workiaan  without 


lowering  the  master.  The  manners  of  both, 
are  thereby  decidedly  improved. 

Hans  gradually  learns  other  trade  customs. 
His  comrade  falls  sick,  and  is  taken  to  the 
free  hospital,  a  little  way  out  of  the  city. 
This  hospital  is  clean  and  well  kept,  but 
fearfully  crowded.  The  elder  journeymen, 
of  the  guild  are  there  too,  and  they  comfort 
the  sick  man,  and  hand  him  the  weekly 
stipend,  half-a-crown,  allowed  out  of  the  sick- 
fund.  Hans  contributes  to  this  sick-fund 
two  marks — two  shillings  and  fourpence — a 
quarter.  He  does  it  willingly,  but  the  master 
has  power  to  deduct  it  from  his  wages  in  the 
name  of  the  guild.  His  poor  sick  friend  dies  ; 
away  from  home  and  friends — a  desolate  being 
among  strangers.  But  he  is  not,  therefore,  to 
be  neglected.  Every  workman  in  the  trade 
is  called  upon  to  contribute  his  share — about 
sevenpence — towards  the  expenses  of  the 
funeral ;  and  the  two  senior,  assisted  by  four 
other  journeymen,  in  full  evening  dress,  attend 
his  funeral.  His  effects  are  then  carefully 
packed  up,  and  sent — a  melancholy  memorial 
of  the  dead — to  his  relations. 

.From  the  same  fund  which  relieves  the  sick, 
are  the  "  wandering  boys  "  also  assisted.  But 
the  "Geschenk  "  (gift),  as  it  is  called,  is  a  mere 
trifle ;  sometimes  but  afew  pence,  and  in  a  large 
city  like  Berlin  it  amounts  to  but  twenty 
silver  groschen — little  more  than  two  shil- 
lings. It  is  not  considered  disgraceful  to 
accept  this  donation ;  as  all,  when  in  work, 
contribute  towards  the  fund  from  which  it  is 
supplied. 

And  what  is  the  amount  of  wages  that 
German  workmen  receive  1  In  Hamburgh 
wages  vary  from  five  to1  eight  marks  per 
week,  that  is,  from  seven  shillings  to  ten 
and  sixpence,  paid  monthly.  In  Leipsic 
they  are  paid  fortnightly,  and  average 
about  ten  shillings  per  week.  In  Berlin 
wages  are  paid  by  the  calendar  month,  and 
average  twenty-four  dollars  (a  dollar  is  rather 
more  than  three  shillings)  for  that  period  ; 
so  that  a  workman  may  be  said  to  earn  about 
eighteen  shillings  a  week,  but  is  dependent 
on  his  own  resources  for  food  and  lodging. 
In  Vienna  the  same  regulation  exists,  and 
wages  range  from  five  to  eight  guldens — ten 
to  sixteen  shillings  per  week — paid  weekly,  as 
in  England.  But  a  workman  in  Vienna  may 
be  respectably  lodged,  lighted,  and  washed 
for  at  the  rate  of  half-a-crown  a  week.  In 
Berlin  and  Vienna  married  journeymen  are 
to  be  met  with,  but  not  in  great  numbers, 
and  in  smaller  towns  they  may  almost  be  said 
to  be  unknown.  Dr.  Korth,  in  his  address  to 
his  young  friends. the  "travelling boys,"  on  this 
subject,  emphatically  says — "  Avoid,  in  God's 
name,  all  attachments  to  womankind,  more 
especially  to  those  of  whom  your  heai-ts 
would  say,  '  These  could  I  love.' "  And  then 
the  quaint  old  gentleman  proceeds  to  say  a 
number  of  lingallant  things,  which  are  not 
worth  translating. 

No  !    the  German  workman  is  taught   to 


diaries  Dickens.] 


SPANISH  ROMANCE. 


415 


hold  himself  free,  that  he  may  carry  out  the 
law  of  his  land  to  the  letter  ;  that  he  may 
return  from  his  travels  at  the  appointed  time 
"  a  wiser  and  a  better  man  ; "  that  he  may 
show  proofs  of  his  acquired  skill  in  his  trade, 
and  thereupon  claim  the  master's  right  and 
position.  He  is  then  free  to  marry,  and  is 
looked  upon  as  an  "  eligible  party."  But  how 
seldom  does  all  this  come  to  pass,  may  the 
thousands  who  swarm  in  London  and  Paris, 
may  the  German  colonies  which  dot  the 
American  States  sufficiently  tell.  Many 
linger  in  large  cities  till  they  feel  that  to 
return  to  the  little  native  village,  and  its  old, 
poor,  plodding  ways,  would  be  little  better 
than  burial  alive  ;  and  some  return,  wasted 
with  foreign  vice  and  purchased  adversity, 
premature  old  men,  to  die  upon  the  threshold 
of  their  early  homes. 

One  more  question — what  are  their  amuse- 
ments ?  It  would  be  a  long  story  to  tell,  but 
certainly  home-reading  is  not  a  prominent 
enjoyment  among  them.  German  govern- 
ments, as  a  rule,  take  care  that  the  people's 
amusements  shall  not  be  interfered  with. 
The  workmen  throng  in  dance-houses,  beer- 
cellars,  cafe's,  and  theatres,  which  are  all 
liveliest  and  most  attractive  on  a  Sunday,  and 
as  they  are  tolerably  cheap,  they  are  gene- 
rally a  successful  lure  from  deep  thinking  or 
study.  Besides,  the  German  workman  has 
no  home.  If  he  stay  there  at  all  in  holiday 
hours,  it  is  to  draw,  or  model,  or  sing  romances 
to  the  strumming  of  his  guitar. 

SPANISH  EOMANCE. 


ANY  one  who  has  made  the  acquaintance 
of  the  Spanish  hero,  the  Cid,  hi  the  full- 
bottomed  wig  and  stuffed  out  metaphor's 
furnished  to  him  by  Corneille,  will  find  it 
difficult  to  form  any  idea  of  the  real  character 
of  an  individual  so  disguised.  We  have  little 
to  help  us  in  this  endeavour  iu  Spanish 
records,  for  national  pride  and  popular 
ignorance  have  so  bedizened  him  with  im- 
possible perfections,  that  he  has  become  a 
mythical  personage  altogether,  and  his  ex- 
ploits look  as  apocryphal  as  those  of  Amadis 
de  Gaul.  Songs  and  ballads  give  us  little 
more  enlightenment  than  tragedians  or  chro- 
niclers. Like  our  own  Eobin  Hood,  he  is 
overlaid  by  his  celebrators,  and  nothing  of 
him  remains  but  what  was  originally  invented 
by  bards  and  minstrels.  Was  there  a  Eobin 
Hood  ?  The  common  stories  will  tell  you  he 
was  an  Earl  of  Huntingdon  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  the  Second,  who  escaped  from  the 
struggles  and  ambitions  of  courts,  and  betook 
himself,  as  a  bold  outlaw,  to  the  merry  green- 
wood. Here,  surrounded  by  his  free  com- 
panions, he  dispensed  wild  justice,  punishing 
the  oppressors  of  the  poor,  and  easing  fat 
churchmen  of  their  ill-got  gains.  He  became 
a  political  impersonation,  and  represented 
Reform,  both  in  Church  and  State. 

Was  there  a  Cid  ?     He  was  a  certain  Don 


Eodrigo  Diaz  de  Bivar,  and  flourished  in  the 
eleventh  century,  in  the  reign  of  the  First 
Ferdinand  of  Castile.  By  tremendous  bodily 
strength,  unflinching  courage,  and  some  know- 
ledge of  military  tactics,  he  gained  great 
victories  over  the  Moors.  He  strengthened  his 
King's  throne  by  unfailing  loyalty  ;  and  he 
also,  like  the  English  freebooter,  became  a 
personification,  and  represented  chivalrous 
honour  and  Christian  obedience.  "  True  as  the 
Cid,"  "  stainless  as  the  Cid,"  and  a  hundred 
other  phrases  expressive  of  the  people's 
admiration,  became  part  of  the  language  ;  and 
there  are  few  Spaniards  who  would  not  resent 
as  bitterly  an  attack  on  the  virtues  of  their 
favourite  hero,  as  if  to  doubt  his  perfections 
were  a  personal  insult  to  his  countrymen. 

Out  of  the  mass  of  ballads  celebrating  his 
adventures  little  could  be  made.  The  leaves 
had  overgrown  the  tree.  Scene  was  Imddled 
upon  scene  without  any  order  or  regularity. 
Fights  with  Moorish  chiefs  ;  philosophical 
disquisitions  with  the  King  ;  his  reconcilia- 
tion with  Ximene  after  he  had  slain  her 
father — these,  and  fifty  other  incidents,  lay  in 
a  confused  heap  without  any  regard  to 
arrangement  or  chronology.  The  Spaniards 
were  too  idle  or  too  ignorant  to  set  their 
house  in  order,  even  although  in  this  instance 
it  was  the  temple  of  fame.  They  were  in 
equal  want  of  a  Livy  and  a  Macaulay.  There 
was  no  one  to  compose  a  good  consecutive 
history  out  of  the  ballads  ;  nor  any  one  to 
embody,  in  regular  historical  ballads,  the 
events  which  tradition  had  handed  down. 
Both  these  achievements  were  reserved  for  a 
foreign  people.  Our  worthy  friends,  the 
Germans,  in  the  midst  of  their  beer  and 
smoke,  have  a  lively  feeling  for  the  romantic, 
and  a  profound  reverence  for  the  systematic. 
So  Miiller,  the  historian  of  Switzerland,  wrote 
a  life  of  Euy  Diaz  de  Bivar,  el  Cid,  Cam- 
peador ;  and  Herder,  the  philosopher  and 
poet,  put  all  the  legends  into  shape,  and 
made  him  the  hero  almost  of  an  epic  poem. 
Eetainiug  as  much  as  possible  the  flow  of  the 
original  verse,  he  gave  his  countrymen  the 
results  of  the  cancioneros,  and  an  excellent 
idea,  at  the  same  time,  of  the  nature  of  those 
lays  of  the  Spanish  minstrels.  With  a  faint 
hope  of  accomplishing  the  same  result,  we 
have  devoted  this  paper  to  a  translation  of 
some  of  the  most  characteristic  passages  in 
Herder's  work.  There  is  a  fine  musical  roll 
in  the  rhythm  of  the  original,  which  leaves 
no  room  to  regret  the  want  of  rhyme. 

The  proud  Don  Gormaz,  the  father  of  the 
beautiful  Ximene,  as  in  the  French  play, 
has  inflicted  the  indelible  disgrace  of  a  blow 
on  the  aged  father  of  the  Cid,  Don  Diego. 
His  family  are  yet  ignorant  of  his  shame,  and 
the  old  man  is  in  despair. 

i. 

Deep  in  grief  sat  Don  Diego, 
Ne'er  lived  man  so  sunk  iu  sorrow ; 
Night  and  day  he  brooded  ever 
On  the  insult  he  endured, — 


416 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Insult  to  the  great  and  noble, 
Lofty  house  of  the  De  Lainez, 
Which  excelled  the  old  Abarcos 
And  the  Inigos  in  fame. 

Deeply  wrong'd, — by  old  age  weaken'd, — 
Close  he  felt  the  grave  approaching; 
And  meanwhile  his  foe,  Don  Gormaz, 
Triumph'd,  with  no  rival  near. 

Mourning  ever;  foodless,  sleepless, 
On  the  ground  his  glances  fixing, 
Never  did  he  cross  the  threshold, 

Never  deigu'd  his  friends  a  word. 

Answer'd  not  when  they  address'd  him, 
Bidding  him  again  take  comfort ; 
For  the  breath  of  the  dishonour'd, 

So  he  thought,  would  staiii  his  friends. 

But  at  last  he  shook  the  burden 
From  him,  of  his  moveless  anguish, 
And  his  sons  before  him  summon'd, 
Yet  he  spake  them  ne'er  a  word. 

All  their  warlike  hands  he  fasten'd 
Close  and  sure  with  strongest  fetters; 
All — their  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowing — 
Pray'd  for  pity  from  their  sire. 

All  his  hope  had  nearly  vanish'd, 
AN  lion  the  youngest  of  his  children, 
Don  Rodrigo,  gave  him  courage, 
Hope  and  comfort,  once  ngain. 

Glaring  like  a  fierce-eyed  tiger, 
Slept  he  from  his  father  backward, 
'  Father,"  said  he,  "  you're  forgetful 
Who  you  are,  and  who  I  am ! 

Hnd  I  not  received  my  weapons 
From  your  hands,  this  trusty  dagger 
Should  have  cleared  the  foul  dishonour, 
You  have  tried  to  fling  on  me." 

Streaming  fell  the  tears  of  rnpture 

Down  the  cheek  of  that  old  father. 

'  Thou,"  he  said,  his  son  embracing, 

"  Thou,  Rodrigo,  art  my  sou! 

Your  brave  wratli  my  rest  restores  me; 
Your  brave  anger  cures  my  sorrows  ! 
Not  on  me,  your  kind  old  father, 
But  upon  our  house's  foe, 

Lift  your  hand!" — "  Our  foe,  where  is  lie?" 
Cried  Rodrigo.     "  Who  flings  insult 
On  our  house?"     He  left  his  father 
Scarcely  time  to  tell  the  tale. 


In  the  court-yard  of  the  palace 
Don  Rodrigo  met  Don  Gormaz 
By  himself,  with  none  beside  him, 

And  the  Conde  thus  addressed  : — 

"  Did  you  know  me,  noble  Gormaz, 
Me,  the  son  of  Don  Diego, 
When  you  shook  your  hand  in  anger 
In  that  venerable  face? 

Knew  you  not  that  Don  Diego 
Traced  his  line  from  Layn  Calvo; 
Not  on  earth  is  nothing  purer 

Than  his  'scutcheon  and  his  blood?' 


"Know  you,  boy,"  proud  Gormaz  answered, 

That's  the  half  of  man's  existence?" 
"  Yea  !  I  know  it,"  said  Rodrigo, 

Yea!  proud  lord,  I  know  it  well ! 

There's  one-half  consists  in  giving 
Honour  to  the  brave  and  noble; 
And  one-half  in  humbling  braggarts, 
With  the  last  drop  of  your  blood, 

Shame  and  insult  dearly  venging." 
As  he  spoke  these  words  in  anger, 
Look'd  he  on  the  noble  proudly, 

Wlio  thus  tauntingly  replied : — 

"Now  what  want  you,  foolish  stripling?" 
"'Tis  your  head  I  want,  Don  Gormaz," 
Said  the  Cid,  "  I've  sworn  to  have  it." 
"  You  deserve  a  whipping,  boy," 

Said  Don  Gormaz,  "  such  a  whipping 
As  men  give  their  froward  pages." 
Oh  !  ye  holy  ones  in  Heaven, 

How  behaved  the  Cid  on  this  ? 


Tears  fall  fast,  in  silence  falling ; 
Down  Diego's  face  they  trickle ; 
He  beside  his  table  seats  him, 
Lost  to  everything  around ! 

Thinking  on  his  stain'd  escutcheon, 
Thinking  ou  Rodrigo's  boyhood, 
Thinking  on  Rodrigo's  danger, 
And  the  valour  of  his  foe. 

Joy  ne'er  comes  to  the  dishonour'd, 
Hope  and  happiness  desert  him  ; 
But  when  honour  is  restored  him, 
Then  they  all  come  back  again  ! 

Still,  sunk  down  in  deepest  sorrow, 
Marks  he  not  the  Cid  returning — 
'Neath  his  arm  his  sword  he  carries, 
And  his  hands  upon  his  breast ; 

Long  he  gazes  on  his  father, 
While  his  bosom  swells  with  pity ; 
Then  he  shakes  his  hand,  advancing  : 
"  Eat,"  he  says,  "  belov'd  old  man ! " 

Pointing  to  the  table,  spnke  he. 
More  and  more  from  Don  Diego 
Fell  the  tears.     "  What,  THOU,  Rodrigo, 
Sayest  THOU  that  word  to  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear  father  !  Eat,  I  pray  thee  ! 
Lift  thine  head  erect  and  lofty, 
We  have  saved  our  house's  honour; ' 
Noble  father,  he  is  dead  !  " 

"  Sit  thee  down,  my  son  Rodrigo, 
Gladly  will  I  eat  below  thee  ; 
He  who  slew  that  man  is  worthy 
To  be  chief  of  all  his  name  !  " 

Weeping,  weeping,  kneels  Rodrigo, 
While  his  father's  hand  he  kisses; 
Weeping,  weeping,  Don  Diego 

Kiss'd  the  forehead  of  his  son. 

But  how  in  the  meantime  is  the  news  of 

Gormaz'    death    received   by    his   daughter 

Ximene  ?      There   is    a    great    outcry,   and 

;alloping  hither  and  thither  before  the  court 


Charles  Ilickens.] 


CITIES  IN  PLAIN  CLOTHES. 


417 


of  the  ro3ral  palace  at  Burgos.  King  Fernando 
descends  from  bis  chamber  ;  Ximene,  with 
hair  dishevelled,  stands  at  the  open  door  ; 
Don  Diego,  attended  by  three  hundred  of  his 
retainers,  advances  to  pay  his  duty  to  the 
sovereign.  He  and  his  followers  are  mounted 
on  mules,  the  Cid  alone  bestrides  his  war- 
horse  ;  all  the  others  wear  gloves  of  cere- 
mony, he  alone  wears  knightly  gauntlets  ; 
they  are  all  dressed  in  gold  and  silk,  he  alone 
appears  in  burnished  arms.  The  people  re- 
ceive with  great  acclamations  the  conqueror 
of  the  proud  Don  Gormaz.  Don  Diego  springs 
from  his  horse  to  make  obeisance,  and  orders 
Kodrigo  likewise  to  dismount  and  do  homage 
to  the  king. 

With  her  mourning  veil  disparted, 
To  the  king  now  spake  Ximene  ; 
Tears  within  her  eyes  were  swelling, 
Oh,  how  lovely  in  her  tears  ! 

Lovely  as  the  dewy  rosebud, 
Rhone  she  while  her  tears  were  falling  ; 
Lovelier  still  hsr  cheeks  were  glowing 
In  her  justly  kindled  wrath. 

Bards  may  sing  the  words  she  utter'd, 
Not  her  sighs,  nor  yet  her  glances  : — 
"  Monarch  !  "  said  she,  "  noble  monarch  ! 
Render  justice  unto  me  ! 

He's  the  slayer  of  my  father ; 
He's  the  slayer,  hateful  serpent, 
Of  my  father,  who  was  ever 

Guardian  of  thy  throne,  oh  lung  ! 

Of  my  father,  last  descendant 
Of  the  noble  chiefs  who  followed 
Don  Pelayo  with  their  banners, 

First  of  all  the  Christian  kings ! 

Justice  now  I  claim,  not  pity — 
Justice  must  support  the  powerless  ; 
Unjust  kings  claim  love  nor  honour, 
Nobles'  trust,  nor  queen's  embrace. 

And  thou ! — thou  wild  beast,  Don  Eodrigo, 
Up  !  transfix  this  bosom  also, 
Which  in  deepest  woe  I  open. 

Murderer  !  come  and  slay  me,  too  ! 

Wherefore  pause  to  slay  the  daughter, 
When  you've  robb'd  her  of  her  father ! 
Slay  thy  foe,  who  cries  for  ever 

To  earth  and  Heaven  for  revenge ! " 

Not  a  word  said  Don  Eodrigo, 
But  rode  slowly  past  the  warriors, 
Waiting  if  some  knight  would  follow  ; 
But  no  knight  rode  after  him. 

When  Ximene  snw  his  purpose, 
High  she  raised  her  voice  and  higher, 
"  Vengeance,  warriors !  bloodiest  vengeance  ! 
I  shall  be  the  victor's  prize !  " 

We  have  not  time  on  the  present  occasion  to 
show  how  the  course  of  love,  which  certainly 
did  not  run  smooth  at  first,  took  a  different 
direction,  and  ended  in  a  marriage  between 
Ximene  and  the  Cid.  It  will  be  sufficient 
for  the  present  to  give  a  description  of  a 


dandy  in  the  year  1060  on  his  way  to  bs 
married ;  from  which  it  will  be  seen  that 
there  were  Brummells  before  George  the 
Third,  who  have  hitherto  been  lost  to  fame 
only  for  want  of  a  biographer. 

Brilliant  on  the  wedding  morning 
Hose  the  sun,  while  Don  Rodrigo, 
Casting  off  his  glancing  armour, 
Donn'd  his  holiday  attire. 

Pnntaloous  of  Antwerp's  weaving, 
Scarlet  shoes  of  broider'd  leather ; 
Double  points  confined  them  closely 
To  the  small  and  handsome  foot. 

Then  the  closely-fitting  waistcoat, 
Then  the  dark-hued  satin  jacket 
(For  short  time  his  sire  had  worn  it), 
Well  stuff'd  out,  with  flowing  arms. 

Far  adown  the  dark-hued  satin 
Lay  the  collar,  rich  embroider'd, 
Broad  and  deep,  of  finest  leather, 
Falling  down  his  lordly  back. 

And  a  net  with  threads  all  golden, 
Work'd  in  silk  of  greenest  colour, 
Kept  his  hair  in.     In  his  bonnet 

Made  of  Courtray's  finest  cloth, 

Bore  he  a  cock's  feather,  lofty, 
Wonderful  and  red  to  look  on. 
Eichly  fringed  down  to  the  waistband 
Reached  his  Algerine ;  white  ermine 
O'er  his  manly  shoulders  hung. 

Next,  his  sword,  unmatcli'd,  untiring, — 
And  its  name  was  Tisonada ; 
To  the  Moors  a  name  of  terror — 
Bested  at  his  velvet  baud. 

Rich  embroider'd,  trimm'd  with  silver, 
Was  the  band  his  waist  which  girded  ; 
And  a  fine-thread  pocket-kerchief 
Neatly  folded  from  it  hung. 

Thus  bedeck'd  advanced  the  noble 
Cid,  by  all  his  kin  attended, 
Onward  to  the  church's  portal 
Where  the  king  and  the  good  bishop 
Waited  him  with  fair  Ximene, 

With  Ximene,  blushing  bride  ! 


CITIES  IN  PLAIN  CLOTHES. 


THERE  is  a  class  of  thinkers,  who,  right  or 
wrong,  are  never  satisfied  with  the  bare  as- 
surance that  every  medal  has  its  reverse,  and 
every  shield  a  gold  as  well  as  a  silver  side, 
but  are  continually  striving  to  make  them- 
selves acquainted  with  the  side  opposite  to- 
that  ordinarily  presented  to  them.  In  so 
doing,  they  ask  obtrusive  questions,  take  li- 
berties with  established  cobwebs,  and  over- 
turn received  and  accepted  ghosts  in  order  to 
inquire  into  the  physical  peculiarities  of  the 
turnips,  broom  handles,  and  calico  sheets  of 
which  those  ghosts  are  sometimes  composed. 
Not  satisfied  with  Philip  sober,  they  have  the 
impertinence  to  scrutinise  Philip  drunk  ;  not 
content  with  the  due  execution  of  justice 


418 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[.Conducted  by 


upon  a  culprit,  they  must  needs  know  what 
becomes  of  the  executioner  afterwards  ;  and 
as  though  they  had  not  enough  of  things  as 
they  are,  clamour  for  things  as  they  were,  and 
as  they  ought  to  be.  These  embarrassing 
thinkers  are  distinguished  in  infancy  by  a 
propensity  for  poking  their  flaccid  little 
fingers  into  the  eyes  of  their  nurses  and 
relations,  doubtless  following  out  some 
•infantine  theory  as  to  the  structure  of  the 
orbs  of  vision ;  in  childhood,  by  constant 
endeavours  to  teach  difficult  feats  of  gym- 
nastics to  dumb  animals  and  to  make  them 
eat  strange  viands  ; — such  as  wooden  pine- 
apples glued  on  the  plate  ;  and,  by  the  ripping 
up,  scraping,  pegging,  and  otherwise  muti- 
lating all  their  toys — notably  in  the  case  of 
Sheni,  Ham,  and  Japhet  from  the  Noah's 
ark,  whom  they  make  to  swim  in  the  wash- 
hand  basin  (in  company  with  the  magnetic 
duck  and  the  elastic  eel),  and  otherwise  mal- 
treat till  every  vestige  of  paint  disappears 
from  their  strange  faces  and  stranger  costumes, 
and  Ham,  the  traditional  blackamoor  of  the 
family,  has  nothing  to  reproach  himself  with 
on  the  score  of  colour.  At  school  they  are 
remarkable  for  surreptitiously  keeping  hedge- 
hogs in  their  lockers,  flaying  the  covers  off 
grammars  and  copybooks  to  make  silkworm 
boxes,  and  for  persisting  in  the  refusal  or 
inability  to  acknowledge  that  the  angle  A  B  is 
equal  to  the  angle  c  D,  stating  that  it  is'iit  and  is 
muchlarger.  In  manhoodand  mature  age,  they 
either  become  busy-bodies,  insufferable  bores 
telling  you  irrelevant  history  and  "  trying 
back  "  a  score  of  times  during  the  narration 
to  relate  the  lives  and  adventures  of  the 
actors  therein,  and  of  their  relations  ;  or,  they 
invent  steam-engines  and  cotton-looms,  dis- 
cover planets,  settle  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
and  found  systems  of  philosophy.  The  astro- 
nomer and  the  quidnunc ;  Plato  and  the 
child  who  does  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet's 
washing,  Sir  Isaac  Newton  and  the  gentle- 
man in  the  sky-blue  coat,  green  umbrella, 
white  hat,  striped  calimancoes,  eye-glass  and 
Hessian  boots,  with  whom  Mr.  Wright, 
comedian,  is  acquainted  ;  have  more  in  com- 
mon than  you  would  imagine,  sometimes. 

I  must  confess,  myself,  that  my  train  of 
thought  is  essentially  of  a  Bohemian  and 
desultory  nature.  My  life  has  been  a 
digression.  I  never  could  remember  a  thing 
in  time,  or  forget  it  in  season ;  for,  though  I 
respect  and  glory  iu  the  statute  of  limitations 
as  a  legislative  enactment,  I  can't  apply  it  to 
men  or  to  things.  I  was  always  more  curious 
about  the  strings  than  about  the  puppets.  I 
like  Punch  ;  but  I  like  the  velveteen-clad 
histrlon  who  lies  perdu  behind  the  striped 
drapery,  and  without  whose  aid  Punch  could 
not  squeak,  and  Shallaballah  would  be  yet 
unbastinadoed  ;  much  better  I  like  the  "  flies" 
and  the  mezzanine  floor  than  the  green- 
room or  the  prompt  box.  I  have  a  desultory, 
unprofitable  fancy  for  old  books,  old  pictures, 
and  old  furniture ;  but,  like  the  imprudent 


poor  relation  who  was  disinherited  for  liking 
gravy,  I  am  sensible  of  having  lost  several 
friends  by  an  inveterate  habit  of  rummaging 
over  ragged  book-stalls  and  brokers'  sheds, 
and  stalruing,  speculating,  before  rag  and 
bottle-shops.  I  was  cut  dead  once  by  an 
intimate  acquaintance  for  walking  down 
Drury  Lane  with  two  copper  candlesticks,  of 
curious  make,  which  I  had  just  purchased  of 
a  neighbouring  broker,  who  tempted  me  sadly, 
besides,  with  a  human  skull,  a  life-preserver, 
and  two  volumes  of  "  Elegant  Extracts,"  for 
five  shillings — a  bargain. 

Some  random  speculations  I  have  already 
indulged  in  as  to  some  curious  dualities  of 
costume  and  character  in  man  and  woman- 
kind. I  find  myself  constantly  recurring  to 
the  same  subject,  constantly  poring  over  that 
eccentric  etching  by  Gillray,  called  the 
"  doublures"  where  heads  of  dukes  and  poli- 
ticians, philosophers  and  divines,  cast  shadows 
on  the  wall,  which,  though  rendering  feature 
for  feature,  yet  are  strangely  metamorphosed 
into  satyrs,  demons,  donkeys,  and  Silenus's. 
If  I  have  not  hopelessly  wearied  you  with 
double  men,  will  you  accord  me,  reader,  a 
modicum  of  patience  while  I  babble  of  double 
cities. 

Of  cities  in  plain  clothes  rather — in  their 
apparel  of  homespun,  very  different  from  the 
gala  suit  they  wear  on  high  days  and  holidays, 
and  in  books  of  travel.  And,  I  pray  you,  do 
not  taunt  me  with  being  fantastic  for  giving 
corporeality  to  mere  agglomerations  of  houses, 
and  for  assuming  that  cities  may  wear  clothes, 
plain  or  otherwise.  I  appeal  to  the  walls  and 
ceilings  of  Greenwich  Hospital,  Windsor 
Castle,  and  Hampton  Court,  where  sprawl 
the  saints  of  Verris  and  Laguerre.  Cities  of 
all  sorts  sprawl  incarnate  on  those  gigantic 
works  of  art ;  painted  by  the  mile,  and  paid 
for,  as  the  bills  delivered  of  the  artists  inform 
us,  by  the  yard.  The  galleries  of  Versailles 
boast  battalions  of  personified  cities,  some  in 
holiday  clothes,  some  in  plain  clothes,  and  not 
a  few  with  no  clothes  at  all.  Louis  Philippe 
commissioned  Pradier  to  execute  two  statues 
of  Lille  and  Strasbourg  for  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde — which  stand  there  to  this  day,  and 
are  noble  specimens  of  embodied  cities,  though 
I  certainly  miss  the  pate  defoiegras  from  the 
trophies  on  the  pedestal  of  the  latter  capital. 
If  the  "  gentle  Severn  "  be  allowed  to  have  a 
"  crisp  head ;  "  if  half-a-dozen  rivers  embodied 
in  bronze  are  allowed  to  empty  water-jugs  in 
the  courtyard  of  Somerset  House  ;  if  the 
very  north  wind  itself  is  with  impunity  in- 
dividualised and  made  to  figure  in  pictures 
and  sculpture  as  a  blustering  railer,  with 
puffed-out  cheeks,  I  certainly  may  be  allowed 
to  give  my  cities  flesh  and  raiment.  More- 
over, I  have  history  and  custom  on  my  side. 
Doesn't  Mr.  de  Quincey  call  Oxford  Street, 
and,  by  implication,  London,  a  "  stony-hearted 
step-mother  1 "  Is  not  Venice  called  the 
Queen  of  cities  1  Was  not  Babylon  the  great 
distinguished  by  a  very  rude  name  1  She  must 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CITIES  IN  PLAIN  CLOTHES. 


419 


have  worn  plain  clothes  even,  besides  the 
historical  scarlet. 

I  don't  exactly  envy,  but  I  sigh  for  the  lot 
of  those  who  possess  imagination,  for  I  have 
none.  If  I  had,  I  should  be  contented  with 
the  ideal  and  imaginative  garments  of  a  city, 
without  meddling  with  those  coarser,  plainer 
habiliments,  which  to  dull  realist  eyes  they 
wear.  I  should  be  content  with  the  cities 
that  poets  sing,  that  painters  limn,  that 
rapturous  tourists  describe,  but  for  this  infu- 
sion of  realism  in  the  nectar  of  ideality,  that 
shows  them  very  different  and  changed. 

Let  me  take  a  city. — Constantinople.  What 
a  holiday  dress  she  wears  in  Mr.  Thomas 
Allom's  pictures,  in  the  pages  of  Byron  and 
Hope,  in  Mr.  Lewis's  lithographs,  in  the  eyes 
even  of  the  expectant  tourist  on  board  the 
Peninsular  and  Oriental  Company's  steamer, 
who,  disappointed  with  Naples,  Malta,  and 
Athens,  opens  wide  his  eyes  with  wonder, 
admiration  and  delight,  when  he  first  surveys 
the  City  of  the  Sultan  from  the  Golden  Horn  ; 
when  he  sees  glittering  against  the  blue  sky 
the  thousand  minarets,  the  fairy-like  kiosques, 
the  solemn  dome  of  Saint  Sophia,  the  shining 
cupola  of  the  mosque  of  Achrnet,  the  seraglio, 
the  arsenal,  the  palaces  of  the  Pachas,  the 
grove  of  masts  of  all  nations,  the  sparkling 
shoals  of  caiques,  with  the  gaily  dressed  boat- 
men. Let  us  enter  into  that  tourist  for  a 
moment.  He  is  a  native,  we  will  say,  of  Clap- 
ham  ;  Stockwell  was  his  alma  mater  ;  Camber- 
well  resounds  with  his  erudition.  He  is  well 
read  iri  that  curious  repertory  of  books  that 
go  to  make  up  in  England  the  usual  course 
of  reading  of  a  young  man  in  the  middle 
classes  of  society.  He  is  decidedly  imagina- 
tive, passably  prejudiced  and  opiniated,  after 
the  manner  of  free-born  Englishmen,  and  is 
the  hope  and  joy  of  a  wholesale  house  in  the 
Manchester  line,  and  in  Bread  Street,  Cheap- 
side.  We  will  call  him  Moole. 

"A  few  moments,"  cries  Mr.  Moole,  "a 
few  trifling  formalities  at  the  Custom  House, 
and  I  shall  land  in  the  city  of  Constantino, 
the  Stamboul  of  the  Muslim,  the  Istambol  to 
which  the  noble  Childe  fled,  leaving  behind 
him  at  Athens  his  heart  and  soul  in  the  care 
of  the  Maid  of  Athens — now,  Mrs.  Black.  I 
shall  pass  by  the  gates  of  the  Seraglio,  where 
the  heads  of  rebellious  pachas  scorch  in  the 
noontide  sun ;  where  fierce  eunuchs  guard  the 
sacred  approaches  :  but  all  their  glittering 
blades  will  not  prevent  me  from  revelling  in 
imagination  amidst  the  fragrant  gardens  of 
the  Seraglio,  in  the  soul- entrancing  glances 
of  the  gazelle-eyed  Gulbeyaz,  Dudus,  Gul- 
nares,  and  other  lights  of  the  harem.  I  shall 
listen  to  the  dulcet  notes  of  the  mandolin, 
hear  ths  pattering  fall  of  perfumed  waters, 
catcli  heavenly  glimpses  of  dark-eyed  beauties 
behind  lattices,  puffing  lazily  at  the  aromatic 
chibouque,  or  perchance  become  an  unwilling 
witness  of  some  dark  and  terrible  tragedy, 
— the  impalement  of  a  grand  vizier,  or  the 
sacking  and  salt-waterisiug  of  some  incon- 


stant houri  of  the  Padisha.  A  few  moments," 
this  enthusiast  from  the  Surrey  hills  con- 
tinues, "and  I  shall  pace  by  the  sacred 
mosques ;  and,  entering  them,  gaze  at  the 
fretted  roofs,  and  the  out-spread  carpets 
checkered  with  worshippers,  with  their  faces 
turned  towards  Mecca.  I  shall  see  the  stately 
Moslem  career  by  on  his  Arab  Barb,  wrapped 
in  his  furred  pelisse,  his  brows  bound  with 
his  snow-white  turban,  his  glittering  handjar 
by  his  side,  his  embroidered  papouciies  on  his 
feet.  I  shall  stroll  through  the  crowded 
Bezesteen,  where  the  rich  and  varied  wares 
of  the  Oriental  world  are  displayed.  Courtly 
Armenian  merchants,  with  coal-black  beards, 
will  invite  me  into  their  cushioned  ware- 
rooms,  present  ine  with  coffee  and  pipes,  and 
show  me  gorgeous  wares  and  intoxicating 
perfumes.  Anon,  the  clamour  of  military 
music  heralds  the  passage  of  a  legion  of  janis- 
saries, clad  in  '  barbaric  pearl  and  gold.' 
Anon,  I  stroll  into  a  coffee-house,  where  a 
Greek  storyteller  is  relating  the  legend  of  the 
'  Fisherman  and  the  Geni '  to  the  Capitan 
Basha,  the  Kislar  Aga,  the  Bostangi-bashi, 
and  the  Sheikh-al-Islam.  Now,  a  horde  of 
dancing  dervishes  whirl  fiercely  by  ;  now,  a 
band  of  Alme  remind  me,  in  their  graceful 
poses,  of  Herodias,  Esmeralda,  and  Made- 
moiselle Cerito.  Now,  a  black  slave  invites 
me  to  the  splendid  mansion  of  a  venerable  Bar- 
mecide close  by ;  who — after  making  believe 
to  eat,  pretending  to  wash  his  hands,  ::..J  to 
get  drunk  with  visionary  wine — entertains  me 
with  a  banquet  of  pilaffs  and  stewed  kids, 
stuffed  with  pistachio  nuts,  washed  down  by 
wine  of  Cypress  and  sherbet,  cooled  with 
snow.  And  now,  oh  !  joy  of  joys,  I  catch  a 
pair  of  black  eyes  circled  with  henna,  fixed 
on  me  with  a  glance  of  tender  meaning, 
through  the  folds  of  a  silken  veil.  I  see  a 
little  fairy  foot  peeping  from  loose  Turkish 
trowsers  :  the  vision  disappears — but  an  old 
woman  (the  universal  messenger  of  love  in 
the  East)  accosts  me  mysteriously,  and  pre- 
sents me  with  a  bouquet  composed  of  dan- 
delions, bachelor's  buttons,  and  the  fragrant 
flower  known  as  "  cherry  pie,"  all  of  which 
say  as  plainly  as  the  language  of  flowers 
(known  at  Stamboul  as  at  Stockwell)  can 
speak  :  '  Meet  me  at  eight  this  evening  at 
the  secret  gate  opposite  the  third  kiosque 
past  Seraglio  point.'  What  tales  I  shall  have 
to  tell  when  I  get  back  to  Clapham."  Land, 
if  you  like,  at  Pera,  the  European  suburb. 
Plenty  of  plain  clothes  here.  A  mangy 
hill  spotted  with  leprous  houses,  and  in- 
fested by  scurvy  dogs.  The  English  embassy, 
looking  like  an  hospital ;  the  Russian  ditto 
looking  like  a  gaol.  A  circus  for  horse-riders, 
and  one  or  two  ramshackle  hotels,  claiming 
decided  kindred  in  the  way  of  accommodation 
and  general  aspect  with  the  fifteenth-rate 
foreign  houses  in  the  back  settlements  of 
Leicester  Square  ;  and  in  respect  to  prices, 
with  the  Clarendon  or  Mivart's.  A  popula- 
tion strongly  resembling  that  of  London,  when 


420 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Doctor  Johnson  affirmed  it  to  be  the  "  com- 
mon sewer  of  Paris  and  of  Rome."  Dirt, 
dead  dogs,  oyster-shells,  dust ;  no  pavement 
nor  lamps,  no  gutters,  no  sewers.  Houses 
that  would  have  rejoiced  the  heart  of  that 
Chinese  sage,  who  invented  roast-pig,  for  they 
are  delightfully  easy  to  be  burnt  down,  and 
are  being  burnt  continually.  Such  are  the 
plain  clothes  of  Pera.  Land  at  Galata, 
Mr.  Moole  ;  you  come  across  more  dogs,  live 
and  dead,  more  dirt,  oyster-shells,  dust  and 
leprous  houses.  Land  at  Scutari,  and  ask  for 
sewers,  lamps,  or  gutters,  and  you  shall  find 
none.  Instead  of  them  you  shall  find  unwhole- 
some streets  ;  or,  rather,  alleys  resembling  the 
worst  parts  of  Church  Lane,  Saint  Giles's, 
dovetailed  on  to  the  Rue-aux  Feves  in  Paris, 
and  the  Coomb  in  Dublin.  Ask  for  horrible 
smells,  infected  hovels — where  the  great  ad- 
juster of  the  population,  the  plague,  hides 
from  year  to  year,  every  now  and  then 
leaping  from  his  hole  to  take  the  census  with 
a  sword :  ask  for  these  and  they  will  start 
up  by  hundreds.  Ask  for  the  stately  Moslem, 
and  you  shall  be  shown  a  fat  man  with  a 
sleepy  expression  of  countenance,  and  looking 
remarkably  uncomfortable  in  an  ill-made 
European  coat  and  a  red  skull  cap.  Ask  for 
the  Bezesteen,  and  you  shall  elbow  your  way 
through  a  labyrinth  of  covered  lanes,  giving 
not  a  bad  idea  of  Rag  Fair,  the  Temple  in 
Paris,  and  the  Soho  Bazaar,  squeezed  into 
Newgate  Market.  Ask  for  the  dancing 
Dervishes,  you  shall  see  a  set  of  dirty  old 
ragamuffins  executing  lewd  gambadoes  for 
copper  paras.  Ask  for  Saint  Sophia,  and  you 
will  be  enabled  to  speculate  on  the  white- 
washed mosaics,  and  the  tawdry  gimcrack 
lamps  and  carpets,  and  eggs  strung  on  strings. 
Ask  for  the  lights  of  the  harem,  and  you 
shall  meet  a  succession  of  black  silk  pillow- 
cases, capped  with  white  ditto,  shod  with 
yellow  shoes  down  at  heel,  shuffling  through 
the  lanes,  or  jolting  about  in  crazy  carts 
drawn  by  bullocks.  Ask  for  the  janissaries, 
and  you  will  be  told  that  they  were  all 
massacred  on  the  plain  of  the  Atmeidan 
twenty-seven  years  ago,  and  in  their  stead, 
are  slouching  louts  of  peasants  in  uncouth 
and  mongrel  European  costume.  Peep  slyly 
into  a  harem  (which  you  will  not  succeed  in 
doing,  my  friend),  and  you  will  see  fat  women 
with  coarse  features  lolling  wearily  on  carpets, 
in  rooms  with  bare  walls,  and  the  principal 
furniture  of  which  is  composed  of  French 
clocks.  Ask  for  Stamboul  the  romantic,  the 
beautiful,  the  glorious,  the  Constantinople  of 
the  last  of  the  Paleologi,  the  Byzantium  of 
the  Romans,  the  Istambol  of  Bajazet  and 
Mahomet  the  conqueror,  and  you  shall  be  told 
that  this  dirty,  swarming,  break-neck  city  is 
it.  You  are  a  young  man  of  a  strongly  ima- 
ginative temperament,  Mr.  Moole,  I  therefore 
advise  yoxi  to  go  on  board  the  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Company's  steamer  again  as  fast  as 
you  can  ;  from  whose  deck  you  may  again 
survey  the  enchanting  and  superb  prospect  of 


the  city,  and  solace  yourself  with  engravings 
after  Messrs  Allom  and  Lewis.  These  will 
be  a  great  consolation  to  you  when  you  are 
frying  in  quarantine  on  your  road  home,  and 
you  may  conjure  up  quite  a  splendid  court- 
suit  for  Constantinople,  and  forget  all  about  its 
plain  clothes. 

"  Lives  there  the  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  has  said  " — 

Venice  1  Beautiful  Venice  1  Ah !  Mr. 
Moole,  says  Imagination,  if  you  had  gone 
there,  you  would  not  have  been  disap- 
pointed. Realism  can't  sneer  away  the 
Campanile,  the  Grand  Canal,  the  Ducal 
Palace,  the  Dogana,  and  the  Bridge  of  Sighs. 
Madam  Imagination,  if  you  please,  let  me 
peep  at  Venice,  at  the  commencement,  let 
me  say,  of  the  last  century.  Forthwith  Ima- 
gination calls  from  the  ends  of  the  earth  four- 
score poets,  twelve  score  sentimental  tourists, 
a  bevy  of  blooming  young  ladies,  far  too 
numerous  for  me  to  count,  and  the  editors  of 
six  defunct  landscape  annuals.  "  Venice,  if 
you  please,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she  says  to 
them.  "  Marble  halls,"  they  answer  in  a 
breath.  "  Landscapes,  or,  rather,  water-scapes, 
with  crimson,  green  and  gold  skies,  orange 
waves,  and  blue  palaces  (see  Turner)  ;  or 
gondolas  with  pea-green  hulls,  and  feluccas 
with  crimson  velvet  sails  (see  Holland).  The 
Doge,  a  venerable  old  man,  with  a  white 
beard  and  a  high  cap,  constantly  occupied 
with  dandling  the  lion  of  St.  Mark,  curry- 
combing  the  winged  horses,  spending  his 
afternoons  with  his  ear  close  to  the  "  Lion's 
mouth,"  jotting  down  merus.  of  conspiracies 
hot  and  hot,  and  going  out  twice  a  week  in 
a  gilded  galley  to  wed  the  Adriatic  ;  varying 
occasionally  these  pursuits,  by  putting  his 
sons  to  the  torture,  pursuing  with  fire  and 
sword  people  who  wrote  impertinent  things 
about  his  wife  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  and 
making  fierce  last  dying  speeches  to  the  people 
from  the  top  of  the  giant's  staircase.  The 
Council  of  Ten,  meeting  every  day,  masked 
every  man  jack  of  them  ;  [Gentlemen  !  says 
Imagination,  expostulatingly]  no  ;  not  masked, 
but  dressed  in  crimson  velvet  cloaks,  each 
councillor  sitting  under  his  own  portrait  by 
Titian,  who  died  some  time  before  ;  but  never 
mind  that.  A  carnival  all  the  year  round, 
and  such  a  carnival ;  the  Piazza  San  Marco 
thronged  with  masquers  in  every  variety  and 
shade  of  splendour  of  costume.  All  the 
canals  (all  bordered  by  palaces  decorated  by 
Titian  and  Sebastiano  del  Piombo)  studded 
with  gondolas,  painted  with  fanciful  ara- 
besques, hung  with  splendid  tapestry,  filled 
with  purple  velvet  lovers  and  white  satin 
angels  (see  Lake  Price),  making  love  and 
eating  ices  beneath  a  moon  certainly  twice  as 
large  as  any  French,  German,  or  English  one. 
The  gondolier,  in  his  picturesque  striped 
silken  sash,  guides  his  frail  bark,  standing 
gracefully  on  one  leg,  and  warbling  a  hymn 
to  Our  Lady  of  the  Sea.  But  ah !  little 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CITIES  IN  PLAIN  CLOTHES. 


421 


does  the  purple  satin  lover  whom  he  is  con- 
ducting to  a  rendezvous,  and  who  sits  jauntily 
at  the  prow,  sweeping  the  strings  of  his  guitar 
with  an  agile  hand,  and  calling  up  echoes  from 
the  distant  lagunes — little  does  that  cavalier 
reck  that  the  treacherous  boatman  has  be- 
trayed him  to  his  enemy  —  that  at  this 
very  moment,  behind  the  waterspout  of  the 
Palazza  Boffi,  the  wicked  Cavaliere  Lazaro  di 
Hardoppari  is  waiting  for  him  with  two  bravi 
and  three  poignards,  and  that  at  the  moment 
when  his  white  satin  enchantress,  the  Lady 
Bianca,  is  descending  the  marble  staircase  to 
meet  him,  and  before  even  he  has  time  to 
invoke  his  patron  saint,  San  Giacomo  Robin- 
sino,  he  will  be  laid  at  length  on  the  Boffi 
terrace,  his  guitar  shattered,  his  head  towards 
the  stairs,  and  his  toes  turned  up.  Woeful 
history  !  followed  by  the  despair,  madness 
(in  white  satin),  and  death  of  the  Lady 
Bianca,  the  tragical  end  of  Hardoppari 
(poisoned  by  his  brother  the  Cardinal  iu  a 
venison  pasty),  and  the  remorse  of  Sproggino, 
the  gondolier ;  who,  after  performing  amazing 
feats  of  piracy  in  the  Grecian  archipelago, 
founded  a  convent  and  asylum  for  dissolute 
boatmen,  died  in  the  odour  of  sanctity,  and 
was  canonised.  (His  picture  winked  only  last 
Pentecost.)  Such  is  Venice,  please  your  lady- 
ship ; "  and  the  whole  army  of  poets,  engravers, 
sentimentalists,  and  young  ladies  break  forth 
into  such  a  strumming  of  guitars  and  bleating 
of  "  Beautiful  Venice,  city  of  sunshine  !  "  "  The 
merry  gondolier,"  the  engravers  accompany- 
ing them  with  such  force  with  their  burins  on 
their  steel  plates — that  I  am  fain  to  stop  my 
ears,  the  din  is  so  great. 

Can  this  city,  so  brave  in  purple  velvet  and 
white  satin,  condescend  ever  to  wear  plain 
clothes  ?  Ay,  that  she  can — very  plain 
clothes  :  rags,  dirty,  greasy,  unmitigated  rags. 
Study  the  pictures  of  an  artist,  whose  plain 
clothes'  name  was  Antonio  da  Canal,  whose 
gala  name  is  Canaletti,  and  who  painted  what 
lie  saw  and  knew — and  you  will  discover  these 
rags,  sweltering  too  on  the  palsied,  ulcerated 
limbs  of  beggars  iu  the  gay  Piazza  di  San 
Marco.  Not  confining  yourself  to  Canaletti, 
consult  a  certain  Goldoni,  one  Gozzi,  and 
one  known  as  Filippante.  They  will  show 
you  Venice  in  plain  clothes  in  the  last  century : 
— mud  in  the  canals,  griping  poverty  in  the 
palaces,  impudent  intolerance  in  the  churches, 
rapacious  waiters  in  the  coffee-houses  (waiters 
iu  Venice  !),  and  oh,  realism  of  realisms  !  oh, 
quietus  of  romance  !  the  Doge  of  Venice  in  a 
bag-wig,  powdered,  and  a  cocked  hat !  The 
Carnival,  they  will  tell  you,  was  merely  a 
harvest-time  for  theatrical  managers,  silly 
Venetian  "gents,"  who  had  a  difficulty  to 
play  the  fool  with  a  mask  on  with  any  greater 
degree  of  completeness  than  they  were  in  the 
habit  of  doing  with  uncovered  faces  ;  and 
other  classes,  not  here  to  be  mentioned.  They 
will  inform  you  that  no  inconsiderable  portion 
of  the  Venetian  nobility  lived  by  selling 
counterfeits  of  their  pictures  to  amateurs  ; 


by  farming  gaming-tables,  and  by  traffick- 
ing in  the  honour  of  their  daughters. 
They  will  show  you  that  the  race  of 
Jaffiers,  Pierres,  and  Belvideras  is  quite 
extinct ;  that  the  lion's  mouth  is  grown  rusty  ; 
and  that  poignards  are  not  more  in  use  than 
they  are  now  in  every  wine  shop  in  the  Le- 
vant, when  foreign  sailors  fall  a  quarrelling, 
As  for  the  gondolas,  instead  of  the  arabesques 
and  the  tapestry  you  will  see  shabby  little 
boats  with  an  awning  like  a  carrier's  cart, 
painted  with  funereal  black,  and  rowed  by  a 
swarthy  varlet,  who  has  preserved  at  least 
the  traditions  of  Venetian  mosaic  work  in  the 
darning  and  patching  of  his  garments,  \vho 
talks  a  patois  unintelligible  to  many  Italians, 
and  who  is  egregiously  extortionate.  Such  is 
"  beautiful  Venice."  Not  that  I  am  for  de- 
nying the  claims  of  the  Bride  of  the  Adriatic 
for  romance  in  toto  ;  but  I  stand  for  the  ex- 
istence of  the  plain  clothes  as  well  as  the 
masquerade  suit,  for  the  existence  of  such 
homely  things  as  Venice  turpentine  and  Ve- 
netian blinds,  as  well  as  Venetian  Doges  and 
Venetian  Brides.  There  is  plenty  of  suste- 
nance for  the  romantic  minds  in  Venice  even 
to-day,  when  the  Austrian  "autograph,"  as 
Professor  Dandolo  expressed  it,  has  planted 
his  banners  on  its  towers.  There  is  romance 
in  that  strange  fantastic  basilica,  which  brings 
old  Rome,  Byzantium,  Greece,  and  modern 
Italy  to  the  mind  at  once  ;  in  the  hot  summer 
nights,  when  the  Venetians  lounge  outside 
the  ca/es,  and  listen  to  Donizetti's  music 
played  by  a  Croat  or  Sclavonian  band,  and 
watch  the  padded  Austrian  officers  twirling 
their  tawny  moustachios ;  in  the  stones  of 
that  dreary  Prison-palace,  where  so  many 
true  men  have  chafed  to  death  beneath  the 
burning  piombi,  for  daring  to  think  or  to 
write  that  man  has  a  heritage  of  freedom, 
which  all  the  Autocrats  in  the  universe  cannot 
wholly  waste  or  alienate. 

And,  ere  I  leave  Italy,  one  glance  at  the 
wardrobe  of  another  Italian  city — Naples.  She 
has  her  court  dress  :  Cardinals  in  red  stock- 
ings, Virgins  in  jewelled  petticoats,  the  bay, 
Vesuvius  and  Pompeii.  But  what  a  suit  of 
plain  clothes !  what  squalid  tatters !  what 
looped  and  windowed  raggedness  !  Those 
walking  rag-shops  in  monkish  gai-b,  those 
dismal  scarecrows,  the  romantic  lazzaroni, 
those  fetters  and  felon  dresses,  those  hideous 
dungeons  by  the  blue  sea  !  Imagination  in- 
corrigible, in  three  vols.  8vo,  just  out  (see 
Evening  paper)  persists  in  seeing  only  Naples 
the  sunny,  the  romantic,  the  beautiful  "  Vedi 
Napoli  e  poi  morire."  "  See  Naples  and  die," 
says  Imagination.  "  See  Naples,"  says  Reality 
sternly  in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Gladstone,  "see 
St.  Januai'ius'  sham  blood,  and  Poerio's  fetters, 
and  Ferdinand's  Shrapnel  shells,  and  then  die 
with  shame  and  horror." 

Paris  during  the  Regency  of  Gaston  of 
Orleans.  An  escape  from  plain  clothes,  at 
least  here  : — we  know  all  about  that  dear 
delightful  period.  The  free,  jovial  Regent, 


422 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


with  his  embroidered  coats  of  many  colours, 
and  that  dear  eccentric  Abb6  Dubois,  his 
minister.  And  Mr.  John  Law's  scheme, 
— rather  expensive  it  must  be  allowed — 
but  Monsieur  Law  gave  such  magnificent 
entertainments  at  his  h6tel  in  the  Place 
Vendome,  and  such  a  crowd  of  arch- 
bishops, princes,  dukes,  and  noble  ladies,  that 
followed  at  his  heels,  begging  and  praying  for 
shares.  And  there  was  Cartouche,  that 
romantic  robber  ;  and  that  other  brigand, 
whose  name  we  forget,  but  who  was  nick- 
named Monseigneur,  from  his  perfect  courtesy 
and  politeness  of  manner.  And  there  were 
the  petits  soupers,  and  the  petites  maisons,  and 
the  loges  grilles,  and  the  balls  at  the  Opera, 
and  the  grey  naousquetaires,  and  hoops  and 
powder,  and  patches,  and  buhl  tables,  and 
china  monsters,  and  poets  who  recited  their 
verses  in  the  boudoirs  of  Duchesses,  and 
painters  who  transferred  those  Duchesses  to 
canvas.  Why,  the  whole  of  that  merry, 
spangled  Regency  was  long  holiday  !  Granted. 
France,  during  the  Regency,  wore  a  brilliant 
holiday  costume :  a  peach-coloured  velvet 
coat,  barred  with  gold  and  festooned  with 
diamonds,  cloth  of  gold  waistcoat,  crimson 
brocade  smalls,  fifty  thousand  francs'  worth  of 
lace  at  the  throat  and  wrists ;  silk  stockings, 
gold  clocks,  red  heels,  jewelled-hilted  swords, 
powder,  patches,  a  dancing  master's  kit  in  one 
hand  and  a  pasteboard  puppet  in  the  other ; 
pockets  crammed  with  pink  billet  doux,  lettres- 
de-cachet,  and  John  Law's  Mississippi  shares ; 
folly  on  his  lips  and  vice  in  his  heart.  But  were 
there  none  who  wore  other  raiment  during  that 
same  Regency.  How  many  hundred  half-naked 
prisoners  were  languishing  in  the  dungeons  of 
the  Bastile,  by  the  orders  of  the  eccentric 
Cardinal  Abb6  Dubois.  What  sort  of  clothes 
wore  those  men,  prosperous  merchants  once, 
ruined  by  John  Law's  famous  scheme,  who 
went  forth  to  beg  on  the  highway  ?  What 
clothes  had  the  poets  and  the  painters  when 
they  went  from  the  Duchess's  boudoir  to 
die  in  the  hospital,  like  Guillebert  and  Lan- 
tara  ?  What  clothes,  if  any,  had  the  miserable 
serfs,  who  writhed  beneath  the  thraldom  of 
the  holiday  makers  in  velvet — of  the  Abbes, 
who  wrote  sonnets,  and  read  their  breviaries 
in  the  intervals  of  a  petit  souper — who  lived  on 
the  black,  filthy,  nauseous  substance  com- 
placently termed  bread,  and  a  loaf  of  which 
the  Duke  de  la  Valliere  threw  down  on  the 
council-table  before  the  boy  King,  Louis  the 
Fifteenth,  saying,  "  There,  Sire.  Some  millions 
of  your  subjects  eat  that !  "  Did  you  ever 
hear  of  one  Barbier,  Advocate  of  the  Parlia- 
ment of  Paris,  whose  private  journal  of  the 
Regency  was  lately  published  ?  Barbier  was 
the  French  Pepys,  a  gossipping,  meddling, 
ill-conditioned  busybody  ;  but  without  Pepys' 
good-nature  or  hospitality.  He  had  an 
auctioneer's  talent  for  description,  and  a  keen 
nose  for  scandal ;  and  half-a'n-hour's  desultory 
sauntering  through  his  slipslop  pages,  will 
teach  you  some  strange  secrets  of  the  plain 


clothes  of  the  good  City  of  Paris  during  the 
Regency. 

If  I  name  Paris  during  the  revolution,  and 
especially  during  the  reign  of  terror,  the  one- 
sided enthusiasts  fly  into  the  opposite  ex- 
treme. Even  then,  Paris  wore  other  clothes 
than  the  bloody  masquerade  dress  she  did  her 
butcher's  work  in  at  the  Abbaye,  the  Con- 
ciergerie,  and  in  the  Place  Louis  Quiuze.  She 
laid  aside,  sometimes,  the  scarlet  Phrygian 
cap  and  the  red  flag.  Fouquier  Tinville.  Louvet, 
Collot  d'Herbois,  were  not  always  sanguinary 
tyrants  with  their  sleeves  tucked  up.  They 
were,  I  dare  say,  over  their  dinners  in  the  Palais 
National — with  short-waisted  coats,  flapped 
waistcoats,  buckskins,  and  top  boots — mighty 
pleasant  fellows  to  meet.  Some  of  the  most 
bloodthirsty  of  the  Committee  of  Safety  were 
dramatic  authors  ;  and,  Paris  in  plain  clothes, 
— quite  another  Paris  from  that  yelling  from 
the  mouths  of  poissardes  and  tricoteuses  for  the 
lives  of  the  aristocrats — sat  smilingly  listen- 
ing to  such  pieces  as  " La  Mere  Coupable"  and 
"  Robert,  Chef  de  Brigands,"  which  were  all  the 
rage  then.  There  were  stage- dresses  for  the 
Convention,  the  club  of  the  Jacobins,  the 
Noyades,  and  the  feasts  of  the  Goddess  of 
Reason ;  but  there  were  plain  clothes  in 
houses  and  shops,  yea,  and  peace  and  quiet  in 
families  and  hearts  far  from  the  great  tempest. 
For  all  the  gory  fever  raging,  there  must  have 
been,  as  now,  men  and  women  unmindful  of 
aristocrats  and  democrats,  little  heeding  the 
republic  one  and  indivisible,  and  whose  whole 
hearts  were  in  the  quiet  but  deadly  fight  for 
bread ;  who  achieved  fortunes  or  dreaded 
bankruptcies  ;  who  hung  on  the  smile  or  frown 
of  a  mistress  or  a  lover ; — to  whom  every  day 
brought  its  little  private  good  and  evil. 

Be  not  angry  with  me,  sentimental  tourists, 
and  writers  of  stanzas,  and  imaginative  paint- 
ers. You  have  your  Venices  and  Stambouls. 
But  I  have  seen  so  many  plays,  and  taken  so 
many  bad  halfcrowns,  in  my  life,  that  I  grow 
sceptical,  and  look  twice  at  cities  and  at  men, 
before  I  take  them  for  granted. 


CHIPS. 


MR.  BOVINGTON  ON  THE  NEW  CATTLE- 
MARKET. 

Long  Hornets,  Bucks. 

SIR, — More  than  two  years  since  you 
were  good  enough  to  describe  my  last  adven- 
ture in  Smithfield  market,  London.  I  have 
been  a  wretched  man  ever  since.  I  have  no 
heart  for  breeding  and  fattening  ;  I  take  no 
pleasure  in  stall-feeding ;  I  have  lost  all  de- 
light in  short  horns  ;  and  a  prime  tup  (I  have 
got  four  of  the  primest  in  England)  is  no  more 
to  me  than  a  bell-wether — mere  mutton  and 
wool.  My  heart  actually  aches  for  my  beasts. 
To  be  killed  and  eaten  is,  I  know,  their  natural 
end  •  but  I  can't  abear  the  thought  of  their 
being  tortured  ;  for  though  I  don't  send  them 
direct  to  Smithfield  to  be  baited  and  butchered, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


CONSTITUTIONAL  TRIALS. 


423 


as  the  best  West  Highlander  that  ever  was 
calved  was,*  I  know  that  the  dealers  that  buy 
them  of  me  do  drive  them  there. 

How  long  is  this  to  last  ?  I  say  to  myself. 
Not  long,  says  my  Bell's  Weekly  Mes- 
senger t'other  day,  for  the  market  is  going  to 
be  moved  to  Copenhagen  Fields.  Aha  !  some 
nice  place,  no  doubt,  with  acres  of  open  space 
all  round  it  (/said  again),  out  of  the  way  of 
houses,  where  there  will  be  good  accommo- 
dation for  the  beasts,  and  plenty  of  water. 
I  '11  run  up  to  London  at  once,  and  take  a 
look  at  it. 

Sure  enough,  I  was  there  last  Monday,  and 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  game  of  cricket 
played  in  one  corner  of  those  same  Copenhagen 
Fields  in  a  style  that  made  me  look  about  me  ; 
though  I  have  been  one  of  the  Long  Hornets' 
Eleven  these  two-and-twenty  years.  The  ale 
at  Copenhagen  House  is  not  at  all  bad  ;  but 
I  didn't  much  like  the  company  :  to  be  sure, 
Lankey  Shanks  was  walking  his  match  (seven 
mile  within  the  hour,  for  fifty  pound  a  side), 
and  his  backers  swarmed  the  grounds. 

Well,  I  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  field,  and 
whichever  way  I  looked,  there  was  nothing 
but  houses.  On  the  Islington  side  they  are 
as  densely  packed  as  they  are  in  Cow  Cross, 
Smithfield.  Then  towards  the  Regent's  Park 
there  are  thousands  of  handsome  villas,  and 
all  the  vacant  ground  seemed  to  be  let  on 
building  lease.  Taking  a  stroll  that  way,  I 
found  myself  in  a  beautiful  square  with  a 
church  at  one  end  big  enough  to  hold  our  little 
Long  Hornets  church  four  times  over. 

The  fact  is  that  the  place  is  so  crowded  on 
every  side,  that  before  the  New  Metropolitan 
Cattle  Market  has  stood  a  couple  of  years, 
people  will  be  petitioning  to  have  it  moved 
further  out  of  town.  What  is  the  conse- 
quence even  now  ?  Why,  there  will  be  as  much 
trouble  in  getting  the  cattle  in  and  out  of  the 
new  market  as  there  is  to  get  them  in  and  out 
of  Smithfield,  in  spite  of  railways.  There  will 
be  as  large  an  acreage  of  population  round 
Copenhagen  Fields  to  be  poisoned  with  stench 
and  disgusted  with  bad  language,  as  there 
is  round  Smithfield  :  and,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
the  market  may  as  well  stand  where  it  does 
as  be  stuck  clown  only  a  mile  and  a  half  away. 
Besides,  the  people  told  me  that  Copenhagen 
Fields  is  deficient  in  water ; — so  no  more 
at  present  from 

Yours  respectfully, 

T.  BOVINGTON. 


CONSTITUTIONAL  TRIALS. 


BITTER  things  have  been  lately  said  con- 
cerning beer.  The  British  consumer  is  a  little 
angrj7  on  the  subject  of  adulterations.  From 
one  side  he  is  shouted  at  to  mind  his  milk,  and 
from  another  to  beware  of  his  bread ;  a  sepul- 
chral voice  informs  him  when  he  lifts  a  cup 
of  coffee  to.  his  lips  that  it  contains  chicory 

*  Household  Words,  vol  i.  page  125. 


and  coffins.  In  his  tea,  he  is  told  to  look  for 
black-lead,  Prussian  blue  and  gypsum  ;  in  his 
wine,  he  is  warned  that  there  are  drugs  past 
reckoning ;  and  in  his  cakes,  he  is  kindly 
admonished  ;  in  his  custards,  prussic  acid 
lies  in  waiting  to  destroy.  Whatever  the 
British  consumer  may  feel  inclination  to 
devour,  let  him  devour  it  at  his  peril ;  he  will 
himself  be  thereby  preyed  upon,  devoured, 
consumed.  Every  warm-blooded  animal  ex- 
presses indignation  if  its  food  be  meddled 
with.  The  food  of  the  British  consumer  is 
meddled  with,  and  he  is  warm-blooded  ;  he  is, 
therefore,  irritable  and  suspicious  on  the 
subject  of  provisions. 

The  Briton  loved  his  bitter  beer ;  Bass 
was  a  joy  to  him,  and  Allsopp.  The  dew  of 
refreshment  distilled  from  the  breweries  of 
Burton.  The  joys  of  the  ale  went  round. 
A  voice  from  the  press  arose — What  artthou, 
bitter  beer  of  Burton  1  What  art  thou,  Bass  ? 
What  art  thou,  Allsopp  'I  Ye  are  the  bitterness 
of  death.  The  Briton  praises  hop,  he  knows 
not  that  he  perishes  of  strychnine. 

Strychnine  is  exceedingly  expensive,  and 
its  flavour  is  tenacious,  disagreeable  —  we 
speak  from  experience — utterly  unlike  the 
bitter  taste  of  beer,  which  could  be  much 
more  cheaply  and  safely  simulated  by  the 
use  of  quassia.  The  idea  that  strychnine  was 
employed  in  this  country  for  giving  bitterness 
to  beer  arose  in  a  misconception,  and  in  fact 
was  utterly  absurd.  The  result  of  the  panic 
has,  fortunately,  been  so  complete  a  de- 
monstration (in  the  laboratories  of  Liebig, 
Thomson,  and  most  able  chemists,)  of  the  un- 
adulterated purity  of  Pale  Ale  that  the  British 
consumer  is  induced,  for  once,  to  have  faith 
in  his  food,  and  is  firm  in  his  trust  that — 

"  Ale  is  stout  and  good 
Whether  in  bottle  it  be  or  wood ; 
Tis  good  at  morning,  'tis  good  at  night ; 
(Ye  sbould  drink  whilst  the  liquor  is  bubbling  bright) 
'Tis  good  for  man,  woman,  and  child, 
Being  neither  too  strong  nor  yet  too  mild." 

Let  us  all,  therefore,  who  can  afford  to  pay 
the  price  that  will  ensure  a  wholesome 
beverage,  be  well  content,  as  Barry  Cornwall 
further  sings,  to  have  our 

"  Brains  made  clear 
By  the  irresistible  strength  of  beer." 

There  are,  indeed,  brewers  and  beer-sellers 
of  low  degree,  in  intellect  at  any  rate,  who  do 
not  understand  the  wholesome  policy  of  sell- 
ing wholesome  beverage.  Hard  porter  was 
formerly  made  out  of  new  by  the  addition  of 
sulphuric  acid  ;  and  old  beer  is  made  mild  by 
carbonate  of  lime,  soda,  or  potash.  Quassia 
and  colocynth  are  used  as  bitters,  the  latter 
often  giving  to  bad  ale  its  purging  quality. 
Grains  of  paradise  and  cayenne  give  pun- 
gency. Cocculus  indicus,  an  active  poison 
which  produces  giddiness  and  convulsions,  is 
placidly  recommended  in  at  least  two  treatises 


424 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bj 


"  on  brewing,"  by  Childe  and  Maurice — thre 
pounds  to  ten  quarters  of  malt ;  the  giddines 
it  excites  passes  for  strength  of  liquor ;  anc 
says  Maurice,  "  it  prevents  a  second  fermenta 
tion  in  bottled  beer."  The  inky  taste  per 
ceptible  in  spurious  "  Guinness's,"  and  othe 
beers,  is  caused  by  a  mixture  called  beerhead 
ing,  which  produces  a  mockery  of  the  fin 
cauliflower  head,  and  is  composed  of  salt 
alum,  and  green  vitriol.  Wholesome  bee 
can  be  brewed  at  prices  charged  even  t< 
the  humblest  customers,  and  it  is  no  sigi 
of  worldly  wisdom  in  a  publican  to  retai 
physic. 

The  discussion  upon  pure  beer  has  put  it  in 
our  minds  to  wonder  when  pure  bread  wil 
again  become   an   object  of  the  consumer's 
popular  desire.     There  are  some  other  things 
too,  which  need  our  attention.  The  British  con 
Burner,  in  his  early  years,  is  partial  to  confec 
tionary.     We  have  already  called  attention 
to  the  drugging   of  the  comfit  markets,  anc 
upon  such  matters  we  have  more  to  say. 

To  begin  with  sweetmeats.  British  confec- 
tionary contains  plaster  of  Paris,  chalk,  starch 
sulphate  of  baryta,  bronze,  copper  leaf,  lea: 
tin,  arsenite  of  copper,  carbonate  of  copper 
verdigris,  chromate  of  lead,  orpiment,  oxy- 
chloride  of  lead,  red  lead  and  vermillion 
The  minerals  here  named  are  all  poisonous 
Our  bright  yellow  comfits  contain  a  dangerou 
and  insidious  poison — chromate  of  lead,  which 
is  used  also  largely  for  giving  the  slight  yellow 
tint  to  ginger  lozenges.  Let  the  British  con- 
sumer, who  has  often  during  the  winter  season 
a  ginger  lozenge  in  her  mouth,  not  be  sur- 
prised at  a  slight  failing  in  her  health.  The 
emerald  green  sugar-plums  and  ornament: 
in  sugar  have  been  coloured  with  a  still  more 
dangerous  poison,  arsenite  of  copper.  These 
mineral  pills  offered  to  the  young  population 
of  Great  Britain  do  their  work.  Dr.  Letheby 
states  that,  to  his  knowledge,  there  have  been 
seventy  cases  of  fatal  poisoning  during  three 
years  traced  to  the  use  of  confectionary  made 
and  coloured  in  this  country. 

The  use  of  poison  in  confectionary  is  per- 
fectly needless.  There  is  no  want  of  innocuous 
colouring  matter  ;  and  we  do  not  care  much  if 
the  greens  and  yellows  be  a  trifle  less  vivid  to 
the  eye,  if  they  are  ten  thousand  times  more 
proper  for  the  stomach.  In  France  and  Bel- 
gium there  is  no  poisonous  confectionary  made. 
The  most  stringent  law  forbids  not  only  the 
use  of  mineral  pigments,  but  forbids  even  the 
wrapping  of  bonbons  in  paper  that  has  been 
glazed  or  coloured  by  means  of  a  mineral  or 
hurtful  compound.  The  seller  of  confectionary 
is  compelled  also  by  law  to  let  his  name  go 
forth  printed  on  some  part  of  each  parcel  that 
he  issues — just  as,  in  this  country,  the  printer 
has  to  sign  his  name  to  the  productions  of  his 
press — in  order  that  he  may  be  made  crimi- 
nally responsible  for  any  poison  he  may  issue. 
What  must  a  Frenchman  think  of  Greenwich 
fair,  where  he  may  see  sold  with  impunity  on 
every  stall  gingerbread  baited  with  copper 


leaf  instead   of   gold ;    with  tin  instead    of 
silver  ! 


now  and  then  there  comes  a  tale 
within  our  experience  of  confectioners'  men 
poisoned  by  tasting  one  of  the  ingredients 
they  use — essential  oil  of  bitter  almonds. 
This  ratafia,  employed  extensively  in  flavouring 
cakes,  custards,  and  liqueurs  —  handled  bv 
rough-handed,  thoughtless  men  who  are  but  ill 
acquainted  with  its  deadly  nature — is  a  poison 
six  times  stronger  than  the  prussic  acid  of 
the  London  Pharmacopoeia.  The  pastry-cook 
drops  out  into  our  cakes  this  deadly  poison, 
from  a  bottle  in  which  it  is  contained  in  a. 
more  concentrated  form  than  is  considered 
safe,  even  by  the  College  of  Physicians,  for  em- 
ployment in  prescriptions.  And  yet  it  is  not 
necessary  for  the  flavour  that  a  drop  of 
prussic  acid  should  be  put  into  our  cakes  and 
custards.  The  prussic  acid  may  be  removed 
from  ratafia,  and  the  whole  flavour  retained 
in  a  harmless  residue,  by  distillation,  from 
slaked  lime  and  sulphate  of  iron. 

Here,  then,  is  a  great  evil  in  the  way  of 
adulteration,  capable  of  easy  remedy,  which 
would  have  been  remedied  no  doubt,  ere 
this,  if  the  British  consumer  had  bestowed 
upon  it  half  the  eloquence  expended  on  the 
ridiculous  alarm  of  strychnine  in  his  bitter 
beer. 

If  he  be  unwilling  to  lay  bare  a  sweet  tooth, 
by  betraying  too  great  interest  in  comfits, 
gingerbread,  and  custard,  and  have  no  children 
to  speak  for,  he  may,  at  least,  find  it  worth 
while  to  exert  himself  for  the  procuring  of 
unadulterated  bread. 

Bread  may  contain  potatoes,  Indian  meal, 
bad  flour,  alum,  chalk,  blue  vitriol,  crushed 
bones,  magnesia,  clay,  and  plaster  of  Paris; 
;he  object  of  adulteration  being  to  make  the 
loaf  white  and  spongy,  and  to  increase  its 
power  of  retaining  water.  A  great  portion 
)f  the  messes  named  in  this  list  are  not  used 
ay  any  respectable  baker,  but  the  use  of  alum 
s  extensive.  Alum  whitens,  and  economises 
ay  enabling  the  baker  to  sell  in  a  loaf, 
;ogether  with  his  flour,  more  than  the  proper 
quantity  of  water.  A  sack  of  flour  containing 
-wo  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  should  make, 
according  to  the  old  parliamentary  standard, 
eighty  loaves  of  four  pounds  each.  That  is  to 
say,  in  the  making  of  the  bread,  forty  pounds 
)f  water  ia  the  fair  weight  to  be  added  to  the 
lack  of  flour.  Bakers,  however,  like  to  make 
more  than  eighty  of  these  loaves  out  of  a  sack 
of  flour,  arid  they  get  in  practice  ninety-four, 
and  sometimes  even  a  hundred.  That  is  to 
ay,  instead  of  adding  forty  pounds  of  water 
o  the  sack  of  flour,  they  will  add  ninety-six 
lounds,  or  even  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds 
f  that  exceedingly  cheap  article  of  trade. 
Jpon  each  sack  of  flour  they  obtain,  there- 
ore,  the  price  of  bread  for  fifty,  sixty,  or 
eventy  pounds  of  water  that  has  been  un- 
airly  added  to  the  reckoning.  Simple  flour 
vould  not  take  up  so  much,  but  alum  haa 
;ie  power  of  retaining  water,  at  the  same 


Cbarlet  Dickens.] 


CONSTITUTIONAL  TEIALS. 


425 


time  that  it  whitens  the  whole  compound, 
and  sometimes  enables  flour  of  an  inferior 
quality  to  produce  loaves  of  "the  best  bread." 
When  the  Lancet  published  its  analysis  of 
bread,  purchased  at  random  from  many 
shops,  there  was  found  scarcely  a  specimen 
from  which  alum  was  absent ;  and  we  do  not 
know  of  any  change  that  has  been  made 
since  that  time  in  the  practice  of  the  bakers. 
It  is  said  in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica,  that 
it  is  common  to  put  as  much  alum  into  the 
bread  as  salt,  two  pounds  and  a  quarter  to 
the  sack.  This  would  yield  one  hundred  and 
fifty-seven  grains  to  a  loaf,  a  serious  quantity. 
Experiment  has  shown  that  less  alum  than 
thirty-one  grains  to  a  loaf  would  not  affecfc 
the  bread  at  all,  while  this  quantity — the 
lowest  that  can  be  assumed — yields  a  weekly 
allowance  of  astringent  matter  to  the  British 
consumer  that  cannot  fail  to  have  a  slow 
and  hurtful  influence  upon  his  organs  of 
digestion. 

According  to  the  statement  of  MM.  Dumas 
and  Kuhlmann,  the  use  of  blue  vitriol  in 
I  bread  is  almost  invariable  in  France  and 
Belgium,  so  that  our  neighbours  fare  worse 
than  ourselves.  For  although  the  proportion 
of  this  poison  used  for  producing  sponginess 
is  very  small,  the  use  of  a  deadly  thing  is 
placed  in  careless  hands,  and  it  would  be  well 
if  the  French  took  as  much  care  for  their 
bread  as  for  their  sweetmeats. 

We  should  be  glad  to  hear  a  tumult  and 
rebellion  against  alum  in  our  bread,  and  we 
should  very  much  like  to  see  private  English 
families  acting  on  their  own  account,  and 
spreading  dismay  among  all  dishonest  trades- 
men, by  testing  for  themselves  the  purity  of 
many  things  that  they  consume.  There  is  a 
penalty  against  the  adulteration  of  bread,  but 
the  best  penalty  would  be  the  loss  of  custom 
that  would  follow  upon  prompt  detection  of 
offence  in  private  families.  The  testing  of 
bread  is  very  easy.  Alum  is  the  great  object 
of  search  ;  chalk,  carbonate  of  ammonia,  soda, 
and  potash,  are  added  only  in  extreme  cases 
of  fraud,  to  neutralise  the  acid  that  will  form 
in  bad  or  stale  bread.  A  writer  in  the  Medico- 
Chirurgical  Review  tells  of  his  experience 
among  the  crew  of  a  vessel  who  were  all 
seized  with  a  similar  disorder,  that  was 
traced  eventually  to  the  serving  out  of  certain 
biscuits  bought  at  Wapping.  Each  one  of  these 
biscuits  contained  eighty-li ve  grains  of  chalk. 
Such  cases  are  extreme.  It  is  against  alum 
that  we  have  to  direct  the  main  point  of  our 
attack,  it  we  desire,  in  these  good  days,  while 
we  are  getting  cheap  bread,  to  have  it  pure 
into  the  bargain. 

If  any  one  desires  to  test  the  honesty  of 
bread,  let  him  cause  it  to  pass  through  the 
ordeal  either  of  fire  or  water.  The  ordeal  by 
fire  consists  in  placing  a  piece  of  bread  accu- 
rately weighed  in  a  Cornish  crucible,  and 
subjecting  it  to  lively  and  continued  heat.  If 
it  be  pure,  it  will  consume  and  leave  a  residue 
of  not  more  than  two  per  cent,  in  the  shape 


of  a  very  soluble  white  ;ish.  Of  that  ash.  one 
half  will  be  dissolved  in  water,  and  the  rest. 
on  adding  muriatic  acid  to  the  water,  will 
dissolve  without  effervescence.  If  there  be 
chalk,  or  carbonate  of  magnesia,  potash,  or 
soda  in  the  bread,  there  will  be  effervescence 
when  the  residue  of  the  ash  dissolves  under 
the  influence  of  muriatic  acid.  Other  adul- 
terations will  be  revealed  by  the  excess  over 
two  per  cent,  of  ash,  and  the  dissolved  ash 
may  be  tested  on  some  plan  that  appertains  to 
the  ordeal  by  water.  The  trial  by  water  is 
the  following : — 

Soak  about  six  ounces  of  bread  in  two 
ounces  of  distilled  water,  for  an  hour  or  longer. 
Squeeze  the  sop  through  a  coarse  linen  cloth. 
Let  the  grosser  particles  subside  from  the 
liquor  :  if  there  be  grains  of  potato  starch 
among  them,  they  will  be  distinguishable.  Pour 
oft'  the  clear  liquor  from  the  condiment,  and 
then  evaporate  it  to  about  half  its  bulk.  The 
mysteries  of  the  bread,  if  there  be  any,  will  be 
contained  in  the  resulting  fluid.  Test  a  part 
of  it,  by  adding  a  few  drops  of  strong  liquor 
of  ammonia  ;  and  if  there  be  alum  in  the  bread, 
there  will  be  a  white  powder  precipitated.  If 
you  suspect  the  French  mystification  of  blue 
vitriol,  test  another  portion  with  prussiate 
of  potash ;  when,  if  there  be  copper  in  the 
bread,  you  will  get  a  rose-coloured  or  chocolate 
precipitate.  If  the  effect  of  nitrate  of  baryta 
and  nitric  acid  be  tried  on  another  portion  of 
the  fluid,  they  will  produce  results  of  a  decided 
character,  if  there  be  in  the  bread  any  soluble 
sulphate,  alum,  plaster  of  Paris,  or  blue  vitriol. 
If  the  sop  was  made  with  wholesome  bread, 
none  of  these  tests  will  produce  any  marked 
result  upon  the  liquor.  A  slight  trace  of 
alum — if  it  be  a  very  slight  response  to  active 
testing — will  tell  rather  of  a  chance  impurity 
in  the  salt  than  of  a  wilful  act  of  adulteration 
by  the  baker.  The  sop  after  straining,  if 
exposed  in  a  crucible  to  heat,  should  leave  not 
more  than  one  per  cent,  of  ash.  Good  flour 
when  burnt  should  not  leave  more  than,  at 
most,  two  per  cent,  of  ash;  and  water,  in 
which  it  has  been  soaked,  should  yield  no 
precipitate  on  being  tested  with  acid,  nitrate 
of  baryta,  prussiate  of  potass,  or  solution  of 
ammonia.  In  a  quartern  loaf  there  is  an  ounce 
of  salt.  It  surely  would  suffice. 

We  will  pass  now  to  a  few  other  topics. 

There  are  ready  means  of  testing  to  a 
certain  extent  the  purity  of  wine  ;  and  since 
that  is  one  of  the  articles  in  which  the  British 
consumer  suffers  wrong  to  a  considerable 
extent,  it  may  be  worth  while  to  name  them. 
Pure  wine  ought  not  to  leave  a  pink  stain 
upon  paper.  MM.  Jacob  and  Nees  von  Esen- 
beck  give  this  advice.  Add  to  a  glass  of  wine 
alum  and  carbonate  of  soda.  The  precipitate 
in  pure  wine  will  be  very  slightly  coloured, 
b\it  in  the  case  of  adulteration  it  will  be  more 
or  less  pink  or  violet.  Chevalier  says,  satu- 
rate red  wine  with  caustic  potash  ;  it  will 
change  to  bottle  green,  and  after  a  time,  if  pure, 
to  brownish  green  or  brown.  If  it  contain 


426 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


elderberries,  however,  it  will  be  purple  ;  if  log- 
wood, reddish  purple  ;  if  beet-root  juice, 
or  Brazil-wood,  red ;  if  American  grape, 
yellow. 

A  very  little  oil  of  vitriol  is  allowed  La 
vinegar,  by  law,  to  prevent  decomposition. 
Adulteration  of  vinegar  with  a  great  deal  of 
dilute  oil  of  vitriol  is  a  common  fraud.  The 
addition  of  a  little  nitrate  of  baryta  will 
detect  it,  by  throwing  down  a  copious  white 
precipitate. 

Of  the  injuries  we  suffer  through  our  tea 
and  coffee,  a  good  deal  has  latterly  been  said. 
The  adulteration  of  tea  by  sloe  and  other 
British  leaves,  in  London,  at  any  rate,  is 
scarcely  practised.  The  great  murderers  of 
tea  are  the  Chinese  themselves,  and  green  tea 
is  the  grand  subject  of  their  cruelty.  The 
black  tea  sold  in  our  shops  may  here  and 
there  contain  a  trifle  of  black-lead,  but,  on  the 
whole,  is  pure  and  wholesome.  The  black- 
lead  and  plumbago  are  attached  chiefly,  if  not 
wholly,  to  the  fancy  black  teas,  "  scented 
orange  pekoe "  and  caper.  Unadulterated 
green  tea  from  China  is  scarcely  to  be  had  in 
London.  It  is  faced  with  Prussian  blue, 
turmeric,  and  China  clay,  and  it  is  far  more 
liable  to  mixture  with  other  leaves  and  with 
Lie  tea.  In  fact,  the  only  green  tea  in  the 
case  of  which,  whatever  its  quality,  we  may 
be  sure  that  it  is  clean,  is  the  Assam  tea,  made 
out  of  China. 

Mixtures  sold  to  improve  the  strength  of 
tea  contain  catechu,  or  other  astringent 
matters  active  to  do  harm. 

Upon  coffee  we  have  often  spoken.  It 
may  be  worth  while  to  make  familiar,  by 
repetition,  the  easy  although  somewhat  rough 
test  of  the  adulteration  of  ground  coffee  with 
chicory.  If  the  mixture  be  lightly  shaken  in 
a  tumbler  of  cold  water,  chicory  will  sink,  and 
coffee,  by  virtue  of  the  oil  that  it  contains, 
will  float.  The  coffee  after  a  few  minutes 
will  sink  ;  the  test  is  rough,  but,  carefully 
applied,  is  satisfactory.  Coffee  will  very 
slightly  tint  cold  water,  but  chicory  will  give 
it  a  decided  tinge.  To  procure  colour,  how- 
ever, burnt  sugar  is  often  used,  and  some- 
times added  to  whole  coffee  in  the  roasting. 
Whole  coffee,  that  has  not  been  sugared  or 
over  roasted,  should  be  of  a  light  chocolate 
colour  ;  and  when  ground  and  steeped  in  hot 
water  for  use,  it  ought  not  to  blacken  the 
water  readily.  Of  course,  everybody  knows 
that  coffee  should  be  made  by  steeping  in  hot 
water — never  boiled.  They  who  desire  the 
entire  virtue  of  the  berry,  its  bitter  as  well  as 
its  aroma,  having  first  steeped  their  coffee 
thoroughly  and  put  aside  the  liquor,  should 
then  separately  boil  the  dregs  as  vigorously 
as  they  please,  and  add  the  two  results. 

The  impurities  contained  in  moist  brown 
sugar  are  visible  to  the  eye  upon  dissolving  it 
in  water.  Among  them  is  included  a  pecu- 
liarly disgusting  insect,  of  the  same  family 
with  that  which  gives  rise  to  the  itch.  Eggs, 
legs,  and  bodies  of  this  creature  abound  in 


most  kinds  of  brown  sugar ;  and  in  the 
cheapest,  moistest  kinds,  it  lives  and  swarms. 
We  say  nothing  of  sand,  treacle,  plaster  of 
Paris,  chalk,  sawdust,  starch,  potato  sugar, 
and  fungi.  In  the  choice  of  brown  sugar,  one 
should  desire  that  which  is  driest  and  most 
crystalline  in  appearance,  preferring  that 
which  has  the  largest  crystals.  The  choice 
of  a  moist  sugar  for  use  is  not  a  question  of 
taste  merely,  but  of  health  and  cleanliness. 
An  extra  halfpenny  upon  the  pound  that 
would  be  denied  to  a  dictate  of  luxury,  might 
be  afforded,  probably,  to  a  more  reasonable 
sense  of  fitness,  by  nearly  all  the  classes  who 
in  the  present  day  buy  sugars  that  are  quite 
unfit,  until  they  have  been  cleansed,  to  be 
exposed  for  sale  as  articles  of  food. 

If  the  British  public  has  a  little  breath  left, 
after  its  hard  running  in  the  wrong  direction, 
after  the  cry  of  strychnine  in  the  bitter  beer, 
perhaps  it  will  continue  its  exertions  in 
another  path.  In  this  hope,  we  especially 
suggest  a  close  attention  to  the  use  of  alum, 
in  our  bread,  and  poison  in  our  sweetmeats. 


BOUND  THE  MIDSUMMER  FIRE. 


THE  very  old  custom  of  Bonefires  on  St. 
John's  eve,  the  twenty-third  of  June,  still 
prevails  throughout  Ireland.  The  same  is,  or 
was  lately,  to  be  found  in  parts  of  England, 
Wales,  Scotland,  and  the  continent  of  Europe. 
Of  its  origin  various  opinions  have  been 
advanced,  each  with  some  show  of  likelihood 
and  authority ;  and  whether  that  be  Oriental, 
Greek,  Roman,  Druidical,  or  Christian,  or  its 
first  intention  the  honour  of  Fire,  the  Sun,  the 
Heavenly  Host,  Baal,  Ceres,  Apollo,  or  Saint 
John,  remains  in  dispute.  A  Roman  Catholic 
Bishop,  Dr.  Milner,  in  his  "  Inquiry  into 
certain  Vulgar  Opinions  concerning  the 
Catholic  Inhabitants,  and  the  Antiquities  of 
Ireland,"  (as  quoted  in  Ellis's  "Brande's  Anti- 
quities"), affirms  the  celebration  to  be  in  nowise 
traceable  to  Paganism,  but  solely  in  honour  of 
Christ's  precursor ;  and  the  particular  signifi- 
cancies  of  the  fires  and  their  materials  are 
said  to  be  expounded  in  an  ancient  homily  on 
the  Feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist.  Yet  it 
may  well  be  believed  that  the  ceremony  of 
the  Midsummer  Fires  reaches  farther  back 
than  the  Christian  era ;  and  as  marking  the 
sun's  point  of  culmination  in,  the  northern 
zodiac,  it  appears  a  natural  correlative  of  a 
knowledge  of  the  astronomical  fact.  Gebeliu, 
in  his  "  Monde  Primitif,"  (as  quoted  in 
Brande),  states  it  to  be  "  of  the  most  remote 
antiquity,"  and  continues :  "  The  origin  of 
this  Fire,  which  is  still  retained  by  so  many 
nations,  though  enveloped  in  the  mist  of 
antiquity,  is  very  simple  ;  it  was  a  feu  de  joie, 
kindled  the  very  moment  the  year  began  ;  for 
the  first  of  all  years,  and  the  most  ancient 
that  we  know  of,  began  at  [or,  in  ?]  this  month 
of  June.  These  feux  de  joie  were  accompanied 
at  the  same  time  with  vows  and  sacrifices  for 


Charles  Dickeus.] 


BOUND  THE  MIDSUMMER  FIRE. 


427 


the  prosperity  of  the  people,  and  the  fruits  of 
the  earth.  They  danced  also  round  this  fire  ; 
for  what  feast  is  there  without  a  dance  ?  and 
the  most  active  leaped  over  it.  Each,  on 
departing,  took  a  firebrand,  great  or  small, 
and  the  remains  were  scattered  to  the  wind, 
which,  at  the  same  time  that  it  dispersed  the 
ashes,  was  thought  to  expel  every  evil.  When, 
after  a  long  train  of  years,  the  year  ceased  to 
commence  at  this  solstice,  still  the  custom  of 
making  these  fires  at  this  time  was  continued 
by  force  of  habit,  and  of  those  superstitious  ideas 
that  are  annexed  to  it."  Various  nations 
would  naturally  connect  with  this  celebration, 
whether  of  the  new  year  or  the  summer 
solstice,  some  of  the  forms  and  colourings  of 
their  various  religions,  and  thus  preserve, 
under  diverse  shapes  and  names,  the  one 
primary  idea.  When  Christianity  extended 
itself,  not  only  Pagan  temples,  but  Pagan  rites 
and  festivals  were  wisely  converted  into 
Christian  ones,  and  the  Solstitial  Fires  would 
fitly  be  transferred  to  the  Feast  of  St.  John 
the  Baptist,  falling  in  that  time  of  the  year. 
In  the  ancient  calendar  of  the  Church  of 
Rome,  June  twenty-fourth  is  marked,  "  Nati- 
vitas  Joannis  Baptistse — Solstitium  Vulgare." 
Whether  the  celebration  of  Midsummer  was 
shifted  from  the  true  solstice  to  unite  with 
St.  John's  eve,  is  a  question  to  be  asked.  The 
derivation  of  the  name  (which  I  have  always 
in  Ireland  heard  called  bonefire),  is  also  a 
matter  of  discussion.  Bone-fire,  some  say,  in 
honour  of  St.  John  and  other  martyrs  :  or 
else  because  it  was  partly  made  of  bones  ; 
Bon-fire,  Good  Fire,  say  others,  because  it 
was  thought  to  be  against  disease  and  ill-luck, 
and  William  Browne  in  his  "Shepheard's 
Pipe,"  (written  about  1620),  third  eclogue, 
mentions  "  the  blessing-fire,"  appending  this 
note  :  "  The  Midsummer  fires  are  termed  so 
in  the  west  parts  of  England."  A  derivation 
from  the  Icelandic  has  also  been  offered,  with 
the  sense  of  Festive  Fire ;  but  that  etymology 
which  seems  most  reasonable  makes  Bone  the 
same  as  Boon-fire,  that  is,  Contribution  Fire, 
being  made  up  of  materials  collected  from 
many  different  persons :  contributed  ploughing 
days  in  Northumberland  are  said  to  be  called 
"  Bone-dargs." 

In  Ireland,  for  weeks  before  St.  John's  eve, 
swarms  of  little  boys  seek  "something  for 
the  Bonefire"  all  round  the  towns  and  villages, 
and  also  levy — without  any  verbal  application 
— what  they  term  "custom"  from  every  cart 
and  donkey-load  of  turf  they  meet ;  revelling 
in  their  piratical  descents  on  the  "  turf- 
cadgers,"  and  in  their  consequent  squabbles 
with,  and  hair-breadth  escapes  from,  those 
exasperated  rustics.  To  assist  the  removal 
of  turf  from  a  high  cart,  or  round  a  corner, 
the  brigands  sometimes  carry  sticks  tipped 
with  an  iron  spike  or  hook. 

When  the  evening  of  the  twenty-third  has 
arrived,  each  band  begins  about  five  o'clock 
to  build  its  particular  fire,  assisted  by  a  couple 
of  "  big  brothers."  In  the  country — where, 


by  the  way,  the  collection  of  the  fuel  is  a 
quieter  business,  every  neighbour  readily 
giving  his  share — high  grounds  are  chosen  for 
the  sites ;  in  the  town,  open  places  in  the 
suburbs,  usually  ;  for  the  police  are  no  longer 
so  tolerant  of  the  streets  being  put  to  this 
purpose,  as  they  used  to  be  a  few  years  ago. 
In  the  process  of  building,  live  coals  are 
placed  in  the  heart  of  the  heap,  with  a  vent 
for  air,  and  ere  long,  the  black,  smoking 
cones  are  left  to  themselves  for  awhile,  or 
only  watched  by  some  children  and  two  or 
three  stout  guards,  whose  part  it  is  to  prevent 
a  possible  attack  from  the  adherents  of  some 
rival  Fire,  or  foil  it  if  made.  The  pile  of 
turf  is  sometimes  garnished  with  layers  of 
bones,  cows'  horns  obtained  from  the  tan- 
yards,  and  perhaps  a  horse's  head  ;  but  these 
are  now  considered  luxuries  of  incremation, 
not  necessaries,  as  formerly.  Close  by,  if  the 
funds  have  proved  sufficient,  stands  a  row  of 
old,  brown,  smeary  tar-barrels  ;  and  the  fod- 
yogues,  though  as  yet  invisible,  are  ready  for 
their  work.  About  nine  o'clock  the  turf- 
cones,  detruncated,  are  crowned  with  red  glow 
and  wavering  flames,  and  round  them  gather 
crowds  of  both  sexes,  chiefly  young  people  and 
children,  laughing,  talking,  shouting,  and 
restless.  Let  us  visit  some  of  the  Bonefires 
of  our  little  town. 

First,  one  in  a  nook  at  the  end  of  a  middling 
street ;  where,  at  a  comfortable  distance  from 
the  blaze,  two  butchers  and  a  pensioner  are 
talking  politics,  with  a  select  audience,  and 
showing  a  very  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  news  of  the  day  (distinctly  coloured, 
though,  by  the  medium  through  which  it  has 
come),  as  well  as  no  mean  amount  of  general 
information  and  intelligence ;  while  under  a 
wall  sit  a  row  of  girls,  chatting  confidentially 
among  themselves,  or  ironically  with  some 
young  fellow  who  has  ventured  to  lounge  over 
to  them ;  and  a  frequent  laugh  runs  down  or 
up  the  line  in  various  tones,  like  a  chime  of 
bells. 

Our  next  move  brings  us  to  the  middle  of  a 
bare  common,  where  there  is  a  much  larger 
fire,  and  a  rougher  mob.  Droll  remarks, 
strongly  flavoured  with  personality,  are  flying 
about ;  a  turf,  now  and  again,  is  also  flying 
about ;  and  practical  jokes  of  every  sort  are 
in  great  estimation.  At  last,  a  fight  arises 
between  two  "  boys" — who  are  stout  young  men, 
— but  after  a  blow  or  two  they  are  sundered 
by  a  noisy  crowd,  and  removed,  bareheaded, 
and  talking  defiance  over  their  shoulders,  to 
opposite  corners  of  the  common ;  where  the 
male  friends  of  each  antagonist  soothe  him 
by  declaring  "  It's  a  good  kicking  you  ought 
to  get ;"  and  his  female  relations  by  dragging 
his  coat  half  off  his  back,  and  telling  him 
concisely,  to  "  have  wit ! "  However,  it  is  now 
time  to  light  the  tar-barrels  and  fod-yogues — 
the  latter  being  bundles  of  dry  reeds,  some  of 
them  ten  or  twelve  feet  high  and  at  the  lower 
end  as  large  as  the  crown  of  a  hat,  some  shorter 
and  tied  on  sticks.  When  all  are  well  a-blaze,  • 


* 


428 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


the  tar-barrels  mount  to  the  heads  of  sturdy 
volunteers,  the  fod-yogues  fall  in  behind,  and 
away  go  the  lights  down  into  the  town, 
drawing  most  of  the  people  after  them  ;  and 
so  they  round  street-corners,  and  flare  un- 
wonted blaze  on  the  old  gables,  while  every 
step  increases  the-  train  of  human  moths — 
only  of  a  very  noisy  species,  for  they  in- 
cessantly scream,  laugh,  halloo,  and  whistle 
through  their  fingers.  The  procession  now 
approaches  a  district  of  thatched  houses,  and 
it  is  whispered  that  the  police  are  at  hand, 
designing  evil  ;  whereupon  the  whole  crowd 
sets  off  pell-mell  ;  the  tar-barrels,  dropping 
flame,  roll  fearfully  on  the  dusky  surge  like 
ships  on  fire,  and  at  last  one  topples  over  with 
a  crash  and  makes  a  chasm  in  the  stream  of 
people,  but  it  is  soon  lifted  again,  and  those 
who  press  on  from  behind  kick  the  blazing 
fragments  scattered  about  the  street.  Mean- 
while the  fod-yogues  have  been  getting  into 
confusion  ;  some  jostle  one  another,  some  fall 
to  pieces  about  the  bearers'  ears  ;  the  more 
lucky,  streaming  like  comets  in  their  flight, 
return  in  safety,  and  gambol  about  the  Bone- 
fire  till  their  torches  fail.  There  also  the  tar- 
barrels  are  deposited,  to  consume  themselves 
away. 

Another  fire  burns  by  the  river  brink, 
throwing  a  bright  wavering  path  across  the 
broad,  dark  stream.  When  we  stand  a  little 
way  off,  the  sounds  of  the  water  continually 
gushing  through  the  weir,  and  of  the  night 
breeze  in  the  grass,  are  not  broken  by  that 
occasional  muffled  shout  ;  and  the  black 
figures,  seen  dimly  athwart  their  nucleus  of 
tire,  assume  a  novel  and  mysterious  aspect. 

Elsewhere,  the  Midsummer  flame  shines  on 
some  fishermen's  cottages,  almost  under  the 
leaves  of  a  grove  of  sycamore  and  beech 
trees,  at  the  entrance  to  a  gentleman's 
avenue  ;  close  by,  a  runnel  is  scarce  heard  to 
flow,  among  stones  and  under  its  little  bridge, 
down  to  the  harbour  creek.  This  is  a  small 
fire,  but  with  the  merriest  circle  we  have  yet 
seen,  consisting  almost  entirely  of  fishermen, 
their  wives,  hardy  sons,  handsome  daughters, 
and  sturdy  bare-legged  children,  seated  round 
in  large  and  small  groups. 

In  one  place  the  elders  are  smoking  their 
pipes,  and  talking  of  California  and  Australia  ; 
in  another,  a  man  who  has  been  out  in  a 
whaler  is  relating  Arctic  anecdotes  for  a  relish 
to  the  heat ;  in  another,  some  lads  are  trying 
to  persuade  the  girls  that  the  first  who  will 
leap  over  the  fire  is  sure  to  be  married  before 
the  year  is  out ;  but,  without  supposing  the 
girls  indifferent  to  that  contingency,  it  appears 
that  the  nature  of  the  feat,  or  incredulity  as 
to  its  efficacy,  prevents  their  making  the 
attempt.  Here,  a  child  is  caught  up  in  stout, 
friendly  hands,  and  swung  several  times  over 
the  coals,  half  afraid  and  half  enjoying  the 
sport,  which  is  probably  the  relic  of  a  serious 
custom  ;  and  there,  in  the  only  chair,  sits  an 
ancient  man  with  curling  yellow  locks,  child- 
hood's garland  restored,  retracing  in  slow  i 


utterance  his  memories  of  vanished  years. 
But  silence  is  requested :  two  sisters  are 
going  to  sing  ;  and  from  the  centre  of  a  crowd 
of  girls  their  voices  rise  clearly,  blended  in 
one,  in  a  ballad  about  a  pretty  fair  maid  and 
her  true  love  ;  with  a  chorus  for  which  many 
voices  join  in  unison,  and  all  in  excellent 
tune.  Between  the  verses  the  singers  are 
kindly  encouraged  with  approving  inter- 
jections, and  at  the  end  warmly  applauded  ; 
and,  indeed,  real  good  manners  characterise 
the  assembly  during  the  whole  of  the  rather 
long  performance.  Now  come  women  with 
tongs  and  children  with  sticks,  and  carry  off 
a  share  of  the  glowing  coals,  to  be  deposited 
on  the  cottage  hearth  or  cast  for  luck  into 
the  corn  or  potato-field  ;  but  ere  the  fire  die, 
some  late  fod-yogues  remain  to  be  consumed. 
They  are  lighted,  and  set  in  motion ;  the  bright 
row  gleams  at  intervals  through  the  trees, 
and  then  begins  to  ascend  the  Fort  Hill, 
which  commands  a  circling  prospect  of  the 
town,  river,  harbour,  and  country.  Massing 
their  flambeaux  into  one  blaze  on  the  hill- 
top, the  bearers  leave  them  there  to  burn  out ; 
and  we,  ascending  afterwards,  enjoy  in  quiet 
the  view  of  the  dim  country-side,  spotted 
with  fires,  flashing  fitfully  or  shining  with 
steady  lustre  ;  some  on  hills,  some  marking 
the  position  of  hamlets,  and  one,  like  a 
rising  star,  on  the  obscure  crest  of  the 
remoter  mountain.  Over  all  hangs  a  dark, 
clear  sky  ;  with  a  three-quarter  moon,  that 
in  a  few  hours  will  see  these  earth  sparks 
subside  one  by  one. 

Again  at  the  large  Bonefire  on  the  common. 
It  is  still  broad  and  deep  ;  but  in  the  power- 
ful rays  linger  only  half-a-dozen  idlers  and 
a  few  ragged  boys,  some  of  whom  are  taking 
the  opportunity  to  roast  potatoes  which  they 
have  begged  during  the  day,  or  perhaps  have 
"  hooked"  in  the  neighbouring  fields.  The 
fire  sheds  a  ghastly,  green-white  hue  on  their 
faces,  very  different  from  the  glow  beside  a 
comfortable  hearth  ;  and  this,  aided  by  the 
wretched  garb  and  dull  movements,  might 
present  it  to  the  fancy  as  one  of  those  dis- 
infecting fires  lighted  in  time  of  plague, 
resorted  to  at  night  by  the  poor,  sick, 
deranged,  and  outcast. 

But  it  is  time  we  were  in  bed  ;  the  glaucous 
dawn  begins  to  lift  itself  behind  those  great 
ranges  of  cloud  in  the  south-east.  At  the 
corner  we  exchange  a  Good  night,  which 
might  have  been  Good  morning,  with  the 
police  patrol  making  their  round. 


Now  Beady,  Price  3s.  in  cloth,  the 
VOLUME  FOR  1S51   OP 

THE  HOUSEHOLD  NARRATIVE 

OF    CURRENT    EVENTS ; 

Which  being  declared,  by  the  judgment  of  the  Court  of 
Exchequer,  a  legal  publication  not  coining  within  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Stamp  Act,  will  be  regularly  continued  aud 
much  improved. 

A  Number  is  published  at  the  end  of  each  Month. 


Publishe.l  at  tht  Offlw,  Ifc  16,  n>!I;nifton  Stwtt  North,  Strand.    Printea  ny  B»I»«U»T  4  Enm,  WhltefrUrt.  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SHAKESPEABE. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A   WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES.   DICKENS. 


.  122.] 


SATURDAY,  JULY  24,  1852. 


[PRICE  Id 


LITTLE  BLUE  MANTLE. 


THE  fourth  of  this  last  past  month  of  June, 
1852,  a  modest  funeral  procession  entered  the 
cemetery  of  Castel-Censoir,  in  France.  The 
defunct,  to  whom  the  last  offices  of  humanity 
were  being  rendered,  and  on  whose  plain 
coffin  a  drizzling  rain  fell,  -had  gained  no 
great  victories,  had  conducted  no  intricate 
negociations,  had  left  no  niche  unoccupied  in 
the  temples  of  literature  or  art.  At  very 
nearly  the  same  period,  in  Paris,  was  taking 
place  the  funeral  of  Pradier,  the  famous 
sculptor.  Artists,  savants,  members  of  the 
Academie  and  of  the  Institute  in  their  official 
costumes,  and  aide-de-camps  of  the  Prince 
President  were  there;  the  carriages  of  the 
aristocracy  followed  the  bier,  aud  a  battalion  of 
infantry  formed  a  line  on  either  side.  But  in 
this  procession,  personages  of  no  higher  autho- 
rity than  a  parish  priest,  the  mayor  of  a 
humble  French  township,  and  a  brigadier  of 
rural  gendarmerie  were  present.  The  spec- 
tacle derived  its  interest  not  from  the  rank, 
the  talents,  or  the  riches  of  the  deceased  ;  but 
from  his  blameless  character,  his  many  and 
truly  Christian  virtues,  his  inexhaustible  and 
untiring  chaiity,  and  the  fact  of  his  last  home 
being  selected  in  the  midst  of  a  village  he  had 
almost  created,  and  the  midst  of  a  population 
many  of  whom  he  had  fed,  and  clothed,  and 
comforted  for  half  a  centuiy. 

On  its  way  to  the  churchyard,  the  procession 
wound  through  trees  planted  under  his  direc- 
tion, over  roads  paved  at  his  expense,  by 
fields  reclaimed,  and  wells  dug  by  his  orders. 
It  is  no  exaggeration  to  state,  that  his  coffin 
was  followed  by  the  whole  population  of  the 
place  ;  by  young  and  old,  proprietors  and 
labourers,  by  the  lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind, 
bewailing  in  him  the  loss  of  a  common  bene- 
factor and  a  common  friend.  As  the  proces- 
sion neared  the  cemetery  gate,  the  sun  shone 
for  a  moment  on  the  bier,  lighting  up  the  cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  and  a  weather- 
stained,  threadbare  LITTLE  BLUE  MANTLE. 
These  were  his  trophies,  his  shield  and 
scutcheon. 

Edme  Champion,  better  known  as  le  petit 
manteau  bleu,  from  the  short  blue  cloak  he 
constantly  wore,  was  born,  and  died  at  Cas- 
tel-Censoir ;  he  began  life  in  1768,  and  was, 
consequently,  eighty-four  years  of  age  at 


the  time  of  his  death.  His  parents  were 
poor  bargees  ;  his  mother,  the  daughter  of  a 
small  proprietor  in  somewhat  easier  circum- 
stances, had  been  discarded  and  disinherited 
by  her  father  for  contracting  an  unequal 
match,  and  from  infancy  the  little  Edme  was 
the  victim  of  her  soured  temper  and  of  a  spirit 
chafed  by  ill-borne  poverty.  He  was  left  an 
orphan  and  perfectly  destitute  at  a  very  early 
age.  The  almshouse  would  have  been  his  only 
refuge,  had  it  not  been  for  a  lady  who  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  extended  to  him  the  benefits 
of  a  charity  for  apprenticing  poor  fatherless 
children.  He  was  consequently  apprenticed 
to  a  jeweller  ;  who,  however,  chose  rather  to 
teach  him  the  art  of  peeling  potatoes  and 
cleaning  boots  and  shoes  than  that  of  distin- 
guishing between  rose  and  table  diamonds. 
Outraged  by  a  long  course  of  neglect  and  ill- 
treatment,  he  ran  away,  and  remained  con- 
cealed for  a  whole  day  and  night  in  the  wood 
of  Vincennes,  where  he  was  found  by  a  kind- 
hearted  garde  champetre,  who  not  only  relieved 
his  necessities,  but  made  his  peace  with  his 
master,  and  succeeded  in  having  his  indentures 
tranferred  to  another  jeweller — the  famous 
German,  Baumer — who  understood  and  per- 
formed his  duty  towards  his  apprentice,  and 
taught  him  his  trade  conscientiously.  In 
course  of  time,  Edme  Champion  became  an 
expert  workman  and  one  of  the  most  acute 
judges  of  precious  stones  in  Paris.  In  after 
life,  M.  Champion  used  frequently  to  relate 
that  he  himself,  as  a  workman,  carried  the 
great  diamond  necklace  to  the  Cardinal  de 
Rohan,  in  the  extraordinary  history  of  which 
that  prelate,  the  Queen  Marie  Antoinette,  aud 
Balsamo,  better  known  as  Count  Cagliostro, 
were  implicated.  The  workman  afterwards 
became  chief  clerk  to  his  master,  and  at  last 
head  of  an  extensive  establishment  on  his 
own  account.  He  was  nearly  ruined  by  the 
Revolution  ;  but  the  assistance  of  a  friend, 
who  confided  to  him  one  hundred  thousand 
francs — his  whole  fortune,  and  for  which',  so 
much  confidence  had  he  in  the  honour  of  his 
debtor,  he  would  take  neither  acknowledge- 
ment nor  security — enabled  him  to  weather 
the  storm.  Those  were  bad  times  for  jewellers ; 
and  Napoleon,  even  in  1804,  was  rather  at  a 
loss  to  find  credit  for  his  imperial  crown,  till 
Biennais  stepped  forward  to  his  assistance. 
"In  fact,"  the  Emperor  said  afterwards 


430 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


laughing,  "  Biennais  must  have  believed 
strongly  in  me,  for  political  firms  often  went 
bankrupt  in  those  days."  As  for  Edme 
Champion,  he  recovered  Ids  position  under  the 
Empire  and  the  Restoration,  under  which 
latter  Government  he  finally  retired  from 
business  with  a  large  fortune.  Early  accus- 
tomed to  misery  and  privation,  and  the  spec- 
tator of  misery  and  privation  in  others,  he  had 
always  been  charitable  according  to  his  means  ; 
but,  from  the  period  of  his  retirement  to  that 
of  his  death,  he  devoted  himself  exclusively  to 
acts  of  munificence.  From  1824  to  1852,  his 
memoirs  may  be  summed  up  in  saying  that  he 
went  about  doing  good.  He  made  an  honour- 
able provision  for  his  family;  the  residue  of 
his  fortune  he  held  in  trust  for  the  poor,  and 
was  a  faithful  steward.  Clad  in  his  little  blue 
mantle,  he  went  about  from  house  to  house, 
from  street  to  street,  from  loathsome  den  to 
loathsome  den,  down  infected  alleys,  up  rotten 
staircases  into  foul  garrets,  feeding  the  hungry, 
clothing  the  naked,  drying  the  tears  of  the 
fatherless.  He,  the  police,  and  the  priests 
were  the  repositories  of  the  gigantic  miseries 
of  Paris.  In  those  severe  winters,  which,  in 
continental  cities  especially,  produce  appalling 
misery,  the  figure  of  a  man  in  a  blue  cloak 
seemed  to  multiply  itself  indefinitely  wherever 
the  snow  clung  to  the  black  walls.  There 
appeared  to  be,  not  one  but  legions  of  little 
blue  mantles,  trotting  about  (which  was 
strictly  his  mode  of  walking,)  with  prodigious 
activity,  bearing  herculean  loads  of  shoes, 
worsted  stockings,  and  great  white  jugs  of  soup, 
as  though  they  were  feathers.  I  have  heard, 
from  a  source  whose  authenticity  I  have  no 
reason  to  doubt,  that  in  one  winter,  in  the  one 
city  of  Paris,  he  distributed  with  his  own  hands 
fifteen  thousand  bowls  of  soup.  The  ragged 
prowling  wretches  who  ulcerate  Paris  would 
wait  patiently  for  hours  on  his  track,  and  catch- 
ing sight  of  his  well-known  blue  cloak  in  the 
distance,  would  say,  "  Ah,  here  comes  the  little 
blue  mantle.  We  are  going  to  get  some- 
thing to  eat !  "  Waistcoats  and  shoes  were, 
however,  his  specialities.  A  benumbed 
wretch  would  be  shivering  in  a  gateway, 
tightly  embracing  his  bare  chest  with  his 
shrunken  arms :  Little  Blue  Mantle  would 
collar  him  fiercely  ;  force  him  severely  into  a 
warm  woollen  waistcoat  ;  and,  before  the  man 
could  thank  him,  Little  Blue  Mantle  would  be 
a  hundred  yards  away,  brandishing  his  soup- 
jugs.  A  little  half-congealed  atomy  of  a  girl 
would  be  crying  on  a  door-step,  her  poor  shoe- 
less' feet  quite  violet  with  the  pitiless  cold : 
incontinent  she  would  be  caught  up  from 
behind,  seated  on  a  pair  of  friendly  knees, 
told  half  a  merry  story ;  and,  a  minute  after, 
left  staggering  in  the  unwonted  luxury  of  a 
whole  pair  of  shoes. 

I  need  not  say  that  this  man  was  adored 
by  the  poor ;  that  mothers  brought  their 
children  to  him  for  a  benediction,  as  to 
a  priest ;  that  in  the  awful  habitations 
he  almost  alone  ventured  into,  thieves  and 


murderers  would  have  rent  each  other  in 
pieces  before  they  would  have  suffered  a 
hair  of  his  head  to  be  touched.  I  have  con- 
versed with  a  gentleman  who  assured  me  that, 
on  one  occasion,  a  great  hulking  savage  giant 
of  a  horse-slaughterer,  the  terror  even  of  his 
savage  quarter,  fell  on  his  knees  before  him 
and  exclaimed  (with  perfect  French  bombast), 
but  with  perfect  sincerity,  "  And  is  it  possible 
that  such  a  man  can  walk  on  earth?'1''  He 
expected  to  see  full-fledged  wings  sprout  from 
the  Little  Blue  Mantle. 

Yet  I  find  it  nowhere  on  record  that 
M.  Edme  Champion  was  vain  or  self-sufficient, 
or  insolent.  He  was  the  pioneer,  the  inter- 
preter, and  the  coadjutor  of  the  priest.  His 
charity  ever  went  hand  in  hand  with  religion, 
and  was  its  meet  and  willing  helpmate. 

Paris  was  his  great  working  field ;  he 
loved  to  struggle  with  great  miseries  ;  but  he 
never  neglected  nor  forgot  his  native  place. 
He  was  ever  about  some  of  the  improvements 
I  have  mentioned  in  the  commencement  of 
this  paper ;  no  tale  of  misery  from  Castel- 
Censoir  ever  found  his  ear  deaf  or  inattentive. 
In  the  winter  of  1829-30,  one  of  almost 
unexampled  severity,  he  says,  in  a  letter  to 
the  Mayor  of  Castel-Censoir :  " .  .  .  As 
the  severity  of  the  winter  seems  to  be  on  the 
increase,  be  good  enough  to  distribute, 
Monsieur,  as  they  are  needed,  coals,  fuel, 
shoes,  blankets,  and  such  like  :  "  and  he  goes 
on  to  indicate  the  bakers,  drapers,  &c.,  to  be 
dealt  with,  and  the  agents  to  be  drawn  upon 
for  funds.  He  frequently  visited  his  beloved 
birthplace ;  where  he  was,  neither  more  nor 
less  the  counterpart  of  Pope's  '"'Man  of  Eoss ; " 
and,  during  one  of  these  visits,  he  underwent  a 
very  severe  grief.  A  plantation,  his  property, 
was  destroyed  by  fire,  and  rumour  whispered 
that  the  conflagration  was  the  work  of  an 
incendiary.  Edme  Champion  struggled  long 
and  direfully  against  the  doleful  suspicion ; 
but,  one  day,  two  peasants  presented  them- 
selves before  him,  and  intimated  that  they 
were  the  sole  depositories  of  the  secret  of  the 
destruction  of  his  trees.  Eefusing  to  hear 
another  word  of  this  dreadful  confidence,  Little 
Blue  Mantle  dragged  them  into  the  village 
church,  and  made  them  swear,  before  the  altar, 
that  they  would  lock  the  secret,  if  any  existed, 
in  their  own  breasts,  a,nd  never  reveal  it,  save 
under  seal  of  confession  on  their  death-beds. 
Then  he  dismissed  them  with  a  present  of 
money. 

Little  Blue  Mantle  took  frequent  flying 
visits  of  charity  into  other  parts  of  France — 
short  pleasure  trips  of  beneficence.  These 
were  so  numerous,  and  the  good  man  took 
them  so  much  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  few 
can  be  known  but  of  the  immediate  circle  of 
the  parties  concerned.  It  is  related,  however, 
that  on  one  occasion  he  was  informed  of  the 
residence  in  a  small  village  of  an  old  lady,  of 
noble  birth,  who  had  lost  all  her  relations  by 
the  guillotine  ;  and  who,  converting  her  few 
jewels  into  ready  money,  had  retired  to  an 


Charles  Dicken«.J 


THE  FORBIDDEN  LAND. 


431 


obscure  cottage,  where  she  lived  in  great  po- 
verty and  privation.  Almost  paralytic,  she  Avas 
compelled  to  have  recourse  to  the  assistance 
of  an  attendant,  and  engaged  a  delicate  girl, 
some  eighteen  years  of  age,  the  daughter  of 
poor  parents  in  the  neighbourhood.  Constant 
illness  exhausted  the  poor  paralytic's  store, 
when  her  youthful  nurse,  who  already  worked 
at  her  needle  by  day  in  part  support  of  her 
own  family,  devoted  a  greater  portion  of 
every  night  to  work  to  procure  bread  for  her 
helpless  old  charge.  Little  Blue  Mantle  was 
soon  on  the  spot  ;  conversed  with  the  invalid 
and  her  nurse  ;  and  on  leaving,  not  liking  to 
wound  the  delicacy  of  either,  left  a  little  store 
of  gold  pieces  on  the  mantel-piece.  He  re- 
turned in  a  few  weeks,  when  the  young  girl, 
who  was  rapidly  losing  her  health  through 
over  exertion,  handed  him  his  gold,  supposing 
that  he  had  left  it  on  the  mantel-piece  by 
accident.  For  once  Little  Blue  Mantle  re- 
pented of  his  shame- faced  benevolence  ;  had 
he  been  a  little  less  delicate,  this  poor  couple 
would  not  have  been  starving  in  the  midst  of 
plenty.  But  he  succeeded  in  making  the 
poor  needle-worker  accept  his  assistance,  and 
left  directions  with  a  tradesman  in  the  village 
to  watch  over  her,  and  administer  to  her 
wants.  A  few  months  afterwards  he  returned 
again  ;  the  poor  paralytic  was  dead, — and  his 
protegee  ?  She  was  at  the  Chateau.  To  the 
Chateau  went  Little  Blue  Mantle,  and  there 
he  found  a  handsome  young  man,  and  a 
blooming,  well-dressed  young  lady.  The 
squire  had  heard  the  story  of  the  devoted 
little  nurse,  had  become  attached  to  her,  and 
had  married  her.  The  story  is  thoroughly 
French,  and  thoroughly  true  to  French 
nature. 

And  so,  through  long  years,  went  trotting 
about  on  his  Master's  business  Edmo  Cham- 
pion, the  man  in  the  little  blue  mantle.  It 
may  be  objected  that  his  charity  was  indis- 
criminate, and  that  he  may  have  relieved 
rogues  and  vagabonds,  as  well  as  the  virtuous 
poor.  I  am  not  aware  that  he  understood 
anything  about  poor  laws,  old  or  new  ;  about 
prison  discipline,  or  the  workhouse  test ;  or 
that  he  had  the  least  idea  of  political  economy. 
He  was  a  simple  man,  with  little  lore,  but 
surely  with  a  large  heart. 

At  length,  in  extreme  old  age,  he  felt  his 
end  approaching.  Beloved  and  revered  by 
his  family  and  friends,  the  Government 
had  heard  of  his  unobtrusive  merits  and 
awarded  him  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour.  He  took  it  as  he  took  all  things, 
pleasantly  and  thankfully.  He  expressed  a 
few  days  before  his  death  a  longing  to  die  in 
his  native  place — dans  son  pays,  as  the  French 
affectionately  express  it.  Although  not  at- 
tacked with  any  mortal  malady,  he  seemed  to 
know  that  his  time  was  come,  and  said  to  his 
friends,  "  Adieu  !  you  will  see  me  no  more." 
He  had  scarcely  arrived^at  Castel  Censoir, 
when  he  fell  down  dead.  His  end  can  scarcely 
be  called  sudden,  for  it  was  anticipated  and 


prepared  for.  "  He  had  everything  to  hope, 
and  nothing  to  fear."  The  mercy  he  had  so 
often  shown  to  others  seemed  shown  to  him, 
in  sparing  him  the  agonies  of  a  protracted 
struggle  with  death. 

He  sleeps  in  his  quiet  grave,  and  no  monu- 
mental victories  will  sound  trumpets  over  it. 
But  his  fame  is  written  in  that  most  indelible 
of  pages,  the  remembrance  of  the  people  ; 
and  fifty  years  hence,  beneath  the  cotter  or 
the  workman's  roof,  the  garrulous  grannam 
will  gather  the  little  children  round  her 
knee  by  the  bright  fire,  and  when  they  are 
tired — if  children  of  any  growth  ever  can  be 
tired — of  hearing  of  the  exploits  of  kings  and 
conquerors,  tell  them  of  the  good  deeds  of 
Little  Blue  Mantle. 


THE  FOEBIDDEN  LAND. 


IT  is  natural  to  men  to  have  a  strong 
curiosity  about  the  least  known  parts  of  the 
world  they  live  in.  There  are  thousands  of 
children  in  every  country  in  Europe — to  say 
nothing  of  America — whose  hearts  beat  as 
they  read  the  story  of  the  first  voyage  of 
Columbus  ;  and,  when  these  children  grow 
up  to  be  men  and  women,  they  read  the  story 
with  more  and  more  interest  ;  with  not  less 
sympathy  with  the  spirit  of  adventure  of  those 
ancient  mariners,  and  with  a  more  experienced 
sense  of  the  perseverance  and  heroism  which 
accomplished  the  acquisition  of  a  hemisphere. 
The  time  for  such  curiosity  to  be  felt  and  in- 
dulged is  not  over  yet ;  for  there  are  large 
spaces  of  our  globe  which  are  still  almost  un- 
known to  us.  There  are  some,  the  existence 
of  which  is  a  matter  of  little  more  than 
suspicion.  There  are  some  which  have  been 
seen  only  as  a  faint  but  distinct  outline 
against  the  pale  skies  of  the  Southern  Pole. 
There  are  some  which  we  know  only  on  the 
testimony  of  a  ship's  crew  or  two,  who  have 
seen  at  night,  miles  off  across  a  surging  sea, 
volcano  fires  lighting  up  vast  plains  of  snow. 
And  there  is  one  great  country ;  which,  having 
been  familiarly  talked  of  two  or  three  cen- 
turies before  Columbus  looked  abroad  over 
the  Atlantic,  has  since  been  shut  up  from 
observation,  and  has  by  degrees  become  the 
profoundest  secret  of  its  kind  that  is  shrouded 
from  every  eye  but  that  of  heaven.  Its  inha- 
bitants are  compelled  to  let  the  sun  and  stars 
know  about  their  country,  but  they  have 
taken  all  possible  care  that  nobody  else 
shall.  Thibet  is  the  very  Bluebeard's  closet 
of  the  great  round  house  we  live  in.  For 
several  centuries  the  certain  penalty  for 
peeping  and  prying  into  it  has  been  death. 
It  is  supposed,  indeed,  that  Russia  knows 
more  than  she  chooses  to  tell ;  but  whatever 
she  may  know  is  of  no  use  to  anybody  else. 

When  Indian  officers  repair  to  the  skirts 
of  the  Himalaya  mountains  for  coolness  in  the 
summer  months,  they  look  up,  as  generations 
before  them  have  done,  to  the  vast  snowy  peaks 
towering  in  the  sky,  and  feel  how  provoking 


432 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


it  is  to  be  unable  to  learn  anything  of  what 
lies  on  the  other  side.  Now  and  then  a 
botanist,  wandering  on  and  on  through  a  pass, 
has  found  himself  a  prisoner  for  going  beyond 
the  boundary  ;  and  here  and  there  such  a  man 
as  the  German  physician  who  attended  Prince 
Waldemar  of  Prussia,  ventures  to  proceed, 
with  the  most  innocent  air  imaginable,  as  if 
he  never  dreamed  of  trespassing,  and  so 
pleases  and  amuses  the  people  he  meets  that 
they  seem  sorry  to  turn  him  back,  and  go 
some  way  with  him,  to  see  that  he  conies  to 
uo  harm.  Then,  with  what  glee  he  tells  in 
India,  on  his  return,  of  the  people  he  has  seen 
with  sheepskins  on  their  backs,  and  Chinese 
caps  on  their  heads,  and  their  hair  twisted 
into  tails  ;  and  perhaps  of  some  Lama  dwel- 
lings about  a  Buddhist  temple  on  some  hill 
within  view  !  Still,  there  has  ever  remained 
the  mystery — what  any  country  can  be  like 
which  is  formed  in  such  a  way  as  Thibet. 
To  ascend  the  Himalayas  is  a  tremendous 
effort.  The  peaks,  rising  to  twenty-four 
thousand  feet  from  the  plains  of  India,  are,  of 
course,  out  of  reach  ;  the  passes  are  quite 


that  height,  and  some  more.  Now,  the 
strange  thing  is  that  the  traveller,  having 
climbed  these  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  feet, 
finds  Thibet  lying  just  below  him — within  a 
stone's  throw,  one  might  almost  say,  and  at 
the  bottom  of  a  mere  slope.  It  is,  in  fact,  a 
high  table-land,  with  a  temperature  and  pro- 
ductions like  those  of  a  cool  countiy.  If  he 
could  get  leave  to  cross  this  table-land,  he 
would  arrive  at  another  range  of  mountains, 
with  another  high  table-land  on  the  other 
side.  And  again,  there  is  a  third  ;  so  that  in 
the  heart  of  Asia,  between  the  third  range  of 
mountains  and  the  borders  of  Siberia,  there 
is  a  region  of  the  wildest  country,  bristling 
with  glaciers,  with  frozen  torrents  in  the 
ravines,  and  plains  covered  with  snow  for  a 
considerable  part  of  the  year.  If  ever  we 
gain  access  to  this  centre  of  Asia,  there  will 
be  a  new  realm  for  the  descriptive  traveller, 
in  this  grandest  of  the  cold  regions  of  the 


to  marry  her.  He  pleaded  that  he  was  too 
busy  with  his  meditations  ;  but  the  demon 
prevailed  at  last ;  and  their  offspring  peopled 
Thibet,  in  the  form  of  men  more  cunning  and 
imitative  than  any  others. 

It  happens,  however,  that  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church  has  a  disrespectful  opinion 
that  even  the  Thibetiaus  may  be  capable 
of  improvement,  and  formerly,  there  was  a 
French  mission  in  China  —  actually  esta- 
blished at  Peking,  under  sufferance  of  the 
Emperors.  One  Emperor,  however,  could  not 
abide  the  "Christian  infidels,"  as  the  Orientals 
call  Europeans,  and  killed  or  drove  away  all 
he  could  find.  This  was  about  half-a-century 
ago.  Some  of  the  Chinese  converts  made 
their  escape  beyond  the  Great  Wall,  and 
settled  in  the  Land  of  Grass,  as  Tartary  is 
called  in  China.  The  Tartars  allowed  them 
to  cultivate  patches  of  ground  :  and  there  they 
were  found  by  some  French  missionaries. 
No  sooner  did  these  priests  become  acquainted 
with  the  Tartars,  than,  as  they  say,  they  loved 
them — loved  their  simplicity,  their  hospitality, 
their  freedom  from  trickery  and  selfishness. 


formidable    enough,   some   being  about   half  They  longed  to  make  Christians  of  them  ;  and 


earth. 
So, 


for    centuries   now,    Europeans    have 


gazed  up  at  this   high   table-land   from    the 
plains   of  India,  with   a  stronger   desire   to 


know 
moon 


what   was   doing    there    than    iu   the 
but  with  little   more  chance.     There 


is  one  circumstance,  however,  which  the  in- 
habitants of  Thibet  have  contrived  to  make 
known,  for  the  gratification  of  their  national 
pride.  They  are  proud  of  their  origin,  and 
think  that  it  accounts  for  their  being  the 
cleverest  people  in  the  world  ;  of  which  fact 
they  entertain  no  doubt.  They  say  that  God 
sent  down  upon  their  mountains  the  king  of 
the  monkeys,  who  was  so  wise  a  monkey  that 
he  lived  in  a  cave,  and  let  nobody  in,  that  he 
might  meditate  undisturbed.  A  female  demon, 
however,  had  a  mind  to  live  on  the  earth  ;  and 
she  assumed  a  beautiful  form,  and  appeared  in 
the  cave  one  day,  and  asked  the  monkey  king 


they  were  allowed  to  try.  Orders  were  re- 
ceived from  head-quarters  for  two  of  them — 
Messrs.  Hue  and  Gabet — to  travel  further 
into  the  country  wherever  they  could  pene- 
trate, and  see  how  large  a  new  region  might 
be  annexed  to  their  Church.  These  gentlemen 
have  published  their  adventures,  and  it  is  to 
their  book  that  our  readers  are  indebted  for 
this  article. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  order,  the  missionaries 
sent  a  young  convert,  who  had  been  a  Buddhist 
priest,  to  bring  up  some  camels  which  they 
had  sent  out  to  graze,  while  they  finished 
preparing  their  catechisms  and  tracts  in  the 
language  of  the  country — the  Mongol.  At 
best,  the  season  was  rather  late  for  such  a 
journey  ;  but,  moreover,  the  days  passed  on, 
and  the  camels  did  not  appear.  The  mis- 
sionaries were  on  the  point  of  starting  alone 
(for  they  would  not  take  any  Chinese  with. 
them)  into  the  deserts  of  Tartary,  at  the 
beginning  of  winter,  when  their  convert  and 
his  camels  appeared.  Great  was  the  joy,  and 
noisy  the  bustle  among  the  Christians  of  the 
place.  The  blue  linen  tent  was  patched  ;  the 
copper  kettle  was  tinkered  ;  one  man  cut 
wooden  tent-pegs  ;  another  put  new  legs  to 
the  joint-stool ;  others  made  ropes,  and  rolled 
up  the  goat-skins  which  were  to  serve  as  beds. 
At  length  the  trio  set  forth  ;  the  two  priests 
on  a  cainel  and  a  white  horse,  and  their  con- 
vert, whose  very  inconvenient  name  was 
Samdadchiemba,  on  a  black  mule.  (Having 
given  his  name  once  at  length,  we  will  hence- 
forth write  him  clown  S.)  S.  led  two  other 
camels,  which  carried  the  baggage. 

Sometimes  the  travellers  slept  in  their  tent, 
which  was  apt  to  be  very  cold ;  and  some- 
times in  a  house,  which  was  apt  to  be 
extremely  hot  ;  in  fact,  they  slept  on  a 
furnace  when  in  a  native  house.  The  entire 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  FORBIDDEN  LAND. 


433 


household  was  in  one  large  room,  where  all  the 
cooking,  eating,  sleeping,  talking,  and  scolding 
went  on — to  say  nothing  of  smoking  and 
gambling.  In  the  midst  of  the  apartment, 
there  is  always  a  large  raised  counter,  on 
which  everybody  sits  and  lies  down  to  sleep. 
In  one  end  of  this  counter  boilers  are  inserted 
for  the  cooking  ;  and  the  heat  from  the 
furnace  passes  into  the  interior  of  the  "  kang," 
as  the  counter  is  called,  affording  a  warm  bed 
to  everybody.  A  reed  matting,  or  a  floor  of 
planks,  is  spread  under  the  sleeper ;  but  if  he 
do  not  accurately  understand  how  to  place 
the  reeds,  or  the  planks,  he  is  likely  to  be 
"  done  brown "  on  one  side,  while  the  other 
may  chance  to  be  stiff  with  cold.  If  this  is 
cleverly  managed,  there  is  still  much  which  is 
not  exactly  conducive  to  sleep ;  for  instance, 
swarms  of  vermin,  clouds  of  tobacco,  and 
the  fumes  of  burning  dung,  of  garlic,  and 
rancid  oil,  such  as  the  cotton-wick  is  floating 
in.  Then  there  is  the  gossip  of  one  party, 
who  may  like  to  lie  awake  very  late,  chatting 
•over  their  tea  ;  or  of  another,  who  may  prefer 
having  their  tea  in  the  middle  of  the  night ; 
or  of  a  third,  who  may  want  it  before  they  go 
•out  at  daybreak.  On  the  whole,  we  feel  that 
whenever  we  travel  there,  we  shall  prefer  the 
tent,  if  we  can  but  keep  up  any  vital  warmth 
in  us  at  all.  In  a  tent,  one  can  at  least  have 
a  choice  of  posture ;  whereas,  in  a  Tartar 
inn,  the  sleepers  on  a  kang,  if  numerous,  must 
lie  in  a  circle,  with  their  feet  all  together  in 
the  middle.  It  must  be  a  curious  sight  to  the 
spiders  just  over  their  heads.  On  the  first 
night  the  priests  slept  in  their  tent — a  peculiar 
piece  of  business  being  to  be  done  in  the 
morning,  to  which  they  did  not  wish  to  draw 
attention  from  heathens.  They  found  they 
were  not  yet  out  of  reach  of  Chinese  customs, 
for  they  were  roused  from  their  first  doze  by 
ii  horrible  noise,  such  as  scarcely  anything  but 
a  Chinese  gong  could  produce.  It  was  the 
Inspector  of  Darkness,  who  made  such  a  din 
with  his  tam-tam,  that  the  tigers  and  wolves 
all  made  off  at  the  top  of  their  speed.  One 
would  put  up  with  any  noise  for  such  a 
result. 

The  business  which  the  priests  had  to  do  in 
tlie  morning  was  to  change  their  appearance. 
The  Christians  at  the  inn  knew  it,  and  were 
very  unhappy  about  it :  but  the  missionaries 
were  determined  to  assume  a  priestly  dress. 
In  China,  they  had  been  compelled  to  dress 
like  the  laity.  Now,  they  chose  to  dress  like 
the  priests  of  Buddha,  to  secure  respect  to 
their  vocation.  So  S.  flourished  his  razor,  and 
cut  off  the  long  tails  that  hung  down  behind, 
and  shaved  their  crowns.  Then  they  dressed 
themselves  all  in  yellow  and  red,  sent  away 
the  hot  wine  and  the  chafing-dish,  declaring 
that  good  Lamas  renounced  drinking  and 
smoking ;  took  each  a  roll,  steamed  in  the 
furnace,  and  ate  it  beside  a  rivulet,  indulging 
in  the  luxury  of  the  wild  currants  that  grew 
on  the  banks. 

They  were  now  to    leave    all   Christians 


behind,  and  enter  on  the  wilds.  Off  they  set> 
in  their  yellow  gowns,  up  a  tremendous 
mountain,  infested  with  wild  beasts,  and 
robbers,  and  frosts,  and  pitfalls.  Of  all  these 
horrors,  the  thieves  appear  to  be  the  worst — 
they  are  siich  abominable  hypocrites,  with  all 
their  cruelty !  They  speak  very  sweetly  to 
the  traveller,  telling  him  that  they  are  tired, 
and  find  it  rather  cold,  and  have  need  of  his 
horse,  his  cloak,  and  so  on,  till  he  is  absolutely 
stripped  of  everything.  If  he  comply  at 
once,  he  is  humbly  thanked,  and  left  to  die  in 
the  frost.  If  he  refuse,  he  is  at  once  mur- 
dered, which  seems  the  milder  fate  of  the 
two.  The  priests  saw  nothing  of  them,  hap- 
pily, and  arrived  at  the  very  singular  place 
which  may  be  found  at  the  top  of  that  moun- 
tain ;  a  platform,  which  is  a  whole  day's 
journey  in  length  and  breadth,  and  from 
which  the  traveller  can  see,  far  in  the  deserts 
of  Tartary,  the  tents  of  wandering  tribes — 
beehives  in  form,  black  in  colour,  and  ranged 
in  crescents  on  the  slopes  of  rising  grounds. 
Here  must  the  party  encamp  for  the  night ; 
the  first  really  wild  encampment.  They 
were  desperately  afraid  of  the  robbers,  so 
they  chose  a  retired  nook  where  tall  trees 
grew,  and  there  pitched  their  tent,  and  set 
their  great  dog  Arsalan  to  watch.  Some- 
body had  given  them  a  stock  of  paste — like 
vermicelli — which,  boiled  with  parings  of 
bacon,  was  to  make  a  savoury  supper.  When 
the  pot  bubbled,  each  drew  forth  his  wooden 
cup  from  his  girdle,  and  helped  himself :  but 
the  food  was  absolutely  uneatable  ;  so,  as  in 
the  morning,  the  priests  carried  each  a  roll, 
and  went  for  a  walk  ;  and  this  time,  they 
found  some  wild  cherries,  and  a  scarlet  apple 
of  a  pleasant  acid.  As  we  go  on,  we  find  that 
their  commonest  food  was  tea,  thickened  with 
oatmeal.  The  tea  is  a  strong  coarse  kind,  left 
over  when  the  finer  leaves  are  prepared  for 
European  sale.  The  leaves  are  pressed  into 
masses,  called  bricks,  and  thus  carried  all 
over  Central  Asia,  and  into  Russia.  The 
Tartars  knead  oatmeal  into  their  bowl  of  tea, 
with  the  knuckle  of  the  forefinger ;  and  on 
this  mess  they  seem  able  to  live  for  any 
length  of  time.  When  they  can  butter  their 
tea — present  a  bowl  to  a  guest  with  half  an 
inch  of  butter  floating  on  the  surface — that 
is  very  fine  hospitality  indeed.  The  fuel  used 
is  "  argols  " — dried  dung,  which  always 
abounds,  of  course,  in  a  pastoral  country. 
The  argols  of  goats  and  sheep  burn  with  so 
intense  a  heat  as  to  bring  a  bar  of  iron  to  a 
white  heat,  and  leave,  instead  of  ashes,  a 
sort  of  pumice-stone.  Next  come  the  argols 
of  camels,  and  then  those  of  oxen.  Those  of 
horses  and  other  non-ruminating  animals,  are 
the  worst  fuel.  Our  travellers  were  at  times 
half-suffocated  with  the  volumes  of  smoke 
they  sent  out,  while  there  was  little  heat ;  so 
they  kept  this  kind  for  tinder. 

On  the  plateau  where  they  now  were,  stands 
an  Obo  ;  a  pile  of  stones,  where  the  Tartars 
come  to  worship  the  spirit  of  the  mountain. 


434 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Some  devotees  hang  therefrom  bones  and 
strips  of  cloth,  with  inscriptions.  Other  pious 
souls  deposit  money  in  an.  urn  set  for  the 
purpose.  Very  soon  after,  comes  some  other 
pious  soul — Chinese,  however — who  bends  and 
kneels,  and  is  very  busy  about  the  urn,  after 
which  it  is  found  empty  by  the  next  wayfarer. 
After  descending  from  the  plateau,  the  tra- 
vellers journeyed  through  a  region  desolated  by 
tne  possession  of  gold  and  silver  mines.  The 
Chinese  are  very  apt  at  gold  discovery.  The 
form  of  a  hill  tells  them  whether  or  not  to 
look  for  gold.  A  hill  was  found  here,  consist- 
ing mainly  of  rich  ore,  Tradition  asserts 
that  at  the  news,  twelve  thousand  outcasts 
and  bandits  assembled  ;  and  besides  reducing 
the  value  of  gold  in  China  one  half,  they  laid 
waste  the  whole  country  by  their  violence. 
Having  robbed  a  Queen,  oil  pilgrimage,  of  her 
jewels,  she  made  such  bitter  complaints,  that 
the  Tartar  soldiery  were  called  out.  They 
found  the  miners  a  formidable  foe,  but  they 
drove  them  in  at  last.  The  survivors  were 
blocked  up  in  their  mine,  where  they  had 
taken  refuge  ;  and  there  the  starving  wretches 
howled  and  screamed  for  some  days,  before 
their  misery  ceased  in  death.  What  a  spectacle 
that  gold  mine  must  be — with  the  skeletons 
peopling  its  rich  recesses  !  The  few  miners 
who  escaped  death  by  the  sword  and  hunger, 
had  their  eyes  put  out,  and  were  driven  forth 
to  take  their  chance.  This  story  may  seem 
to  some  people  to  show  that  the  discovery  of 
a  gold  field  is  not  always  a  very  happy 
thing.  In  the  present  case,  it  is  not  easy  to 
see  who  was  the  better  for  it. 

On  the  missionaries  went,  now  and  then 
entering  a  town,  but,  for  the  most  part,  en- 
camping in  the  wildest  places  imaginable.  To 
enter  a  town  was  no  easy  matter,  the  streets 
being  such  a  mass  of  putrid  mud  that  the  soft 
feet  of  the  camel  can  take  no  hold,  and  there 
is  every  danger  of  its  falling  on  its  side  ;  in 
which  case  suffocation  is  almost  inevitable. 
As  for  smaller  beasts  of  burden,  they  may  be 
expected  to  sink  and  be  swallowed  up  ;  in 
which  case  the  carcase  remains,  to  aggravate 
the  perpetual  stench  ;  and  the  baggage  does 
not  remain,  if  dexterous  Chinamen  are  at 
hand  to  help  themselves  to  it.  In  towns 
admitting  of  commerce,  the  articles  are 
horses,  oxen,  and  camels  on  the  one  hand, 
and  brick-tea,  tobacco,  linen,  and  some 
common  fabrics  on  the  other.  If  any  Chinese 
who  happened  to  be  in  town  heard  of  the 
arrival  of  the  Lamas  of  the  West,  as  the 
priests  were  called,  they  came  about  the 
strangers,  uttering  the  most  charming  senti- 
ments about  men  being  all  brothers,  and  so 
forth,  the  consequence  of  which  was  usually 
some  outrageous  cheating,  or  other  treachery. 
The  travellers  much  preferred  seeing  a  rough 
Tartar  ride  up  to  their  tent  in  the  wilds,  to 
ask  them  to  cure  his  child  or  his  mother,  or 
to  draw  his  horoscope,  that  he  might  know 
who  had  carried  off  his  horses  ;  or,  possibly, 
to  bring  a  prodigiously  fat  sheep  for  sale  ;  or 


to  beg  some  meal  to  knead  into  his  tea. 
Throughout  the  narrative  the  priests  speak 
with  affection  of  the  kindly  simplicity  of  the 
roving  races,  and  with  indulgence  of  their 
wild  passions,  which,  it  must  be  owned, 
are  less  disagreeable  to  hear*  of  than  the 
mean  faults  attributed  to  the  Chinese.  It 
must  also  be  owned,  however,  that  the 
Chinese  can  hardly  do  anything  worse 
than  some  Tartar  acts  that  we  hear  of 
— for  instance,  the  ceremonial  of  a  funeral 
in  the  case  of  a  chief.  The  expensive  edifice, 
adorned  with  figures  of  the  Buddhist  mytho- 
logy, and  stored  with  treasure,  all  ready 
for  the  next  life,  may  be  no  matter  of 
quarrel  ;  but  when  we  read  how  the  great 
man  is  to  be  attended,  we  certainly  think  the 
plan  as  bad  as  any  ever  made  in  China.  The 
most  beautiful  young  people  that  can  be 
found,  youths  and  maidens,  are  made  to 
swallow  mercury  till  they  are  suffocated — 
the  idea  being  that  people  who  die  in  that 
way  look  fresher  than  any  other  corpses  ;  and 
the  defunct  company  are  then  placed  in  atti- 
tudes round  the  bier — all  standing,  and  one 
holding  the  snuff-phial,  another  the  pipe,  and 
another  the  fan.  In  their  zeal  to  guard  the 
dead,  the  Tartars,  for  once,  are  found  to  excel 
the  Chinese  in  ingenuity.  They  have  invented 
a  bow,  which  may  be  called  a  cluster  of  bows, 
so  formidable  as  a  defence  of  treasure,  that 
Chinamen  come  and  buy  it.  A  series  of  bows 
have  their  arrows  on  the  string,  ready  to  fly. 
The  opening-  of  the  door  of  the  tomb  or 
cavern  discharges  the  first  arrow,  which 
causes  the  discharge  of  the  second,  and  so 
on,  till  the  intruder  becomes  a  very  pincushion. 
It  is  only  the  greatest  men  that  may  be  buried 
in  this  way.  The  next  richest  are  burned  in 
furnaces,  and  their  bones,  powdered,  are 
worked  up  with  meal  into  cakes,  which  are 
piled  into  a  heap  in  the  tomb.  It  is  to  be 
inferred  that  it  is  only  the  very  greatest 
men  who  may  take  snuff  and  smoke  in  the 
next  life.  The  poorest  are  carried  up  to 
the  tops  of  mountains,  or  cast  down  into 
ravines,  with  wolves  and  carrion  birds  for 
their  undertakers.  The  very  best  burial  in  the 
whole  world,  we  are  told,  is  in  the  Lamasery 
(Buddhist  temple)  of  the  Five  Towers. 
Any  one  buried  there  is  sure  of  a  happy 
transmigration;  The  reason  of  the  sanctity  of 
the  Five  Towers  is  that  Buddha  himself  has 
chosen  to  reside,  for  the  last  few  centuries,  in 
the  interior  of  a  mountain  close  by.  A  man 
who  carried  thither  the  bones  of  his  father 
and  mother,  in  1842,  told  the  missionaries 
that  he  had  himself  seen  Buddha  there.  He 
peeped  through  a  very  small  spy-hole  near 
the  top  of  the  mountain,  but,  for  a  time, 
could  see  nothing.  At  length  he  became 
able  to  discern,  in  the  dim  shadow,  the  face 
of  Buddha,  who  was  sitting  cross-legged, 
doing  nothing,  but  receiving  the  worship  of 
his  priests  from  all  countries. 

On  they  went, — these  good  men — meeting 
with  strange  disasters,  which,  however,  they 


Charle.  Dickens.]                                                   THE   FOKBIDDEN   LAND. 

endured     cheerfully     always,     and    joyfully 

not  be  so  good  a  protection  as  he 

when   the   good-  nature   of   the    Tartars  was 

but  they  long  missed  his  compar 

brought    out   by   pressure   of  circumstances. 

day,  though  the  loss  of  his  excelle 

One     day,    they     were     in     great    delight, 

afforded  each  of  them  a  better  me 

at   entering  thickets  of  fir   and   birch,  on  a 

On  they  went,  to  the  great  Ye 

mountain   sifle  :    but  lo  !    before    them,  in 

which  was  in  a  state  of  overflow, 

attitude    of    attack,   were    three    enormous 

must  be  crossed  now,  and  again  fu 

wolves.     S.  wrung  the  noses  of  the  camels, 

for  it  makes  a  vast  loop  here  —  a  j 

which  were  pierced  to  hold  the  bridle  pegs: 

into  the  heart  of  Tartary.      The 

the  camels  sent   forth   horrible   screechings, 

broad  sea  where  the  river  should 

which  scared  the   wolves  :    and   M.   Gabet, 

Having  vowed  to  reach  Lla-Ssa,  th 

rushing  after  them,  to  save  the  dog,  made  so 

Buddhism,  and  set  up  the  cross 

brave  a  hubbub  as  to  put  the  foe  to  flight. 

would  not  go  back.  Going  round  wj 

Great   was  their  joy  one  day  at  meeting  a 

question  ;  and  they  had  not  funds 

hunter,  who  carried  behind  him  a  fine  roebuck. 

them  to  pause.     So  they  prayed,  a. 

They  were  tired  of  oatmeal  and  mutton-fat, 

to  commit  themselves  to   mud  j 

and  their  stomachs  were   out  of  order  for 

They  bought  fodder,  and  rolls  fried 

want  of  better  food.     They  bought  the  roe- 

fat, and  plunged  into  the  slime.    T 

buck  for  two  shillings  and  a  penny,  which  is 

they  told  their  beads  on  a  dike  • 

a  third  of  the  price  of  a  sheep.     With  glee, 

had  managed  to  reach  ;  and  the 

they  stopped  at  noon,  at  a  grassy  spot,  beside 

and  hearts  for  the  beauty  of  the  b 

a  fountain  of  sweet  water  ;  and  there,  under 

shine  on  the  vast  river  on  which 

the  scattered  pine  trees,   set  up  their  tent, 

were  to  be  in  peril  on  the  morrow 

determined    to    make    holiday  ;    and    there 

of  sleeping,  they  were  shivering  w 

did  S.   cut  up    the   deer,  and    cook    some 

night  ;  and,  in   the  morning,  the] 

delectable    venison    steaks.      Down   sat   the 

marshes  sheeted  with  ice.     They 

three   on  the  grass,  with  the  boiler-lid  for 

pasturage   at  last  ;    but  so  exha 

their  dish,  in  the  middle,  hungry  and  happy, 

drowned,  and  plastered  with  mud 

when  they  heard  a  prodigious  noise   over- 

could not  proceed  for   several  c 

head,   and  a  swooping  eagle  pounced  upon 

spent  their  time  in  freeing  their  c 

435 


their  meat,  and  carried  it  off,  dealing  a  smart 
box  on  the  ear  to  S.  as  a  final  insult.  S.  was 
furious  :  but,  happily,  there  was  plenty  more 
venison  hanging  on  a  tree  behind  them. 

At  the  great  city  called  Blue  Town,  they 
lodged  at  the  hotel  of  the  Three  Perfections, 
which  they  did  not  relish  so  well  as  the  hotel 
of  Providence,  as  they  themselves  named  a 
cavern  which  they  discovered  when  in  extreme 
danger  of  being  destroyed  by  a  hurricane. 
They  carried  so  little  money — vowed  to 
poverty  as  they  were — that  there  was 
occasion  ,for  all  their  shrewdness,  and  for  all 
their  contentment  and  cheerfulness,  when 
their  safety — to  say  nothing  of  their  comfort 
—depended  on  their  making  purchases  by  the 
way.  They  went  forth  from  the  Hotel  of 
the  Three  Perfections,  to  buy  winter  clothing, 


and  there 

merriment 

sheepskin   garments,    greasy,   ill-fitting,   and 

sordid,  and  their  fox-skin  caps,  which  were 


is    something    charming    in   the 
with    which    they   tell   of  their 


and   marsh. 


Instead 


They 


swarms  of  lice,  which  had  been  to  them  a  far 
severer  trial  than  wolves  and  hurricanes, 
hunger  or  cold,  fatigue  or  frequent  terror  of 
death.  The  inhabitants  of  the  country,  be- 
lieving that  the  meanest  insect  may  contain 
the  soul  of  the  greatest  man,  kill  nothing  that 
they  can  leave  alive  ;  and  this  imposes  a 
terrible  amount  of  vermin-killing  on  travellers 
who  are  not  Buddhists.  When  this  was  done 
by  our  priests,  and  they  saw  their  linen  drying 
on  the  grass,  they  looked  at  each  other, 
"  radiant  with  satisfaction."  They  took  some 
sleep  at  noon,  for  midnight  was  so  beautiful 
that  they  could  not  tear  themselves  from  the 
observation  of  it.  By  day  all  was  hushed  in 
these  desert  solitudes.  By  night,  a  concourse 
of  aquatic  birds  arrived  from  all  parts  of  the 
heavens,  and,  as  they  descended  upon  the  moon- 
lit pools,  "  tilled  the  air  with  wild  harmony." 
Some  would  have  found  only  discord  in  the 
shrill  cries  of  these  passionate  creatures, 
battling  for  the  tufts  of  marsh  grass  ;  but 


all  that  they  could  afford  themselves  as  a  wherever  there  was  harmony,  however  latent, 
defence  against  the  wintry  storms  that  they  ]  these  missionaries  were  sure  to  hear  it.  It  is 
were  about  to  encounter.  The  landlord  of  |  observable  too,  that  they  tell  us  as  much 
this  triply-perfect  hotel  was  proud  of  his  about  these  birds  as  if  they  were  only 


guests,  and  made  a  merely  nominal  charge, 
stipulating  only  for  their  good  word  on  behalf 
of  his  new  establishment. 

When  they  had  travelled  above  a  month, 
Arsalan,  the  great  dog,  was  missing.  This 
was  a  terrible  loss.  S.  could  account  for  it 
only  by  saying  that  Arsalan  was  Chinese, 
and  that  therefore  it  was  natural  to  him  to 
sneak  out  of  hardship.  The  priests  comforted 
each  other  with  the  consideration  that  Arsalau 
was  so  heavy  a  sleeper  at  flight  that  he  might 


naturalists,   and    had    nothing  but  birds  to 
attend  to. 

And  now  came  the  cold.  The  camels  licked 
the  ice  on  the  river,  when  no  water  could  be 
had.  The  men  would  have  been  frozen  with 
their  clothes  into  statues,  if  one  had  not 
watched  while  the  others  slept,  to  keep  up  a 
great  fire.  The  tent-nails  snapped  like  glass  ; 
the  sand  of  the  desert  had  suddenly  become 
sandstone,  and  would  not  receive  the  pegs,  or, 
when  in,  let  them  out,  without  the  application 


436 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  boiling  water.  On  went  the  travellers,  over 
bare,  frozen  mountains,  whose  summits  were  in 
the  clouds.  The  beasts  dragged  on  with  bleed- 
ing feet.  The  men  were  too  rnuoh  occupied 
with  the  fantastic  scene  to  care  for  their  toil ! 
They  crossed  the  Yellow  River  again,  and 
dipped  into  China,  resting  now  at  the  Hotel 
of  Justice  and  Mercy,  and  again  at  the  Inn.  of 
the  Five  Felicities,  to  obtain  strength  to  pro- 
ceed at  all.  Then  again  through  the  Great 
Wall,  which  stretched  out  and  away  over  the 
hills,  and  on  to  the  brink  of  the  Blue  Sea — 
the  vast  expanse,  three  hundred  miles  in 
circumference,  whose  waters  are  like  those  of 
the  sea,  and  exhibit  tides  with  the  same  regu- 
larity, sequestered  as  it  is  in  the  heart  of  the 
largest  continent  of  our  globe.  Our  tra- 
vellers have  leisure  for  a  joke  at  the  "  fiddle- 
faddle  shepherds  of  Virgil,"  twining  flowers. 
and  piping  through  reeds,  in  contrast  with 
the  bearded,  well-armed,  stalwart  shepherds 
who  guard  their  flocks  from  the  brigands  on 
the  margin  of  the  Blue  Sea. 

The  signs  of  Buddhist  worship  multiply  as 
the  priests  advance  towards  Lla-Ssa,  where 
they  hope  to  see  the  Grand  Lama,  and  to  do 
greab  things.  There  are  mountains  to  cross 
which  can  be  attempted  only  in  company  with 
a  caravan ;  so  they  dwell  in  a  Lamasery,  among 
priests  and  students,  till  the  great  caravan 
arrives  ;  and  every  day  the  likeness  between 
their  own  faith  and  that  which  they  are  come 
to  overthrow  grows  upon  them,  and  fills  them 
with  hope  and  new  courage.  And  they  have 
need  of  all  the  courage  that  can  be  had.  Their 
track  over  the  huge  mountain  chain  is  strewn 
as  they  go  with  frozen  beasts,  and  with  not  a 
few  bodies  of  men,  who  cannot  be  warmed, 
and  must  die  as  they  fall.  M.  Gabet  survived 
with  difficulty,  and  only  by  the  incessant  care 
of  his  comrades.  Brigands  were  on  the  watch, 
and  there  was  a  battle.  There  was  a  region 
of  foul  air  among  the  mountains,  which  it 
required  the  most  determined  courage  to  get 
through  ;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  the 
snow-drifts  which  overtook  the  caravan.  As 
soon  as  they  got  down  to  the  grass  again, 
there  was  a  fire  in  the  camp  ;  and  in  the  first 
town  there  was  a  population  of  thieves,  which 
left  no  hope  of  repose  to  the  traveller.  The 
hearts  of  the  missionaries  do  not  appear  to 
have  drooped  ;  but  that  of  the  reader  does,  till 
he  finds  that  Lla-Ssa  is  now  not  far  off. 

They  did  get  there  at  last,  then  1  Yes,  they 
did.  And  how  was  it  with  them  when  they 
had  reached  their  goal  1  They  did  not  see 
the  Grand  Lama.  The  fear  was  that — (the 
priests  have  written  it,  so  we  may) — this  god 
incarnate  should  catch  the  small- pox,  which 
was  known  to  have  been  in  the  caravan.  But 
all  else  seemed  to  go  well.  The  missionaries 
were  protected  and  honoured  by  the  Thibetian 
authorities,  and  the  priests  of  Buddha,  high 
and  low.  They  set  up  their  crucifix,  and 
dressed  their  altar,  and  put  on  their  sacred 

garments,  and  felt  that  their  work  was  so  well 
eguu  as  to  be  half  done.    Their  hearts  were 


singing  for  joy  when  the  devil  overthrew  their 
work — the  devil  in  the  shape  of  our  old 
enemy,  the  Chinese  Commissioner,  Ki-Chan, 
who  was  Viceroy  of  Canton  when  the  war 
broke  out,  and  who  failed  in  his  negociations 
for  peace  with  the  English.  This  able  man 
was  recovering  from  his  disgraces  in  1846, 
and  was  envoy  at  Lla-Ssa  when  the  mission- 
aries arrived  there.  In  order  to  please  his 
Emperor,  who  could  not  relish  having 
Europeans  beyond  his  frontier  in  the  heart  of 
Asia,  Ki-Chan  determined  that  the  strangers 
should  leave  Lla-Ssa.  The  grieved  Thibetians 
had  no  power  to  resist.  They  could  only 
testify  their  good-will  by  every  method,  open 
or  secret  (but  especially  secret),  that  they 
could  devise.  The  missionaries  could  not 
obtain  leave  to  shape  their  journey  by  the 
way  of  Calcutta ;  but  they  were  conveyed  with 
as  much  convenience  and  honour  as  could  be 
commanded  by  the  long  route  to  China  and 
through  it.  For  the  sake  of  their  faith  and 
its  future  prospects  (they  say),  they  battled 
stoutly  for  their  dignity  and  convenience : 
and  when  they  had  obtained  it,  they  enjoyed 
it  with  the  glee  of  a  couple  of  school-boys,  out 
on  a  half-holiday.  The  first  part  of  the 
journey,  over  the  mountain  region  which 
guards  the  Chinese  frontier,  was  necessarily 
formidable — full  of  danger  and  hardship. 
Once  in  China,  they  called  for  their  palan- 
keens, and  travelled  luxuriously,  at  the  public 
expense,  across  the  whole  breadth  of  China. 

They  never  gave  up ; — never  thought  of 
this  interruption  as  more  than  a  suspension  of 
their  mission.  And  they  were  right.  They 
are  gone  back  to  their  work,  after  having 
sent  a  spirited  appeal  to  their  own  govern- 
ment, and  undergone  an  examination  before 
the  Grand  Mandarins  of  the  Celestial  Empire. 

"  WHO  MURDERED  DOWNIE  1 " 


ABOUT  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
whenever  any  student  of  the  Marischal  College, 
Abei'deen,  incurred  the  displeasure  of  the 
humbler  citizens,  he  was  assailed  with  the 
question,  "  Who  murdered  Downie  1 "  Reply 
and  rejoinder  generally  brought  on  a  collision 
between  "  town  and  gown ;  "  although  the 
young  gentlemen  were  accused  of  what  was 
chronologically  impossible.  People  have  aright 
to  be  angry  at  being  stigmatised  as  murderers, 
when  their  accusers  have  probability  on  their 
side ;  but  the  "taking  off"  of  Downie  occurred 
when  the  gownsmen,  so  maligned,  were  iu 
swaddling  clothes. 

But  there  was  a  time,  when  to  be  branded 
as  an  accomplice  in  the  slaughter  of  Richard 
Downie,  made  the  blood  run  to  the  cheek  of 
many  a  youth,  and  sent  him  home  to  his 
books,  thoughtful  and  subdued.  Downie  was 
sacrist  or  janitor  at  Marischal  College.  One 
of  his  duties  consisted  in  securing  the  gate  by 
a  certain  hour ;  previous  to  which  all  the 
students  had  to  assemble  in  the  common  hall, 
where  a  Latin  prayer  was  delivered  by  the 


Charles  Dickens. J 


WHO  MUEDEEED  DOWNIE  ? 


437 


principal.  Whether,  in  discharging  this  func- 
tion, Downie  was  more  rigid  than  his  pre- 
decessor in  office,  or  whether  he  became 
stricter  in  the  performance  of  it  at  one  time 
than  another,  cannot  now  be  ascertained ; 
but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  closed  the 
gate  with  austere  punctuality,  and  that 
those  who  were  not  in  the  common  hall 
within  a  minute  of  the  prescribed  time,  were 
shut  out,  and  were  afterwards  reprimanded 
and  fined  by  the  principal  and  professors. 
The  students  became  irritated  at  this  strict- 
ness, and  took  every  petty  means  of  annoying 
the  sacrist ;  he,  in  his  turn,  applied  the  screw 
at  other  points  of  academic  routine,  and  a 
fierce  war  soon  began  to  rage  between  the 
collegians  and  the  humble  functionary. 
Downie  took  care  that  in  all  his  proceedings 
lie  kept  within  the  strict  letter  of  the  law  ; 
but  his  opponents  were  not  so  careful,  and 
the  decisions  of  the  rulers  were  uniformly 
against  them,  and  in  favour  of  Downie. 
Beprhnands  and  fines  having  failed  in  pro- 
ducing due  subordination,  rustication,  sus- 
pension, and  even  the  extreme  sentence  of 
expulsion  had  to  be  put  in  force  ;  and,  in  the 
end,  law  and  order  prevailed.  But  a  secret 
and  deadly  grudge  continued  to  be  enter- 
tained against  Downie.  Various  schemes  of 
revenge  were  thought  of. 

Downie  was,  in  common  with  teachers  and 
taught,  enjoying  the  leisure  of  the  short  New 
Year's  vacation — the  pleasure  being  no  doubt 
greatly  enhanced  by  the  annoyances  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected  during  the  recent  bick- 
erings— when,  as  he  was  one  evening  seated 
with  his  family  in  his  official  residence  at  the 
gate,  a  messenger  informed  him  that  a  gen- 
tleman at  a  neighbouring  hotel  wished  to  speak 
with  him.  Downie  obeyed  the  summons,  and 
was  ushered  from  one  room  into  another,  till  at 
length  he  found  himself  in  a  large  apartment 
hung  with  black,  and  lighted  by  a  solitary 
candle.  After  waiting  for  some  time  in  this 
strange  place,  about  fifty  figures  also  dressed 
in  black,  and  with  black  masks  on  their  faces, 
presented  themselves.  They  arranged  them- 
selves in  the  form  of  a  Court,  and  Downie, 
pale  with  terror,  was  given  to  understand 
that  he  was  about  to  be  put  on  his  trial. 

A  judge  took  his  seat  on  the  bench  ;  a  clerk 
and  public  prosecutor  sat  below  ;  a  jury  was 
empanelled  in  front ;  and  witnesses  and  spec- 
tators stood  around.  Downie  at  first  set 
down  the  whole  affair  as  a  joke  ;  but  the  pro- 
ceedings were  conducted  with  such  persistent 
gravity,  that,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  began  to 
believe  in  the  genuine  mission  of  the  awful 
tribunal.  The  clerk  read  an  indictment, 
charging  him  with  conspiring  against  the 
liberties  of  the  students ;  witnesses  were 
examined  in  due  form,  the  public  prosecu- 
tor addressed  the  jury ;  and  the  judge 
summed  up. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Downie,  "  the  joke  has 
been  carried  far  enough — it  is  getting  late, 
and  my  wife  and  family  will  be  getting 


anxious  about  me.  If  I  have  been  too  strict 
with  you  in  time  past,  I  am  sorry  for  it,  and 
I  assure  you  I  will  take  more  care  in 
future." 

"  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  said  the  judge, 
without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to  tliis 
appeal,  "  consider  your  verdict ;  and,  if  you 
wish  to  retire,  do  so." 

The  jury  retired.  During  their  absence 
the  most  profound  silence  was  observed  ;  and 
except  renewing  the  solitary  caudle  that  burnt 
beside  the  judge,  there  was  not  the  slightest 
movement. 

The  jury  returned  and  recorded  a  verdict 
of  GUILTY. 

The  judge  solemnly  assumed  a  huge  black 
cap,  and  addressed  the  prisoner. 

"  Eichard  Downie  !  The  jury  have  unani- 
mously found  you  guilty  of  conspiring  against 
the  just  liberty  and  immunities  of  the  students 
of  Marischal  College.  You  have  wantonly 
provoked  and  insulted  those  inoffensive  lieges 
for  some  months,  and  your  punishment  will 
assuredly  be  condign.  You  must  prepare  for 
death.  In  fifteen  minutes  the  sentence  of  the 
Court  will  be  carried  into  effect." 

The  judge  placed  his  watch  on  the  bench. 
A  block,  an  axe,  and  a  bag  of  sawdust 
were  brought  into  the  centre  of  the  room.  A 
figure  more  terrible  than  any  that  had  yet 
appeared  came  forward,  and  prepared  to  act 
the  part  of  doomster. 

It  was  now  past  midnight,  there  was  no 
sound  audible  save  the  ominous  ticking  of  the 
judge's  watch.  Downie  became  more  and 
more  alarmed. 

"  For  any  sake,  gentlemen,"  said  the  ter- 
rified man,  "  let  me  home.  I  promise 
that  you  never  again  shall  have  cause  for 
complaint." 

"  Eichard  Downie,"  remarked  the  judge, 
"you  are  vainly  wasting  the  few  moments 
that  are  left  you  on  earth.  You  are  in  the 
hands  of  those  who  must  have  your  life.  No 
human  power  can  save  you.  Attempt  to 
utter  one  cry,  and  you  are  seized,  and  your 
doom  completed  before  you  can  utter  another. 
Every  one  here  present  has  sworn  a  solemn 
oath  never  to  reveal  the  proceedings  of  this 
night ;  they  are  known  to  none  but  our- 
selves ;  and  when  the  object  for  which  we 
have  met  is  accomplished,  Ave  shall  disperse 
unknown  to  any  one.  Prepare,  then,  for 
death ;  other  five  minutes  will  be  allowed, 
but  no  more." 

The  unfortunate  man  in  an  agony  of  deadly 
terror  raved  and  shrieked  for  mercy;  but  the 
avengers  paid  no  heed  to  his  cries.  His 
fevered,  trembling  lips  then  moved  as  if  in 
silent  prayer  ;  for  he  felt  that  the  brief  space 
between  him  and  eternity  was  but  as  a  few 
more  tickings  of  that  ominous  watch. 

"  Now  !  "  exclaimed  the  judge. 

Four  persons  stepped  forward  and  seized 
Downie,  on  whose  features  a  cold  clammy 
sweat  had  burst  forth.  They  bared  his  neck, 
and  made  him  kneel  before  the  block. 


438 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[.Conducted  by 


"  Strike  !  "  exclaimed  the  judge. 

The  executioner  struck  the  axe  on  the 
floor  ;  an  assistant  on  the  opposite  side  lifted 
at  the  same  moment  a  wet  towel,  and  struck 
it  across  the  neck  of  the  recumbent  criminal. 
A  loud  laugh  announced  that  the  joke  had 
at  last  come  to  an  end. 

But  Downie  responded  not  to  the  uproarious 
merriment — they  laughed  again — but  still  he 
movtd  not — they  lifted  him,  and  Downie  was 
dead  ! 

Fright  had  killed  him  as  effectually  as  if 
the  axe  of  a  real  headsman  had  severed  his 
head  from  his  body. 

It  was  a  tragedy  to  all.  The  medical 
students  tried  to  open  a  vein,  but  all  was 
over  ;  and  the  conspirators  had  now  to  be- 
think themselves  of  safety.  They  now  in 
reality  swore  an  oath  among  themselves  ;  and 
the  affrighted  young  men,  carrying  their  dis- 
guises with  them,  left  the  body  of  Downie 
lying  in  the  hotel.  One  of  their  number 
told  the  landlord  that  their  entertainment 
was  not  yet  quite  over,  and  that  they  did 
not  wish  the  individual  that  was  left  in  the 
room  to  be  disturbed  for  some  hours.  This 
was  to  give  them  all  time  to  make  their 
escape. 

Next  morning  the  body  was  found.  Judi- 
cial inquiry  was  instituted,  but  no  satisfactory 
result  could  be  arrived  at.  The  corpse  of  poor 
Downie  exhibited  no  mark  of  violence  internal 
or  external.  The  ill-will  between  him  and  the 
students  was  known  :  it  was  also  known  that 
the  students  had  hired  apartments  in  the 
hotel  for  a  theatrical  representation — that 
Downie  had  been  sent  for  by  them ;  but 
beyond  this,  nothing  was  known.  No  noise 
had  been  heard,  and  no  proof  of  murder  could 
be  adduced.  Of  two  hundred  students  at  the 
college,  who  could  point  out  the  guilty  or 
suspected  fifty  1  Moreover,  the  students  were 
scattered  over  the  city,  and  the  magistrates 
themselves  had  many  of  their  own  families 
amongst  the  number,  and  it  was  not  desirable 
to  go  into  the  affair  too  minutely.  Downie's 
widow  and  family  were  provided  for — and 
his  slaughter  remained  a  mystery ;  until,  about 
fifteen  years  after  its  occurrence,  a  gentleman 
on  his  death-bed  disclosed  the  whole  par- 
ticulars, and  avowed  himself  to  have  belonged 
to  the  obnoxious  class  of  students  who  mur- 
dered Downie. 


CHIPS. 


WHAT   GODFATHERS  HAVE  DONE  FOR 
OMNIBUSES. 

WE  are  often  puzzled  to  know  what  our 
godfathers  have  done  for  us :  we  know 
exactly  how  much  they  promised — we  have 
even  grateful  glimpses  of  a  silver  mug ; 
but  we  are  at  a  loss  to  know  the  precise 
amount  of  moral  culture  —  the  particular 
quality  of  instruction  with  which  they  favored 


us.  Omnibuses  labour  under  the  same 
disadvantage  as  that  of  which  individuals 
complain.  But  those  have  godfathers  who 
positively  do  them  harm,  by  painting  upon 
the  panels  they  are  to  wear  through  life,  names 
the  most  romantic  and  the  most  absurd.  I 
came  to  London  in  ignorance  of  its  streets 
and  its  suburbs.  I  knew  nothing  of  Vaux- 
hall  ;  I  was  a  stranger  to  the  charms  of  Green- 
wich ;  I  had  only  dreamt  of  Blackwall  and 
whitebait ;  and  my  notions  concerning  the 
direction  of  Camden  Town  were  of  the  haziest. 
I  was  told  that  I  need  not  fear,  inasmuch  as, 
by  keeping  in  the  principal  thoroughfares,  I 
should  always  find  omnibuses  that  would 
convey  me  to  any  quarter  of  the  great  city. 
But  I  soon  discovered  that  I  had  been 
misled. 

The  first  day  I  walked  along  the  Strand,  I 
was  bound  for  St.  John's  Wood,  and  was 
told  that  I  had  only  to  look  out  for  an 
omnibus  proceeding  to  this  suburb  to  effect 
my  object.  Accordingly  I  looked  about. 
First  came  by  the  Favourite,  but  why  the 
favourite  ?  Had  it  won  an  omnibus  race,  and 
was  now  bound  on  another  ?  Then  followed 
Jones  !  Jones  ! — by  its  speed  it  seemed  to  be 
bound  for  the  whereabouts  of  Davy  Jones  : 
but  why  Jones  ?  Is  Jones  a  great  public 
character  who  has  given  his  name  to  a 
London  suburb  1  I  had  not  recovered  my 
surprise  at  the  Jones  omnibus  before  the 
Times  appeared.  It  was  a  green  omnibus, 
on  its  way,  I  learnt,  on  minute  investigation, 
not  to  Blackfriars,  but  to  Westminster  Bridge. 
Its  peculiar  relation  to  the  present  state 
of  affairs  in  this  or  any  other  country,  I  could 
not  apprehend.  Close  behind  the  Times  came 
the  Shepherd — I  thought  that  meant  for 
Shepherd's  Bush — but  I  am  not  clear  on  the 
matter  even  now.  The  Shepherd  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  Paragon  of  omnibuses — a  very 
dusty  vehicle.  Presently  the  Atlas  came  in 
sight.  I  thought  this  belonged  to  a  company 
plying  to  the  most  classical  part  of  London, 
but  it  flew  past  with  its  bright-green  panels  ; 
and  I  resolved  to  make  my  way  to  Fenchurch 
Street — there  to  proceed  per  train  to  Camden 
Town,  whence  I  would  walk  to  St.  John's 
Wood.  This  I  achieved  by  the  aid  of  a  new 
cheap  omnibus,  christened  Bank,  in  unmis- 
takeable  letters  on  one  of  its  panels.  On  my 
way  to  Fenchurch  Street,  I  noticed  many  other 
omnibuses,  strangely  and  foolishly  christened. 
There  was  the  Tally-ho  !  Surely,  I  thought, 
this  must  be  a  vehicle  which  carries  the 
sporting  cockney  to  the  meet  of  the  Brixton 
harriers  or  to  the  Camden  fox-hounds  that 
uncover  at  the  Mother  Eed  Cap.  There  was 
the  Enchantress — which  I  set  down  at  once 
as  in  the  possession  of  some  suburban  temple 
of  the  Muses.  There  was  the  British  Queen — 
of  course  an  omnibus  running  to  Buckingham 
Palace.  There  was  the  Nelson — bound,  of 
course,  for  the  Nelson  column  at  Charing 
Cross.  These  were  my  decisions :  but  on 
inquiry  I  found  that  the  British  Queen  be- 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GOSSIP  OF  LEBANON. 


439 


longed  to  Peckhara,  and  dwelt  near  the 
Enchantress  ;  and  that  the  Nelson  never  got 
further  west  than  Fleet  Street. 

Thus  it  appears  to  me  that  godfathers 
have  been  playing  absurd  games  with  omni- 
buses;.  that  the  sooner  they  find  useful  names 
for  their  vehicles  the  better,  both  for  the 
public  and  for  themselves.  Let  them  take 
counsel  of  the  Putney,  the  Chelsea,  and  the 
Kensington  proprietors. 


THE  GOSSIP  OP  LEBANON. 

THERE  is  village  gossip  everywhere.  I  was 
for  some  time  domesticated  in  the  village  of 
Betela  on  the  Lebanon,  and  there  we  had  our 
gossip — certainly  we  had.  Would  you  believe 
that  the  wife  of  sheik  Useph  (the  chief  of  the 
Druse  sheiks  among  us)  met  my  wife  one  day 
at  the  house  of  a  mutual  friend,  and  said  she 
to  my  wife,  "  Why  have  you  lived  so  long  in 
our  village  •without  calling  to  see  me." 
"  Being  a  stranger  here,"  my  wife  answered, 
"  I  thought  it  was  not  nay  place  to  pay  the 
first  visit."  "  Oh  !  "  answered  Madam  Useph, 
very  quickly,  "  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that 
/  could  think  of  calling  upon  you,  because  you 
reside  in  that  portion  of  the  village  belonging 
to  the  younger  branch  of  sheiks."  My  wife, 
understanding  this,  called  upon  the  good  lady 
on  the  following  day,  and  was  warmly  wel- 
comed ;  refreshment  was  offered  her  of  pipes, 
coffee,  sherbet,  and  sweetmeats  ;  but  during 
the  whole  of  our  stay  on  the  Lebanon  we  were 
not  honoured  with  a  return  visit  from  Madam 
Useph. 

I  never  could  understand  very  much,  from 
talk  we  had  in  Betela,  of  the  Druse  religion. 
I  believe  it  is  a  dark  subject  with  most 
people,  and  there  is  not  much  light  thrown 
on  it  in  books.  The  vulgar  seem  to  be 
profane,  the  common  Druse  has  no  religion, 
but  confides  the  practice  of  it  as  wholly 
to  the  priests  as  we  confide  to  a  standing 
army  (or  a  volunteer  militia)  the  business 
of  war.  Once  iipou  a  time,  about  eight 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  there  was  a 
man  named  Hakim-be-Aonrehi,  of  Cairo, 
one  of  the  family  of  Fatimists,  caliphs  of 
Bagdad.  Hakim  preached  a  sort  of  doctrine 
•which  Derussi  pronounced  admirable,  Hakim- 
be-Aonrehi  died,  Derussi  preached,  and  his 
followers  were  Derussis  or  Druses.  But  his 
followers  were  very  few  in  Cairo,  so  he  went 
into  Syria,  and  settled  at  last  on  the  Libanus, 
where  he  found  people  willing  to  accept  him 
for  a  prophet.  The  people  who  were  profited 
by  the  prophet  Derussi  liked  his  easy  doctrine, 
that  they  had  nothing  at  all  to  do.  I  believe 
that  there  exist  to  this  day  among  the  Druses 
no  places  of  common  worship,  and  few  forms 
or  ceremonies.  A  few  individuals  who  are 
called  "  Acal,"  or  the  Initiated,  act  as  priests, 
and  are  obliged  to  conform  to  certain  habits, 
and  submit  to  some  restrictions.  If  one  of 
these  religious  men,  for  example,  should 
chance  to  have  an  estate  or  money  bequeathed 


to  him,  he  is  obliged  to  satisfy  his  conscience 
by  exchanging  it  for  something  else,  equal  in 
value,  of  which  he  can  be  quite  sure1  that  it 
has  never  passed  through  wicked  hands.  A 
Mussulman  abhors  a  Druse  more  than  a 
Christian.  One,  he  says,  has  a  religion,  and 
does  worship  the  true  God  :  the  other  has 
no  religion,  and  is  worse,  therefore,  than, 
a  dog. 

It  is  wrong,  however,  to  say,  that  the  Druse 
priests  have  no  ceremonies.  One  night  the 
child  of  a  sheik  died  in  our  village.  At  day- 
break it  was  laid  out  and  buried.  The  burial 
was  in  this  fashion.  The  corpse  went  first 
upon  a  cushion,  the  little  child  decently 
covered  with  a  yellow  handkerchief.  Beside 
the  corpse  walked  half-a-dozen  priests,  in, 
flowing  beards,  wearing  enormous  white  tur- 
bans and  blue  robes.  All  the  sheiks  in. 
the  village  followed,  howling  mournfully. 
No  women  were  present.  The  tomb  to  which 
they  travelled  was  a  vault  hollowed  out  of  the 
road-side  rock,  belonging  to  the  elder  branch 
of  sheiks.  When  it  was  reached,  the  body 
was  set  down  before  the  entrance,  and  the 
priests,  forming  a  circle  around  it,  began  a 
series  of  prayers,  accompanied  with  many 
gestures,  and  varied  occasionally  with  a  dirge. 
The  gestures  consisted  in  holding  the  hands 
together  before  the  face  after  the  manner  of 
an  open  book,  resting  them  on  the  turban, 
touching  the  forehead  and  cheeks,  and  finally 
resolved  themselves  always  into  a  vigo- 
rous stroking  of  the  beard.  The  body  was 
then  taken  into  the  vault  and  placed  in  a 
wooden,  box  or  coffin.  This  having  been 
done,  the  pi'iests  re-assembled  outside,  and 
seating  themselves  in  a  circle,  concluded 
the  ceremony  with  a  prayer.  During  the 
service  the  followers,  who  formed  a  frame- 
work to  the  whole  scene,  stood  or  sat,  as 
it  pleased  them,  smoking  their  long  pipes, 
and  accompanying  each  whiff  with  a  me- 
lancholy moan. 

Poor  child  !  I  do  not  wonder  that  it  died. 
I  wonder  how  any  children  lived  that  were 
born  in  our  village.  I  used  to  look  with, 
wonder  at  the  sugar-loaf  heads  of  the  Arabs, 
when  they  lifted  up  their  fez  or  turban.  The 
heads  were  all  well-shaven,  except  that  there 
was  left  a  small  top-knot  of  hair — for  the 
convenience  of  those  who  would  have  here- 
after to  pull  them  up  to  heaven — so  on  the 
shaven  heads  one  could  not  but  remark  with, 
surprise  the  conical  shape.  I  nearly  found  to 
my  cost  how  this  was  managed  by  the  com- 
pression of  the  skull  in  infancy.  A  little  son 
came  to  me  on  the  Lebanon,  whose  Arab 
nurse  has  never  ceased  to  grieve  that  she 
was  not  allowed  to  make  him  a  complete 
beauty. 

The  souls  of  good  men  and  children  when 
they  die,  go,  said  the  Druses  of  our  village, 
into  the  bodies  of  free  beasts — gazelles,  hares, 
foxes :  those  of  the  wicked  inhabit  beasts  of 
burden,  so  that  they  may  get  well  beaten. 
I  once  saw  a  poor  horse  in  another  village  oa 


440 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  Lebanon,  against  whom  everybody  seemed 
to  feel  a  spite.  Some  kicked,  some  beat,  some 
stoned  it.  I  was  sadly  puzzled  to  account  for 
so  much  wanton  cruelty,  until  a  friendly 
mountaineer  informed  me  that  the  body  of 
the  horse  was  known  to  contain  the  soul  of  a 
very  wicked  old  Turk,  against  whom,  as  a 
Turk,  nobody  dared  lift  a  finger,  but  for 
whom  everybody  had  a  stick  at  hand  now 
that  the  strutting  son  of  Turkey  had  become 
a  horse.  In  Egypt,  I  remember,  there  is  a 
belief  that  certain  small  white  lizards, 
common  in  a  house,  incorporate  the  souls 
of  wicked  donkey-drivers.  This  superstition 
has  ai'isen  out  of  a  resemblance  between 
the  sound  made  by  the  harmless  little  lizard, 
and  the  click  of  the  tongue  with  which  it 
is  common  for  drivers  to  urge  on  an  ass  or 
horse. 

The  Arabs  in  our  village  were  a  lazy  set  of 
people,  but  with  no  industry  could  I  ever 
learn  to  imitate  their  luxurious  method  of 
drinking.  They  have  an  earthen  bottle,  called 
a  "  goula,"  with  a  small  round  pipe  by  way  of 
spout,  and  they  will  take  this  goula  full  of 
water,  hold  it  above  them  at  arm's  length, 
throw  their  heads  back  beneath  it,  open  their 
mouths  gently,  and  let  the  water  trickle  down 
their  throats  in  a  continual  stream.  They 
will  slip,  in  this  way,  more  than  a  pint  of 
water  down  their  throats  like  oil,  without 
closiug  their  lips,  or  making  any  visible  move- 
ment of  deglutition.  What  the  physiologists 
may  say  I  do  not  know.  The  fact  is  a  fact, 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  I  choked  myself,  like  a 
goose,  very  seriously,  in  an  ambitious  attempt 
to  drink  like  a  Druse. 

As  for  the  laziness  of  Druses.  I  will  give 
you  a  good  notion  of  that — an  unexaggerated 
fact.  One  day,  while  I  was  sporting  among 
the'  mountains,  I  came  upon  some  men  who 
were  making  a  stone  hedge,  while  there  were 
others  digging  a  ditch  in  soil  of  the  lightest 
kind — mere  loose  mould.  They  were  at  work 
with  wooden  spades  of  ordinary  size,  and  to 
each  spade  there  were  allowed  three  men ! 
Two  men  were  at  the  handle,  and  to  the  lower 
part  of  the  handle  ropes  were  attached,  by 
which  a  third  man  helped  the  other  two  in 
lifting  up  the  spadeful  of  soil.  How  many 
Druses  make  a  nawie  ? 


A  HOUSEHOLD  WOED 

TO   MY   COUSIN   HELEX. 

PLEASANT  are  thine  eyes,  clear  Helen, 

Sunny,  soft,  and  kind  ; 
Of  a  true  warm  heart  the  token, 

And  a  quiet  mind. 
Few  have  seen  their  looks  of  welcome, 

Few  thy  heart  hath  known, 
Round  thee  dwelling,  sisters,  kindred, 

All  thou  call'st  "  thine  own." 
Cherished  yet, — a  scarce-fledged  nestliug- 

By  the  Parent  Dove, 
Still  thy  soft  glance,  where  it  falleth, 

Meeteth  love  for  love ! 


But,  when  thou  shalt  pass  the  portals 

Of  thy  childish  years, 
When  the  narrow  circle  widens 

Of  thy  hopes  and  fears, 
When  great  crowds  of  alien  faces 

Those  sweet  eyes  shall  see, 
When  "  the  World  "  shall  greet  thee,  Helen,. 

Then,  how  shall  it  be  ? 

As  the  Sun,  at  early  morning, 

Sees  the  leaden  streams 
Glisten  with  a  tender  radiance 

Borrowed  from  his  beams ; — 
As  the  Moon,  at  midnight  shining, 

On  the  sad  grey  waves, — 
Sees  her  own  smile  onward  creeping 

To  the  dark  sea-caves  ; 
As  an  Angel's  presence  lighteth  , 

Dull  and  common  ground  ; — 
So  the  spirit  of  thy  childhood 

Still  shall  linger  round 
When  thy  untried  steps  shall  wander 

Forth  from  HOME'S  calm  roof ; 
Goodness  shall  be  there  to  guide  thee, 

Evil,  stand  aloof. 
Still  those  eyes  shall  keep  their  sunshine 

Free  from  crime  or  care, 
Still  be  gently  raised  to  Heaven 

Full  of  Jove  and  prayer  ; 
And  the  coldest,  the  most  worldly, 

Pronest  to  condemn, 
Can  but  look  upon  thee  kindly, — 

As  thou  look'st  on  them  ! 


FEENCH  PEOVINCIAL  NEWS. 


AN  Englishman  is  so  spoiled  by  the  freedom, 
the  ability,  and  the  voluminousness  of  his  own 
country  newspapers — for  we  will  now  leave 
London  and  Paris  out  of  the  question — that 
he  will  hardly  condescend  to  take  up  one  of 
those  flimsy,  brief,  and  (so  to  speak)  silent 
journals,  which  he  sees  now  and  then  during 
his  progress  on  the  Continent ;  especially  as 
there  has  been  of  late  so  much  said  about 
the  restrictions  laid  upon  the  French  press. 
"  These  papers  can  contain  nothing  instructive 
or  interesting,"  think  most  travellers  ;  "  they 
are  not  worth  looking  at;  they  are  the  most 
barren  of  waste  paper." 

Such  had  been  my  thoughts  for  many 
weeks,  when  a  marriage  took  place  in  my 
neighbourhood,  between  a  man  whose  strength 
seemed  to  be  all  running  to  moustache,  and 
an  active  bright-eyed  lourgeoise,  who  will  no 
doubt  carry  on  his  business  should  she  be- 
come a  widow,  and  who  will  meanwhile  take 
three-quarters  of  the  trouble  of  the  concern 
off  his  hands.  One  of  the  local  papers  was 
handed  to  me,  on  the  supposition  that  I  might 
like  to  see  the  news  !  In  politeness  I  must 
look  to  see  how  they  had  announced  the  poor 
little  man's  marriage. 

Well,  well ! — This  part  of  the  paper  is  not 
so  badly  arranged,  though  it  differs  consider- 
ably from  the  English  fashion.  Births,  mar- 
riages, and  deaths  is  our  order  of  precedence  ; 
the  French  begin  with  "  Publications  of 
marriage."  How  would  you  like  that,  young 


Charlei  Dickens.] 


FEENCH  PROVINCIAL  NEWS. 


441 


ladies  and  gentlemen  1  How  would  you  like 
to  see  your  banns  put  up  in  the  local  Mercury, 
with  your  names,  residences,  and  majority  or 
minority  at  full  length?  "Publications  of 
marriage,  marriages,  births,  and  deaths."  And 
here  I  find  my  happy  couple — the  lady's  age 
stated  to  a  month.  It  would  ruin  any 
English  newspaper,  not  excepting  the  Times, 
to  dare  to  throw  such  figures  in  the  face  of  a 
fair  reader.  It  is  a  shame  !  Here  is  our 
bride's  age  (her  Christian  names  are  Claudine 
Melanie)  stated  to  be  thirty-five  years  and 
two  months. 

I  cannot  help  liking  the  way  in  which  the 
births  are  inserted.  With  us  it  would  be  : — 
"  On  such  a  day,  the  lady  (thanks  to  improved 
taste  it  is  now  usual  to  say  the  wife)  of  Samuel 
Smith,  Esq.,  of  a  son."  Of  a  sou  is  an  ellip- 
tical and  barbarous  expression ;  it  is  also  an 
unpolite  way  of  receiving  the  poor  little 
stranger ;  of  a  son — of  a  nameless  thing  that 
happens  to  have  a  sex  :  for  they  might  almost 
as  well  print  it,  of  a  child.  Will  anybody 
take  the  hint,  and  raise  our  babies  to  their 
proper  place  in  literature,  after  considering 
the  good  sense  of  the  following  French 
method  of  inserting  Naissances  ?  "  April  the 
Twenty-seventh :  Frangoise  D6siree  De- 
sombre,  daughter  of  Charles  Frangois,  saddler, 
and  of  Eugenie  Petronille  Lecoustre. — April 
the  Twenty  -  eighth :  Louis  Jules  Ce'sar 
Terbone,  son  of  C6sar,  carrier,  and  of  Marie 
Louise  Antoinette  Mongin."  The  new  worker 
added  to  the  world  is  thus  ushered  into 
society  with  due  respect. 

Deaths  are  published  in  much  the  same 
form  as  with  us,  only  more  briefly ;  thus, 
"  Deces  : — May  the  Fourth,  Marie  Josephe 
Bourdon,  eighty  years  four  months,  born  at 
Saint  Pierre,  widow  of  Adrien  Frangois 
Macron."  But  the  advertisements  further 
illustrate  the  funereal  customs  of  France.  It 
is  usual  there,  not  only  for  the  relations  of 
the  deceased  to  be  present  at  the  interment, 
but  friends  and  connections  make  a  point 
of  following  the  procession  in  considerable 
numbers.  For  this  purpose  numerous  mourn- 
ing  letters  of  invitation  are  issued ;  but  to 
prevent  misunderstandings  amongst  captious 
acquaintances,  advertisements  like  the  follow- 
ing are  not  unfrequent : — "  Monsieur  and 
Madame  Depuit  and  their  family,  have  the 
honour  to  thank  the  persons  who  had  the 
kindness  to  be  present  at  the  funeral  and 
interment  of  Charles  Alphonse  Depuit,  and 
they  beg  those  who,  through  forgetfulness, 
did  not  receive  letters  of  invitation,  to  have 
the  goodness  to  excuse  them." 

I  did  not  think  to  find  so  much  as  that  in 
a  French  journal.  The  ice  is  broken ;  let 
us  look  a  little  farther.  There  is  always  real 
life  iu  advertisements  ;  now  here  is  one  not 
to  be  matched,  perhaps,  at  home  ?  "  Madame 
Julianie  Blitz,  dentiste,  from  Paris,  Hue  de 
1'Abbaye,  opposite  the  Rue  Sainte  Croix, 
Arras,  has  the  honour  to  inform  her  patrons 
that  she  has  returned  from  that  city.  Persons 


who  will  have  the  goodness  to  continue  to 
honour  her  with  their  confidence,  either  for 
the  fixing  of  teeth  without  hooks  or  ligatures, 
or  for  their  extraction,  are  begged  to  apply  at 
her  residence.  She  stops  hollow  teeth  with 
the  mineral  succedan6um,  a  cold  paste,  by 
means  of  which  extraction  is  avoided."  A 
lady  dentist ! 

Why  not  ?  If  one's  teeth  must  be  drawn, 
they  may  as  well  be  drawn  by  a  woman  as  by 
a  man,  if  nature  has  but  made  her  suffi- 
ciently strong-fisted.  The  gentle  sex  of  the 
operator  would  inspire  a  degree  of  courage 
in  the  men  who  suffered  torture :  they 
would  be  ashamed  to  appear  timid  in  her 
presence.  If  the  lady  were  a  particularly 
charming  person,  and  there  were  no  other 
convenient  way  of  making  her  acquaintance, 
it  would  always  be  an  admissible  excuse,  it 
she  were  a  dentiste,  to  go  and  have  a  tooth 
drawn,  whenever  we  desired  her  conversation. 
We  complain  in  England  of  the  few  means 
of  gaining  a  respectable  livelihood,  which  are 
left  open  to  women.  Our  unprovided  dames 
and  damsels  must  do  as  they  do  in  France  ; 
that  is  to  say,  boldly  seize  and  take  possession 
of  any  position — such  as  this  profession  ot 
dentist — which  is  likely  to  suit  them.  People 
will  laugh  a  little  at  first ;  but  it  is  better  to 
be  laughed  at  for  a  while  than  starve  for  a 
lifetime.  It  is  almost  better  to  be  starved 
outright,  than  to  lead  a  long  life  of  anxiety 
and  half-starvation. 

Another  point  which  this  advertisement 
will  illustrate  has  yet  to  be  explained.  At 
the  side  of  the  title  of  the  paper  there  appears 
in  small  print  this  announcement  : — "  Ad- 
vertisements twenty  centimes  " — or  twopence 
English — "  the  line."  The  above  advertise- 
ment fills  eight  lines,  costing,  therefore,  one 
shilling  and  fourpence.  It  will  be  seen  at 
once  that  the  moderate  price  of  the  advertise- 
ment is  a  saving  to  the  customer.  What 
Madame  Blitz's  charges  are,  I  know  not ; 
but  her  first  requisite  is  to  get  a  living.  That 
secured,  she  can  afford  to  draw  real  teeth 
and  to  supply  false  ones,  at  a  much  lower 
rate,  when  her  advertisements  only  cost  hey 
one  shilling  and  fourpence  each,  instead  01 
half-a-guinea  and  upwards. 

Another  paper,  whose  advertisements  are  a 
little  dearer,  namely,  twopence-halfpenny  a 
line,  announces  the  "  Sale  of  four  horses.  On 
Sunday  next,  May  9,  1852,  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon,  at  Saint-Laurent-de-Brevedent, 
on  the  farm  cultivated  by  Madame  Letestu, 
widow,  M.  Duflo,  bailiff,  of  Angerville  1'Orcher, 
will  proceed  to  the  public  sale  of  four  carriage 
and  draught  horses.  Three  of  them  are  five 
years  old  ;  one,  two  years."  It  is  not  unusual 
in  France  to  hold  auctions  on  Sunday  after- 
noons or  evenings.  Such  things  are  not  re- 
garded as  sinful  acts  of  sabbath-breaking,  as 
they  would  be  considered  in  England,  and 
especially  in  Scotland  ;  but  are  tolerated  and 
practised  on  the  Roman  Catholic  principle 
that  the  laity,  after  attending  mass,  are  at 


HOUSEHOLD  WOSDS. 


[Conducted  by 


liberty  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  Sunday  in  any 
way  which  is  not  in  itself  vicious  or  criminal. 
The  Journal  de  Montreuil  gives  the  List  of 
Prizes  for  the  local  cattle-show  this  year, 
and  the  conclusion  of  the  whole  is,  that 
(i  The  Exhibition  will  be  held  on  Sunday, 
July  11,  1852,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
in  the  square  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  of 
Montreuil." 

I  did  not  think  to  have  found  in  France 
so  apt  an  illustration  of  the  connection  be- 
tween godliness  and  cleanliness,  as  is  given  by 
the  previous  number  of  the  same  journal : — 
"  The  inauguration  of  the  water-works,  and 
their  benediction,  will  take  place  next  Sunday. 
It  seems  certain  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
neighbourhood,  both  in  town  aiid  country, 
will  visit  Montreuil,  in  order  to  be  present  at 
a  splendid  fete  which  the  administration  pro- 
poses to  give,  and  the  programme  of  which  is 
this  : —  City  of  Montreuil-sur-Mer.  Inaugura- 
tion of  the  raising  the  water  into  the  town. 
Benediction  of  the  building  containing  the 
hydraulic  machine,  established  in  the  lower 
town  for  forcing  the  water.  The  Mayor  of  the 
City  of  Montreuil,  Chevalier  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour,  considering  that  the  raising  of  water 
into  the  town — an  event  offering  so  many 
difficulties  to  surmount,  has  at  last  been 
accomplished,  and  thus  fulfils  the  wishes  so 
frequently  expressed  by  the  inhabitants,  that 
it  is  an  event  which  the  town  ought  to  mark 
by  a  solemnity — Decrees  : — Art.  I.  The  civil 
and  military  authorities  will  be  requested  to 
assemble  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville  next  Sunday, 
April  25,  at  half-past  twelve,  in  order  to  pro- 
ceed thence  in  state  to  the  Ville-Basse,  to  the 
mills  called  du  Roi,  for  the  purpose  of  being 
present  at  the  benediction  of  the  building, 
which  contains  the  hydraulic  machine  esta- 
blished at  that  spot  to  raise  water  into  the  town. 
Art.  II.  The  company  of  Sapper- Firemen 
will  be  present  at  this  ceremony  ;  it  will 
assemble  for  this  purpose  within  the  walls  of 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  the  said  day,  April  25, 
present  month,  at  half- past  twelve : — The  band 
of  music  of  the  old  national  guard  of  this  town 
•sill  'join  the  company  of  Sapper-Firemen  : — 
After  the  religious  ceremony,  the  proces- 
sion will  return  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville  in  the 
same  order  in  which  it  left  it : — Art.  III.  The 
said  day  of  the  ceremony,  at  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  a  distribution  of  bread  and 
meat  will  be  made  to  the  poor  of  the  town." 
The  following  amusements  are  next  pro- 
mised : — "  At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
a  shooting-match.  At  three,  a  tennis-match. 
At  four,  a  foot-race  (the  prizes  to  be  trou- 
sers and  a  waistcoat).  At  six  o'clock,  a 
public  ball  in  the  Place  Vei'te,  during  which 
the  public  fountain  was  to  discharge  wine. 
At  nine,  a  subscription  ball,  for  the  benefit 
of  the  poor,  in  the  saloon  of  the  Hotel 
de  Ville  ; "  which,  with  the  engine-house 
and  reservoir,  was  to  be  illuminated  all 
night. 

Contrast  such  a  Sunday  as  this  with  one  in 


Glasgow  or  in  Edinburgh,  and  a  man  can 
hardly  believe  the  Scotch  and  the  French 
towns  to  be  situated  in  the  same  quarter  of 
the  world,  and  to  form  part  of  one  common 
Christendom.  At  the  festival  above  described, 
everything  went  off  marvellously  well,  to  the 
great  edification  of  the  people.  It  is  right,  we 
should  add,  that  the  most  perfect  order  reigned 
during  the  benediction  ;  two  addresses  from 
the  clergy  touched  all  hearts,  and  the  divines 
returned  with  the  procession  to  the  Town 
Hail,  amidst  respectful  salutations  and  joyous 
shouts.  The  shooters  shot,  the  runners  ran, 
the  tennis-players  frisked.  The  fountain  that 
spouted  wine  caused  inexhaustible  fun,  and 
the  illuminations  and  the  two  balls  closed 
the  .entertainment.  "  We  cannot  spare 
room,"  says  the  newspaper  reporter,  "  to 
give  an  exact  account  of  this  fete ;  suffice 
it  to  add  that  the  whole  town  was  in  a 
state  of  joyfulness,  and  seemed,  that  day,  to 
consist  of  only  one  single  immense  family, 
presided  over  by  its  kind  mother,  the  Muni- 
cipal Authority." 

It  is  to  be  expected  that  papers,  which  are 
politically  restricted,  should  contain  an  extra 
quantity  of  small  talk  and  wonderful  events, 
of  the  same  nature  as  those  which  help  our 
sub-editors  over  so  many  gaps.  Here,  how- 
ever, the  penny-a-liner  signs  his  contribution, 
and  openly  reaps  all  the  glory  which  his 
poetic  genius  may  have  earned.  Thus  : — 
"Yesterday  morning  two  cows  were  butting 
at  each  other  in  the  farm-yard  of  citizen 
J.  B.  Dupuis.  One  of  them  darted  across  the 
yard,  arrived  at  a  well  from  thirty-six  to  forty 
metres  (more  than  one  hundred  feet  English) 
deep,  and  fell  into  it.  After  unheard-of  efforts, 
they  managed  to  draw  her  out ;  when,  ex- 
traordinary to  relate,  the  animal,  which  had 
not  received  the  least  injury,  walked  into  her 
cow-house. — TRIDON." 

One  would  like  to  know  whether  the  credit 
of  this  performance  is  due  to  the  talent  of  the 
cow,  or  to  the  learning  of  M.  Tridon.  The 
feat  may  have  originated  in  the  columns  of 
some  English  paper.  Some  of  these  scraps  of 
news,  however,  are  sufficiently  marked  by 
local  characteristics,  to  protect  us  from  the 
risk  of  their  naturalisation  in  Great  Britain. 
"  Auxerre,  November  15th,  1851.  —  Last 
week,  at  the  moment  when  a  railway  tender 
was  passing  along  the  line  from  Saint 
Florentin  to  Tonnerre,  a  wolf  boldly  leaped 
upon  it  and  attacked  the  stoker.  The  man 
immediately  seized  his  shovel,  and  repulsed 
the  aggressor,  who  fell  upon  the  rail,  and  was 
instantly  crushed  to  pieces.  (National)." 

The  horrid  passion  for  gambling  seems 
spread  over  the  whole  continent  ;  and  it  is 
found  by  experience,  that  of  all  the  different 
forms  of  gambling,  lotteries  are  the  most 
fearful  instruments  by  which  a  people  can  be 
made  to  scoui'ge  itself  with  its  own  vices. 
Long  may  we  be  before  our  papers  can  show 
paragraphs  like  this.  "  Lottery  of  the  Gold  In- 
gots.— To  the  particulars  furnished  yesterday, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


FEENCH  PEOVINCIAL  NEWS. 


443 


we  are  now  able  to  add  some  others.  A 
grocer  living  on  the  Boulevard  du  Temple, 
has  gained  a  prize  of  twenty-five  thousand 
francs  (one  thousand  pounds).  He  was  on 
the  point  of  retiring  from  business,  after  re- 
ceiving his  little  fortune,  A  commissionaire 
(light  porter)  of  the  Eue  St.  Honore  gained 
five  thousand  francs ;  a  young  seamstress, 
living  in  the  Eue  Neuve-Breda,  one  thou- 
sand francs.  Two  or  three  years  since,  a 
dealer  in  river-saiicl,  living  on  the  Quai 
Numappes,  died,  leaving  a  wife  and  children, 
and  his  affairs  somewhat  embarrassed.  A 
brave  woman,  who  had  been  their  servant, 
unhesitatingly  assisted  her  mistress  with 
her  savings.  To  this  worthy  woman  has 
fallen  the  prize  of  four  hundred  thousand 
francs.  There  is  a  report  of  a  young  servant- 
girl,  who  had  drawn  fifteen  hundred  francs, 
the  amount  of  her  hoardings,  from  the  Savings 
Bank,  in  order  to  buy  fifteen  hundred  lottery 
tickets  with  that  money  ;  but  who  got  nothing. 
It  is  rumoured  that  another  young  servant- 
girl,  of  the  Eue  Saint  Denis,  on  finding  that 
she  had  lost  her  savings,  four  hundred  francs, 
which  she  had  put  into  the  lottery,  has 
become  insane.  It  is  asserted  that,  up  to  the 
present  moment,  there  have  already  been  pre- 
sented to  the  Pay-office  of  the  Lottery  nine 
tickets  bearing  the  number  which  gained  the 
grand  prize,  and  seven  bearing  the  number 
which  gained  the  prize  of  two  hundred  thou- 
sand francs.  It  is  added,  in  explanation  of 
these  facts,  which  may  give  rise  to  so  much 
controversy,  that  clever  hands  had  forged  the 
winning  numbers." 

We  have  only  to  follow  mentally  the  train 
of  thought  which  these  few  sentences  will 
suggest,  to  appreciate  the  consequences  of  a 
national  system  of  lotteries.  French  litera- 
ture is  full  of  examples,  in  which  girls  and 
women,  of  low  and  high  birth,  have  been 
dragged  through  every  possible  defilement,  to 
utter  starvation,  in  order  to  gratify  an  insa- 
tiable craving  after  gambling  by  lottery.  The 
cheap  price  of  the  tickets  tempts  the  victims 
to  pawn  the  last  rag,  and  abstain  from  the 
last  morsel,  in  the  delusive  hope  of  at  last 
gaining  a  fortune.  The  Journal  de  FArron- 
dissement  du  Havre,  May  4,  1852,  advertises 
five  lotteries  ;  the  tickets  are  one  franc  for 
each  chance  ;  but  tickets  are  also  to  be  bought 
which  comprise  a  chance  in  each  lottery  of  the 
five.  It  is  cruel  to  hold  out  to  poor  wretches 
the  temptation  of  "  twenty  thousand,  ten 
thousand,  five  thousand,  or  two  thousand 
francs,  for  one  franc  !"  The  "  or  "  reads  as  if 
the  miserable  being  had  only  to  choose  his 
fortune.  It  matters  little  that  the  profits  of 
these  lotteries  are  devoted  to  charitable  insti- 
tutions, and  church-building,  and  that  abbots 
and  mayors  preside  at  the  council  of  adminis- 
tration. Such  men  ought  to  know  that  a 
single  franc  earned  by  honest  industry  is  more 
likely  to  thrive  and  bring  happiness  than 
twenty  thousand  francs  gained  by  a  lottery 
ticket. 


To  skip  to  another  subject  in  the  same 
journal,  how  would  the  milkmen  in  our  large 
towns  like  the  introduction  of  such  foreign 
ways  as  this  1  "  Tribunal  of  Correctional 
Police  [at  Havre,  or  Le  Havre,  as  we 
ought  to  call  it],  M.  Duchemein,  judge, 
in  the  chair.  Sitting  of  May  4,  1852, 
Stephanie  Bourelle,  aged  forty-two  years, 
born  at  Turretot,  farmer,  living  at  Noiutot, 
wife  of  Brutus  Graiiider,  fined  fifty  francs 
for  adulterating  milk.  The  evidence  of  this 
sentence  shall,  further,  be  inserted  at  the 
expense  of  the  convicted  party  in  the  Journal 
de  PArrondissement  du  Havre,  in  the  Journal 
de  Bolbec,  and  shall  be  posted  in  bills  to  the 
amount  of  twenty-five  copies." 

Lastly,  these  small  and  brief  French  papers, 
amidst  their  scanty  scraps  of  news,  often  show 
us  our  own  portraits,  in  the  colours  which 
they  assume  when  reflected  from  a  continental 
glass.  Les  Anglais  are  the  topic  of  many  a 
curious  paragraph,  and  furnish  not  unfrequent 
anecdotes  to  the  provincial  press.  We  have 
some  odd  countrymen  who  give  themselves 
airs,  and  are  traditionally  supposed  to  repre- 
sent the  dignity  of  Great  Britain.  For  example ; 
— "  There  is  at  this  moment  (April  22,  1852) 
in  Paris,  an  Englishman  who  is  really  the 
most  curious  production  of  his  country,  so 
fertile  in  originals.  He  is  a  man  of  about 
eight-and-thirty  years.  Is  he  attacked  with 
the  spleen  1  It  is  probable  ,  the  fact  is  that 
he  obstinately  refuses  to  enter  into  conversa- 
tion with  any  person  whatever.  In  the 
splendid  hotel  of  the  quartier  des  Italiens, 
where  he  has  fixed  himself  for  the  last  six 
weeks,  he  has  forbidden  the  waiter  who 
attends  on  him  ever  to  speak  a  word  to  him. 
He  behaves  with  a  cold  and  calm  brutality 
which  is  without  a  rival.  We  are  informed 
that  the  other  day,  when  taking  a  ride  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  he  astonished,  in  this  respect, 
a  mass  of  loungers  and  inquisitive  people. 
He  was  accompanied  by  his  servant,  who  was 
on  horseback  as  well  as  himself.  He  dis- 
mounted, and  gave  the  bridle  of  his  horse  to 
this  young  man  to  hold.  When  he  desired  to 
get  on  horseback  again,  the  servant  held  the 
bridle  for  him  ;  but  during  this  operation, 
the  end  of  the  riding-whip  which  the  servant 
held  in  his  hand  touched  the  master's  face  ; 
then,  you  should  have  seen  our  Anglais  with 
imperturbable  coolness  give  his  servant  the 
most  vigorous  kick  in  the  thigh  that  you  can 
imagine.  The  man,  English,  like  his  master, 
coldly  raised  his  hand  to  his  cap.  As  to  the 
crowd  which  was  present  at  this  scene,  it 
seemed  to  be  extremely  indignant,  and  literally 
yelled  at  the  gentleman,  who  put  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  without  seeming  even  to  have 
heard  them,  turned  off  in  the  direction  of 
the  Barriel-e  de  1'Etoile.  This  Anglais 
is  not  insane,  as  one  might  perhaps  be 
induced  to  believe.  In  a  grand  Restaurant, 
where  he  goes  to  dine,  in  company  with 
two  of  his  countrymen  who  alone  appa- 
rently have  the  permission  to  speak  to  him, 


444 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted 


he  converses  in  the  style  of  a  perfectly  well- 
educated  man  in  the  possession  of  all  his 
faculties." 

The  chances  are  that  this  gentleman  Anglais 
would  conduct  himself  in  a  drawing-room  not 
quite  so  well  as  the  groom  he  kicked  publicly  ; 
and  that  if  a  Frenchman  were  to  insult  him 
grossly  by  words  only,  accompanying  all  sorts 
of  abuse  with  bows  and  smiles,  he  would  feel 
greatly  flattered  ;  for  if  this  Englishman  exist 
at  all,  his  taciturnity  depends  on  ignorance  of 
French. 

The  following  anecdote  is  told  by  the 
author  of  the  Paris  letters  in  I'Assemblee  Na- 
tionale,  and  quoted  by  1'Industriel  Calaisien  : 
— "  Some  days  since,  a  manufacturer  happened 
to  be  dining  with  a  magistrate.  All  the 
guests  were  enjoying  the  lively  talk  of  a 
novelist,  who  also  works  for  the  theatre,  and, 
by  the  way,  works  exceedingly  well.  That 
evening  he  was  full  of  fun  ;  his  wit  sparkled 
like  a  discharge  of  fireworks.  The  dinner 
went  off  like  a  flash  of  lightning."  (This,  you 
perceive,  is  a  French  way  of  writing  briskly 
for  the  country  newspapers.) 

"  When  they  had  left  the  table,  the  manu- 
facturer took  the  novelist  aside,  and  with  a 
bow  said, 

"Ah  !  Monsieur,  how  much  you  have 
gratified  me  !  " 

"  Monsieur  !  " 

"  No,  really  ;  you  have  a  great  reputation 
for  talent ;  but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you  so 
amusing." 

"  But,  Monsieur  !  " 

"Monsieur,"  continued  the  manufacturer, 
"  my  wife  is  indisposed." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  For  some  time  past  she  has  been  dull  and 
out  of  spirits.  Would  you  have  the  goodness  to 
come  and  dine  with  me  one  of  these  days  ? 
You  will  amuse  her." 

"  You  believe  that  I  shall  amuse  your 
wife  1 " 

"  I  do,  indeed.     Do  come." 

"  Very  well,  Monsieur  ;  but  of  course  you 
know  the  terms  ?  " 

The  manufacturer  stared  at  the  novelist. 
"  The  terms  !  "  he  repeated,  like  a  man  who 
tries  to  understand  what  is  meant. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  other,  without 
hesitation  :  "  when  I  dine  out — with  a  manu- 
facturer— that's  five  hundred  francs." 

"  Ah  !  " 

"  To  be  sure  !  You  manufacture  chemicals, 
or  cotton  goods,  or  beet-root  sugar,  or  heaven 
knows  what  ;  you  sell  those  things,  and  get 
your  living  by  them,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  but"— 

"  I,"  continued  the  novelist,  "  work  my 
brains,  and  I  live  by  what  I  can  spin  out  of 
them ;  that's  my  merchandise,  you  under- 
stand. When  a  gentleman  invites  me  to 
dinner,  to  amuse  his  wife,  who  is  dull,  that's 
six  hundred  francs." 

"  What  a  capital  joke  !  " 

"  No  joke  at  all !  Madame  your  wife  is  a 


little  low  ;  Eh  lien  !  send  me  the  cash,  and  I 
will  come  and  divert  her." 

The  dinner  has  not  yet  been  reported. 


PRINTED  FORGERIES. 


HOAXES,  mystifications,  forgeries,  impos- 
tures of  every  kind — whether  for  personal  or 
party  purposes,  or  from  mere  mercenary 
motives — had  long  ceased  to  be  a  novelty  in 
the  literature  of  the  Continent,  before  the 
literary  or  learned  of  England  became  ad- 
dicted to  the  same  pleasant  pastime.  In  this 
country,  historians,  antiquarians,  critics,  and 
readers  had  long  suffered  from  the  injurious 
effects  of  continental  ingenuity — from  the 
elaborate  writings  of  scholars  who  never  had 
any  existence,  and  learned  lights  thrown  upon 
"  historical "  events  which  never  came  to 
pass — before  the  perplexing  and  poisonous 
fruit  of  these  practices  began  to  flourish  in 
our  more  sullen  soil  ;  and  it  is  due  to  "  a 
neighbouring  nation "  to  notice  that  the  first 
literary  imposture  which  rises  into  the  dignity 
of  a  real,  elaborate,  uncompromising,  and  mis- 
chievous forgery,  was — an  importation.  George 
Psalrnanaazaar,  the  distinguished  Japanese, 
and  historian  of  the  Island  of  Formosa,  if  not 
a  Frenchman — which  he  is  ascertained  to 
have  been  by  education,  and  most  probably 
by  birth — was  certainly  not  a  native  of  these 
islands. 

George  Chalmers,  the  literary  antiquary, 
enlightened  the  curious  public,  some  fifty 
years  since,  with  the  discovery  of  what  was 
believed  to  be  the  first  English  newspaper, 
the  English  Mercuric,  date  1588.  We  are 
indebted  to  Mr.  Watts,  of  the  British  Museum, 
for  the  exposure,  a  few  years  ago,  of  this 
established  and  unquestionable  forgery,  which 
seems  to  have  been  concocted  by  Dr.  Birch, 
assisted,  perhaps,  by  his  friends,  the  Yorkes, 
with  what  motive  we  cannot  even  guess. 

Daniel  Defoe,  at  a  later  period,  was  a 
master  of  a  more  harmless  species  of  mystifi- 
cation. Who,  among  the  civilised  and  senti- 
mental even  of  the  present  day,  does  not — in 
the  face  of  all  fact — believe  in  his  heart  in 
Robinson  Crusoe  ?  There  is  one  portion  of 
the  history  of  this  wonderful  work  which, 
fortunately,  we  are  not  bound  to  believe — 
namely  the  fraudulent  appropriation  by  the 
author  of  Alexander  Selkirk's  notes.  This 
calumny  has  been  long  since  successfully 
refuted.  Some  other  of  Defoe's  "authentic  " 
narratives  are  not  so  Avell  known.  The  Ad- 
ventures of  a  Cavalier  during  the  Thirty  Years' 
War  were  long  believed,  even  by  eminent 
authorities,  to  be  literally  and  circumstantially 
true.  And  true  indeed  they  are,  when  we  have 
once  set  aside  the  fact  that  the  cavalier  in 
question  had  no  existence ;  for  the  rest,  the 
adventures  are  for  the  most  part  strictly 
historical,  and  those  for  which  there  is  no 
direct  authority  are  valuable  probabilities 
illustrative  of  the  great  contest  in  which  the 
cavalier  is  supposed  to  have  taken  part.  In 


Charles  Dickens.] 


FEINTED  FOEGEEIES. 


44c 


the  same  manner,  the  Life  of  Colonel  Jack, 
Moll  Flanders,  Eoxana,  and  Captain  Single- 
ton, are  all  living  and  breathing  persons  ; 
in  their  biographies  everything  is  true  with 
the  exception  of  the  names  and  dates  ;  and 
even  these  have  been  widely  and  implicitly 
believed  by  the  most  matter-of-fact  and 
unimaginative  persons.  Defoe's  most  amus- 
ing mystification,  however,  was  his  pamphlet, 
entitled  A  True  Eelation  of  the  Apparition 
of  one  Mrs.  Veal,  the  next  day  after  her 
death,  to  one  Mrs.  Bargrave,  at  Canter- 
bury, the  8th  of  September,  1705,  which 
apparition  recommends  the  perusal  of 
Drelincourt's  book  of  "  Consolations  against 
the  Fear  of  Death."  The  story,  which  is  told 
on  the  alleged  authority  of  persons  then 
living,  details  with  marvellous  minuteness  the 
appearance  of  the  ghost  of  Mrs.  Veal  to  her 
friend — not  under  mysterious  and  solemn  cir- 
cumstances, with  which  even  Mrs.  Eadcliffe 
can  scarcely,  now,  inspire  terror — but  at  noon 
day,  in  Mrs.  Bargrave's  house,  where  the 
ghost  gained  admission  by  simply  knocking 
at  the  door.  Neither  is  the  spirit  conven- 
tionally attired  ;  she  is  in  Mrs.  Veal's  (riding) 
habit  as  she  lived,  and  has  altogether  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  respectable  lady  making  a 
morning  call.  The  air  of  truth  which  per- 
vades every  detail  of  the  interview,  throws  the 
reader  completely  off  his  guard,  and  the  tirst 
Lint — which  is  most  carelessly  and  artistically 
incidental — of  the  visitor's  immateriality,  is 
something  startling  as  a  sensation.  Very 
artful  also  is  the  ghost's  puff  of  Drelin- 
court  on  Death,  in  which  lies  the  whole  object 
of  the  pamphlet.  The  pamphlet  was,  in 
fact,  a  bookseller's  puff,  concocted  to  sell  off  a 
large  edition  of  M.  Drelincourt's  work,  which 
had  been  long  lying  idle  on  the  publisher's 
shelves.  And  so  great  was  the  credence  given 
everywhere  to  the  ghost  story,  that  the  not 
very  learned  or  lively  treatise  went  off  like 
wildfire. 

The  first  important  event  in  the  life  of  Psal- 
manaazaar  —  his  birth — remains  a  mystery, 
and  is  likely  to  remain  so,  in  company  with  the 
long  list  of  important  mysteries  which  are  not 
worth  the  trouble  of  solution.  Nobody  knows 
the  name  of  the  Free-school  where  his  educa- 
tion was  commenced,  nor  of  the  archiepiscopal 
city  at  whose  Jesuit  college  it  was  continued. 
The  name  of  the  young  gentleman  to  whom 
on  leaving  the  college  he  acted  as  tutor  has 
not  been  handed  down  to  fame,  and  the  cir- 
cumstances which  led  him  to  fall  into  a 
"  mean  and  rambling  life,"  as  one  of  his 
biographers  describes  it,  have  never  been 
recorded.  He  seems,  from  the  very  first,  to 
have  directed  his  attention  to  imposture  ;  as 
much  from  natural  taste  as  for  the  means  of 
livelihood.  His  first  crusade  was  against  re- 
ligious enthusiasts.  He  was  of  Irish  extrac- 
tion— so  said  some  credentials  which  he 
contrived  to  procure — left  his  country,  not 
for  his  country's  good  ;  but  for  the  good  of 
the  Eoman  Catholic  religion.  Determining 


to  proceed  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Eome,  his 
first  necessity  was  a  pilgrim's  garb,  which  he 
contrived  to  carry  off,  together  with  the  appro- 
priate staff,  from  a  chapel  at  noon-day.  The 
rest  of  the  adventure  we  gather  from  no  unim- 
peachable source — himself.  "  Being  thus  ac- 
coutred, and  furnished  with  a  pass,  I  began, 
at  all  proper  places,  to  beg  my  way  in  fluent 
Latin,  accosting  only  clergymen,  and  persons 
of  figure,  by  whom  I  could  be  understood : 
and  found  them  mostly  so  generous  and  cre- 
dulous that  I  might  easily  have  saved  money, 
and  put  myself  into  a  much  better  dress, 
before  I  had  gone  through  a  score  or  two  of 
miles.  But  so  powerful  was  my  vanity  and 
extravagance,  that  as  soon  as  I  had  got  what 
I  thought  a  sufficient  viaticum,  I  begged  no 
more,  but  viewed  everything  worth  seeing, 
and  then  retired  to  some  inn,  where  I  spent 
my  money  as  freely  as  I  had  obtained  it." 

He  seems  to  have  been  about  sixteen  years 
of  age  when,  while  wandering  in  Germany,  he 
first  hit  upon  the  project  of  passing  for  a  native 
of  the  island  of  Formosa.  He  set  to  work 
immediately,  with  equal  ardour  and  ingenuity, 
to  form  a  new  alphabet  and  language  ;  a  gram- 
mar ;  a  division  of  theyear  into  twentymonths  ; 
and,  finally,  a  new  religion.  In  the  prosecution 
of  his  scheme  he  experienced  many  difficulties. 
But  these  he  surmounted  by  degrees.  He 
accustomed  himself  to  writing  backwards, 
after  the  practice  of  eastern  nations,  and  was 
observed  worshipping  the  rising  and  setting 
sun,  and  practising  various  minor  mum- 
meries, with  due  decorum.  In  short,  he  passed 
everywhere  for  a  Japanese  converted  to  Chris- 
tianity ;  and,  resuming  his  old  pilgrim  habit, 
recommenced  his  tour  in  the  Low  Countries. 

At  Liege  he  entered  into  the  Dutch 
service,  and  was  carried  by  his  commander  to 
Aix-la-Chapelle.  He  afterwards  entered  into 
the  service  of  the  Elector  of  Cologne,  and 
finding,  it  may  be  presumed,  that  as  a  convert 
he  did  not  attract  sufficient  attention,  he 
assumed  the  character  of  a  Japanese  in  a 
benighted  and  unenlightened  condition.  As 
he  probably  anticipated,  he  immediately 
became  an  object  of  interest.  At  Sluys, 
Brigadier  Lauder,  a  Scottish  Colonel,  intro- 
duced him  to  one  Innes,  the  chaplain  of  his 
regiment,  with  a  view  to  a  spiritual  conference. 
This  was  an  important  step  in  the  life  of  the 
adventurer.  Innes  seems  to  have  been  the 
chief  cause  of  the  imposture  being  carried  to 
its  height.  That  he  had  an  early  inkling  of 
the  deception  there  can  be  no  doubt ;  but  he 
was  far  too  prudent  to  avow  the  fact,  pre- 
ferring the  credit  of  the  conversion,  as  likely 
to  favour  his  advancement  in  the  Church. 

It  was  arranged  in  the  first  instance  that 
Innes  should  procure  Psalmanaazaar's  dis- 
charge ;  but  he  delayed  taking  this  prepara- 
tory step  until  he  should  hear  from  the 
Bishop  of  London,  to  whom  he  had  written 
on  the  subject.  At  length,  finding  that  his 
protef/6  was  paying  attention  to  some  Dutch 
ministers,  he  saw  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost, 


446 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


and  resolved  at  once  to  baptize  the  impostor 
— for  such  he  had  now,  in  his  own  mind, 
established  him  to  be.  It  may  be  here  men- 
tioned that  he  had  arrived  at  this  fact  by 
a  stratagem.  He  had  asked  Psalmanaazaar 
to  write  a  passage  of  Cicero  twice  in  the 
Forrnosan  language,  and  he  noticed  some 
considerable  variations  in  the  respective 
renderings.  He  advised  the  adventurer  with 
some  significance  to  be  more  prepared  for  the 
future — a  warning  of  which  Psalmanaazaar 
took  advantage  by  perfecting  his  alphabet 
and  general  system,  and  producing  in  fact  an 
entirely  new  language.  He  subsequently 
accompanied  Inues  to  England,  where  he 
attracted  considerable  attention  amongst  the 
learned.  When  a  version  of  the  catechism 
was  made  into  the  pretended  Formosan 
language,  it  was  pronounced  by  some  of  the 
first  men  of  the  day  to  be  grammatical,  and  a 
real  language,  from  the  simple  circumstance 
that  it  resembled  no  other.  Next  appeared 
the  Historical  and  Geographical  Descrip- 
tion of  Formosa,  with  accounts  of  the  Religion, 
Customs,  and  Manners  of  the  Inhabitants, 
by  George  Psalmanaazaar,  a  native  of  that 
Isle,  1704 ;  which  contained,  besides  the 
descriptive  matter,  pictorial  illustrations  of 
their  dress,  religious  ceremonies,  their  taber- 
nacle, and  altars  to  the  sun,  moon,  and  the 
ten  stars  !  their  architecture,  royal  and 
domestic  habitations,  &c.  This  fabulous 
history  seems  to  have  been  projected  by 
Innes,  who  lent  Varenius  to  Psalmanaazaar 
to  assist  him  in  his  task.  In  the  meantime 
he  trumpeted  forth  the  Formosan  and  his 
work  in  every  possible  direction — to  such  an 
extent  indeed  that  the  booksellers  scarcely 
allowed  the  author  two  months  for  the  pro- 
duction of  his  wonderful  volume.  The  fame 
of  the  work  spread  far  and  near.  The  first 
edition  was  sold  at  once  ;  but  it  was  not  long 
before  doubts  were  expressed  as  to  its  vera- 
city ;  and  in  the  second  edition  the  author 
was  fain  to  publish  a  vindication.  The  fact  was, 
he  had  fallen  into  some  awkward  blunders. 
He  stated,  for  instance,  that  the  Formosans 
sacrificed  eighteen  thousand  male  infants 
annually  ;  and  though  this  was  proved  to  be 
an  impossibility  in  so  small  an  island  without 
occasioning  depopulation,  he  persisted  in  not 
lessening  the  number.  A  lively  controversy 
upon  the  subject  was  kept  up  for  some 
years,  but  eventually  the  author  repented  of 
his  imposture,  and  made  a  full  confession, 
which  he  left  to  be  pi-inted  after  his  death. 
The  latter  years  of  his  life  were  passed  in 
useful  literary  pursuits,  notwithstanding  that 
he  was  guilty  of  a  minor  imposture  in  con- 
nexion with  his  great  one — nothing  less  than 
fathering  the  invention  of  a  white  composition 
called  Formosan  japan — which  speculation 
proved  a  decided  failure.  Psalmanaazaar  was 
a  favourite  in  contemporary  literary  circles, 
where  he  was  recommended  by  his  powers 
as  a  conversationalist.  Dr.  Johnson  took 
pleasure  in  his  society,  and  speaks  of  him 


with  respect.  He  fared  better  than  his  patron 
Innes,  who,  in  consequence  of  another"  , , 
rious  transaction  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
lost  his  character,  and  was  generally  avoided. 
Psalmanaazaar  died  in  May,  1763. 

While  the  author  of  this  startling  and 
masterly  imposture  was  making  amends  in 
mature  age  for  the  failings  of  his  youth,  the 
representative  of  a  lower  class  of  dishonesty — 
a  person  of  inferior  abilities  and  meaner 
moral  character — was  proceeding  in  a  stealthy, 
secret  manner  to  undermine  the  reputation 
of  one  of  our  greatest  English  poets.  Lander 
was  a  professional  critic  of  some  talent,  in  a 
limited  sphere.  He  contributed  to  the  then 
flourishing  Gentleman's  Magazine  ;  and  in 
the  pages  of  that  periodical  attracted  at- 
tention by  a  series  of  articles,  in  which  he 
brought  charges  of  plagiarism  against  Milton. 
The  public  were  not  therefore  unprepared  for 
the  appearance,  in  1750,  of  a  work  called  "  An 
Essay  on  Milton's  Use  and  Imitation  of  the 
Moderns  in  his  Paradise  Lost."  In  the 
preface  to  this  work,  Lauder  says,  in  reference 
to  the  origin  of  the  poem  : 

"  It  is  related  by  steady  and  uncontroverted 
tradition,  that  Paradise  Lost  was  at  first  a 
tragedy ;  and,  therefore,  amongst  tragedies 
the  first  hint  is  properly  to  be  sought.  In  a 
manuscript  published  from  Milton's  own 
hand,  among  a  great  many  subjects  for  tra- 
gedy, is  'Adam  Unparadised,  or  Adam  in 
Exile  ;'  and  this,  therefore,  may  justly  be  sup- 
posed the  embryo  of  the  great  poem.  When, 
therefore,  I  observed  that  Adam  in  exile  was 
named  amongst  them,  I  doubted  not  but  in 
finding  the  original  of  that  tragedy,  I  should 
disclose  the  genuine  source  of  Paradise  Lost. 
Nor  was  my  expectation  disappointed  ;  for 
having  found  the  'Adamus  Exsul'  of  Gro- 
tius,  I  found,  or  imagined  myself  to  find,  the 
prima  stamina  of  this  wonderful  poem."  The 
ingenious  critic  rendered  the  admirers  of 
Milton  very  uncomfortable,  until  the  appear- 
ance of  a  pamphlet  by  Mr.  John  Douglas  ; 
who  had  a  very  simple  but  very  convincing 
story  to  tell.  In  the  year  1690,  it  appears 
there  was  printed  in  London  a  Latin 
translation  of  the  Paradise  Lost,  Paradise 
Regained,  and  Samson  Agonistes,  by  one 
Hogteus,  as  he  called  himself  on  the  title 
page,  or  Hogg,  as  he  was  probably  known  by 
iiis  personal  friends.  And  further,  it  was 
very  plainly  proved  that  the  greater  portion 
of  the  passages  cited  by  Mr.  Lauder  were 
not  quotations  from  Masenius,  Grotius,  and 
the  rest,  but  from  the  very  intelligent  transla- 
tion, by  Hogeeus,  of  Milton  himself  !  The 
striking,  and  frequently  literal  resemblance 
between  these  quotations  and  passages  in 
Milton's  works  may  thus  be  easily  conceived. 
In  cases  where  Mr.  Lauder  had  not  availed 
liimself  of  Hogseus,  he  had  not  scrupled  to 
interpolate,  and  manufacture  whole  passages, 
whichneverhadany  existence  in  the  writings  of 
the  authors  from  whom  he  pretended  to  quote. 

Whatever  doubt    might  exist    after    Mr. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


PRINTED  FORGERIES. 


447 


Douglas's  very  valuable  pamphlet  with  regard 
to  the  entire  falsity  of  the  charges  brought 
against  Milton,  was  speedily  set  at  rest  by 
Mr.  Lauder  himself  in  An  Apology  which  he 
"most  humbly  addressed"  to  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  1751,  wherein  he  makes  an  abject 
confession  of  his  fraud. 

In  the  year  following  the  exposure  of  this 
mean  and  mischievous  impostor,  there  was 
born  at  Bristol,  of  poor  parents,  a  boy  who 
was  destined,  some  sixteen  years  after,  to  occa- 
sion a  literary  controversy  which  can  scarcely 
be  considered  settled,  even  in  our  own  day. 

In  the  year  1768,  at  the  time  of  the  opening 
of  the  New  Bridge,  at  Bristol,  there  appeared 
in  Farley's  Weekly  Journal  (October  1), 
an  Account  of  the  Ceremonies  observed  at 
the  Opening  of  the  Old  Bridge,  taken,  it  was 
said,  from  a  very  ancient  manuscript.  The 
performance  attracted  attention  ;  and,  after 
much  inquiry,  it  was  discovered  that  the 
person  who  brought  the  copy  to  the  office  was 
a  youth  between  fifteen  and  sixteen  years  of 
age,  whose  name  was  Thomas  Chatterton. 
He  was  at  first  very  unwilling  to  discover 
whence  he  had  obtained  the  original  MS.,  and 
returned  some  evasive  answers.  Ultimately 
he  stated  that  he  had  received  this,  together 
with  many  other  MSS.,  in  prose  and  verse, 
from  his  father,  who  had  found  them  in  a 
large  chest,  in  an  upper  room  over  the  chapel, 
on  the  north  side  of  Redcliffe  Church. 

The  evidence  of  the  boy's  mother  and  sister 
is  corroborative  of  his  statement.  Mrs.  Chat- 
terton tells  us  that  her  husband's  uncle,  John 
Chatterton,  being  sexton  of  Redcliffe  Church, 
furnished  her  husband,  the  schoolmaster,  with 
many  old  parchments  for  covering  the  boys' 
copy  books — these  parchments  having  been 
found  as  described  by  her  son.  The  best  of 
them  were  put  to  the  use  intended  ;  the  rest 
remained  in  a  cupboard.  She  thinks  her 
husband  read  some  of  them,  but  does  not 
know  that  he  transcribed  any,  or  was  ac- 
quainted with  their  value.  It  was  not  until 
years  afterwards — in  another  house,  whither 
the  parcliments  were  removed  with  the 
family — that  her  son  made  the  important 
discovery.  Having  examined  their  contents, 
he  told  his  mother  that  he  had  "found  a 
treasure,  and  was  so  glad  nothing  could  be 
like  it."  He  then  took  possession  of  all  the 
parchments,  and  was  continually  rummaging 
for  more.  "  One  day,"  she  says,  "  happening 
to  see  Clarke's  History  of  the  Bible  covered 
with  one  of  these  parchments,  he  swore  a 
great  oath,  and,  stripping  the  book,  carried 
away  the  cover  in  his  pocket." 

After  the  affair  of  the  Bridge,  Chatterton 
imparted  some  of  the  MSS.  to  Mr.  George 
Calcott,  pewterer,  of  Bristol ;  namely,  the 
"  Bristow  Tragedy,"  and  some  other  pieces. 
These  Calcott  communicated  to  Mr.  Barrett, 
a  surgeon,  who  had  been  long  engaged  upon 
a  history  of  Bristol.  Most  of  the  pieces  pur- 
ported to  have  been  written  by  one  Thomas 
Rowley,  a  monk  or  secular  priest  of  the  fif- 


teenth century,  and  his  friend,  Mr.  Cannynge, 
an  eminent  Bristol  merchant  of  the  same 
period.  Notwithstanding  some  prevarications 
in  Chatterton's  story,  Mr.  Barrett  believed 
the  main  portion  of  it,  and  even  inserted  some 
specimens  of  Rowley  in  his  history. 

In  March,  1769,  Chatterton  sent  Horace 
Walpole,  who  had  not  then  long  completed 
his  Anecdotes  of  Painters,  an  offer  to  fur- 
nish him  with  accounts  of  a  series  of  great 
painters  who  had  once  flourished  at  Bristol — 
sending  him  at  the  same  time  a  specimen  of 
some  poetry  of  the  same  remote  period. 
Receiving  some  encouragement  on  the  score  of 
the  verses,  he  again  wrote  to  "Walpole,  asking 
for  his  influence  and  assistance  in  a  project 
which  he  had  then  formed  of  "  seeking  his 
fortune  "  in  the  metropolis — not  on  the  ground 
that  he  himself  was  a  man  of  genius,  but 
because  he  was  acquainted  with  a  person,  as 
he  said,  who  was  possessed  of  great  manu- 
script treasures,  discovered  at  Bristol.  It  was 
this  person  who  had  lent  him  the  former 
specimens,  and  also  the  "  Elenoure  and  Inga," 
which  he  transmitted  with  his  second  letter. 
Walpole  was  at  first  deceived  by  these  alleged 
antiquities  ;  but  Gray  and  Mason  having  pro- 
nounced them  to  be  forgeries,  he  returned  them 
to  Chatterton  with  a  cold  reply.  There  are 
various  reports  about  Chatterton's  personal 
conduct  at  this  period  ;  he  is  said  to  have 
become  an  infidel  and  a  profligate — but  neither 
charge  has  been  proved.  All  that  we  know 
for  certain  is,  that  he  contrived  to  get  to 
London  without  Walpole's  assistance  ;  that 
he  there  subsisted  by  writing  satires  and  mis- 
cellaneous pieces — being  employed,  it 'is  said, 
in  some  cases,  by  the  Government  for  party 
purposes.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Wilkes,  Beckford,  and  others  —  but  failed  to 
procure  any  substantial  benefit  from  them. 

Owing  to  some  change  in  his  affairs — the 
nature  of  which  is  unknown — he  seems,  soon 
after,  to  have  abandoned  all  hope  of  gaining 
the  objects  of  his  ambition  —  advancement 
and  distinction.  He  removed  from  Shoreditch 
to  a  lodging  in  Brook  Street,  Holborn,  and 
here  he  fell  into  poverty  and  despondency. 
"  The  short  remainder  of  his  days  were  spent 
in  a  conflict  between  pride  and  poverty.  On 
the  day  preceding  his  death  he  refused  with 
indignation  a  kind  offer  from  Mrs.  Angel  (his 
landlady)  to  partake  of  her  dinner,  assuring 
her  that  he  was  not  hungry — though  he  had 
not  eaten  anything  for  two  or  three  days. 
On  the  twenty-fifth  of  August,  1770,  he  was 
found  dead,  in  consequence,  it  is  supposed,  of 
having  swallowed  arsenic  in  water,  or  some 
preparation  of  opium.  He  was  buried  in  a 
shell,  in  the  burying-ground  belonging  to 
Shoe  Lane  workhouse."  Thus  was  the  seal 
put  upon  Chatterton's  secret. 

Warton,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  op- 
ponents of  the  genuineness  of  these  poems, 
makes  a  general  onslaught  against  them,  in 
his  History  of  Poetry.  He  does  not  even 
consider  them  to  be  very  skilful  forgeries. 


448 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


The  characters  in  several  of  the  manuscripts 
are  of  modern  formation,  mixed  up  most 
inconsistently  with  antique.  The  parchment 
is  old,  but  made  to  look  still  older  by  yellow 
ochre,  which  can  easily  be  rubbed  off  ;  the 
ink  also  has  been  tinctured  with  a  yellow 
cast.  In  some  coats  of  arms,  drawn  tipon  the 
MS.  of  Cannynge's  Feast,  the  hand  of  a 
modern  herald  is  clearly  traceable.  He 
remarks,  also,  upon  an  unnatural  affectation 
of  antique  spelling  and  obsolete  words,  side  by 
side  with  combinations  of  words  and  forms  of 
phrases,  which  had  no  existence  at  the  pre- 
tended date  of  the  poems.  In  the  Battle  of 
Hastings  —  said  to  be  translated  from  the 
Saxon  —  Stonehenge  is  called  a  Druidical 
temple  ;  while  at  the  period  when  the  poem 
might  be  supposed  to  be  written,  no  other 
notion  prevailed  concerning  this  monument 
than  the  supposition  that  it  was  erected  in 
memoiy  of  Hengist's  massacre.  After  urging 
several  similar  arguments,  Warton  concludes 
by  giving  the  whole  of  the  poems  to  Chatter- 
ton  :  if  for  no  other  reason,  on  the  very  pro- 
bable supposition  that  the  author  of  the 
Execution  of  Sir  C.  Baudwin,  might  easily 
be  the  writer  of  the  rest. 

The  sad  and  solemn  conclusion  of  poor 
Chatterton's  career,  leaves  us  no  heart  to 
dwell  upon  the  feeble  waggeries  of  some 
literary  mystificators  who  succeeded  him.- 
Nor,  indeed,  under  any  circumstances,  are 
such  frolics  worthy  of  any  special  notice.  It 
was  more  than  a  score  of  years  after  the  pub- 
lication of  the  Rowley  Poems,  before  any 
deep-meaning  and  really  respectable  forgery 
was  brought  to  light.  With  the  author  of 
Vortigern  and  Rowena  is  associated  no 
vulgar  mystery.  He  has  told  us  all  about 
himself  with  most  touching  confidence. 

Mr.  Ireland's  first  essay  at  literary  impos- 
ture was  unwittingly  suggested  by  his  father  ; 
whose  estimation  of  the  works  of  Shakespeare 
was  without  bounds.  It  was  not  a  mere  matter 
of  literary  taste  ;  it  was  not  merely  enthu- 
siasm ;  but  a  creed  and  a  faith.  The  most 
minute  matters  associated  in  the  most  distant 
manner  with  his  idol,  were  carefully  trea- 
sured. To  please  his  father,  young  Ireland 
hit  upon  the  notion  of  concocting  nothing 
less  than  an  autograph  of  the  great  poet. 
This  duly  made  its  appearance  in  the  form 
of  a  mortgage  deed,  drawn  up  with  a  careful 
imitation  of  the  legal  hand-writing  of  the 
reign  of  James  the  First,  and  the  "  signature" 
of  Shakespeare — cramped,  eccentric,  and  un- 
mistakeably  genuine  ! 

Who  but  the  son  can  properly  describe 
the  father's  joy  when  this  precious  parchment 
was  presented  to  him,  as  having  been  found 
among  some  (unspecified)  documents  in  the 
(imaginary)  library  of  some  chateau  belonging 
to  some  (fictitious)  friend.  The  deed,  which 
purported  to  be  between  Shakespeare  and  one 
Eraser  and  Elizabeth  his  wife,  was  inspected 
by  crowds  of  antiquaries,  to  whom  it  gave 
the  greatest  satisfaction. 


Then,  as  the  novelty  of  the  discovery  wore 
off',  came  the  increased  voracity  which  follows 
the  first  taste  of  blood.  The  old  gentleman 
became  eager  and  inquiring.  There  were 
probably  more  Shakespeare  papers  in  the  same 
place  ;  and  it  was  the  duty  of  his  son  to  make 
further  researches.  In  vain  did  the  unfortu- 
nate fabricator  resist  and  return  evasive 
answers.  The  antiquaries,  and  his  father  at 
the  head  of  them,  became  more  exacting.  To 
save  himself  from  importunities,  and  perhaps 
exposure,  Mr.  Ireland  now  penned  Shake- 
speare's Profession  of  Faith  and  a  few 
letters,  all  of  which  passed  muster  :  in  many 
instances  documents  produced  as  two  hundred 
years  old  had  scarcely  been  in  existence  two 
hours.  Then  followed  a  decisive  step.  An 
original  play  by  Shakespeare  was  pronounced 
to  be  extant  ;  and  to  support  his  assertion, 
Ireland,  to  the  great  joy  of  the  happiest  of 
parents,  produced  the  Vortigern  and  Row- 
eua,  which  distinguished  critics  admitted  to 
private  readings  pronounced  to  be  a  genuine 
work  of  the  poet  ;  and  it  was  ultimately  ar- 
ranged to  bring  it  out  at  Drury  Lane. 

Prior  to  this,  however,  some  suspicions  of 
the  validity  of  the  production  had  crept 
abroad,  and  were  now  made  the  subject  of 
controversy  in  pamphlets  and  newspapers. 
Malone,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  among 
the  opponents,  made  a  collection  of  documents 
intended  to  prove  the  forgery  ;  but  he  did  not 
succeed  in  bringing  them  out  before  the  re- 
presentation of  the  piece.  He  issued,  how- 
ever, a  notice  to  the  public,  warning  them  of 
the  imposture,  which  he  intended  to  expose. 
To  this  the  elder  Ireland  replied  by  a  hand- 
bill, which  he  caused  to  be  circulated  among 
the  multitude,  who,  towards  the  hour  of  per- 
formance, were  choking  up  the  avenues  to 
the  theatre. 

Meantime  there  were  enemies  within  as 
well  as  without  Drury  Lane  ;  and  the  prin- 
cipal of  these  was  a  no  less  important  person- 
age than  Kemble  the  manager.  The  latter 
brought  all  the  force  of  his  wide  and  weighty 
influence  against  the  piece  ;  by  which  he 
called  forth  a  very  severe  rebuke  from 
Sheridan,  who  reminded  him  that  he  was  for- 
getting his  duty  as  a  servant  of  the  theatre. 
Ireland  had  also  an  important  opponent  in 
Mrs.  Siddons,  who  refused  to  lend  her  aid  in 
palming  Vortigern  upon  the  public. 

The  piece  however  was  announced  for  re- 
presentation "  positively  "  on  the  2nd  of  April, 
1796.  Kemble  had,  it  seems,  endeavoured  to 
fix  the  previous  night  for  its  production,  "  in 
order  to  pass  upon  the  audience  the  compli- 
ment of  All  Fools'  Day."  Being  detected  in 
this  damaging  attempt,  probably  by  the 
quick  perception  of  Sheridan,  the  uncompro- 
mising manager  succeeded  in  announcing 
My  Grandmother  as  the  farce  to  follow — a 
sarcasm  obvious  enough  to  a  thoroughly 
London  audience.  This  was  not  all  ; 
leagued  with  Malone,  and  the  rest  of  the 
sworn  opponents,  and  with  a  real  literary 


Charles  Dickens. J 


FEINTED  FORGERIES. 


443 


enthusiasm  to  which  he  was  cheerfully  pre- 
pared to  sacrifice  the  interests  of  the  theatre, 
Kemble  had  recourse  to  every  expedient  prior 
to,  and  on  the  night  of  representation,  in  order 
to  crush  the  play.  He  arranged  with  a 
number  of  devoted  adherents  who  were  care- 
fully posted  in  the  house,  to  give  himself  the 
signal  for  the  uproar.  The  signal  agreed  upon 
was  the  line  which  happened  to  occur  in  one 
of  his  own  speeches — 

"And  when  this  solemn  mockery  is  o'er," 

which  line  he  took  care  to  deliver  in  a 
sufficiently  pointed  manner,  and  with  a  tre- 
mendous result.  Never  had  such  an  uproar, 
and  such  derisive  laughter  and  hooting,  been 
heard  within  the  walls  of  that  most  respect- 
able theatre.  Waiting  with  great  patience 
until  he  could  again  obtain  a  hearing,  Kemble 
came  forward,  and  reiterated  the  line  "  with 
an  expression,"  as  Mr.  Ireland  tells  us,  "  the 
most  pointedly  sarcastic  and  acrimonious  it 
is  possible  to  conceive." 

The  demonstration  upon  this  assumed  all 
the  indignity  of  a  "  row  ;  "  and  it  was  kept 
up  with  such  effect  that  not  one  syllable  more 
of  the  play  was  intelligible.  The  line  occurs 
towards  the  close  of  the  second  scene  of 
Act  V. — being  the  last  scene  but  one  of  the 
drama — prior  to  which  no  hostility  had  been 
manifested.  Indeed,  so  decided  was  the 
applause  that  many — even  of  the  performers 
— were  confident  of  success.  This  was  not- 
withstanding that  Kemble  had  given  several 
parts  in  the  play  not  only  to  the  most  incom- 
petent, but  to  the  most  absurd  actors  he  could 
lind.  He  had  also  placed  Dignum  purposely 
in  a  subordinate  part,  wherein,  speaking  of 
the  sound  of  trumpets,  he  had  to  say  "Let 
them  bellow  on,"  "  which  words  were  uttered 
with  such  a  nasal  and  tin-kettle  twang  that 
no  muscles  save  those  of  adamant  could  have 
resisted." 

Malone's  "  Investigation,"  which  was  a  final 
blow  to  the  pretensions  of  the  play,  was  not 
long  in  making  its  appearance.  After  this, 
Mr.  Chalmers  published,  first  his  "  Apology 
for  the  Believers,"  and  then  a  "  Supplemental 
Apology,"  wherein,  says  Mr.  Ireland,  "  though 
advocating  the  untenable  side  of  the  question, 
he  displayed  a  far  greater  depth  of  antiquarian 
research  and  scholastic  reasoning  than  his 
opponent ;  in  short  there  is  scarcely  one 
position  laid  down  by  Malone  that  is  not  most 
satisfactorily  refuted  by  Chalmers." 

Ireland  adds  that  this  warfare  affected  him 
only  in  so  far  as  it  caused  suffering  to  his 
father,  who  was  even  himself  accused  of 
having  fabricated  the  papers,  and  this,  he 
avows,  was  his  sole  reason  for  satisfying  "  the 
world"  on  the  subject.  The  play  of  Henry 
the  Second  was  another  Shakspearian  at- 
tempt by  the  same  author  ;  but  it  deceived 
few,  and  attracted  generally  but  little  at- 
tention. Mr.  Ireland  has  since  made  his 
appearance  as  the  author  of  a  novel  called 
'•  Kizzio."  He  had  previously  taken  up  his 


residence  in  Paris,  where  Napoleon  shawed 
him  favour  and  attention.  In  England  he  was 
never  ^forgiven  by  the  distinguished  critics, 
among  whom  was  Boswell,  whom  he  had  de- 
ceived. He  returned  evertually,  however,  to 
his  native  country,  and  died  in  London  not 
many  years  ago. 

The  name  of  Allan  Cunningham,  in  asso- 
ciation with  this  class  of  literary  ingenuity, 
brings  us  down  to  something  like  our  own 
times.  It  was  in  the  summer  of  1809,  that 
Mr.  Cromek,  by  profession  an  engraver,  visited 
Dumfries,  in  company  with  Stothard  the 
painter,  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  materials 
and  drawings  for  a  new  edition  of  the  works  of 
Burns.  He  took  with  him  a  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  a  young  stonemason  of  literary  tastes — • 
ambitious,  ardent,  and  obscure.  Their  talk  was 
all  about  Burns,  the  old  Border  ballads,  and 
the  Jacobite  songs  of  the  Fifteen  and  the 
Forty-five.  Cromek  slighted  some  of  Allan's 
poems,  which  it  may  be  supposed  the  young 
bard  did  not  fail  to  read  to  him,  and  sighed 
after  the  old  minstrelsy.  "  The  disap- 
pointed poet  "  (says  Mr.  Peter  Cunningham 
in  the  interesting  introduction  to  his  father's 
songs)  ..."  changed  the  conversation, 
and  talked  about  the  old  songs  and  frag- 
ments of  songs  still  to  be  picked  up  among 
the  peasantry  of  Nithsdale."  Cromek  was 
immediately  seized  with  the  notion  of  a 
collection ;  "  the  idea  of  a  volume  of  imitations 
passed  upon  Cromek  as  genuine  remains 
flashed  across  the  poet's  mind  in  a  moment, 
and  he  undertook  at  once  to  put  down  what 
he  knew,  and  to  set  about  collecting  all  that 
could  be  picked'  up  in  Nithsdale  and  Gallo- 
way." Cromek  was  delighted  with  the  idea  ; 
the  "  Collection,"  with  appropriate  notes  and 
illustrations,  in  due  time  appeared,  and  was 

E  renounced  by  competent  authorities  to 
reathe  the  genuine  Jacobite  spirit  which  it 
was  impossible  to  mistake.  Professor  Wilson 
was  the  first  to  detect  the  "  Jacobite  spirit " 
as  not  being  exactly  "  proof,"  and  mercilessly 
exposed  the  deception  in  Blaekwood — with 
due  respect,  however,  for  the  original  powers 
of  the  poet. 

The  last  successful,  and  perhaps  most  par- 
donable of  literary  forgeries,  came  forth  under 
the  title  of  Maria  Schweidler,  the  Amber 
Witch.  The  story,  (which  is  supposed  to  be 
told  by  one  Abraham  Schweidler,  Lutheran 
Pastor  at  Coserow,  during  the  early  part  of 
the  Thirty  Years'  War)  appeared  at  Berlin  in 
1843,  "  edited  "  by  Doctor  Meinhold.  At  that 
time  a  school  of  criticism,  of  which  Dr.  Strauss 
was  the  head,  gave  great  offence  to  faithful 
and  pious  people,  by  an  assumption  of  critical 
infallibility  so  nice  as  to  discriminate,  even  iri 
the  Gospels,  between  what  is  true  and  what 
the  critics  were  pleased  to  say  is  false.  Dr. 
Meinhold  determined  to  play  the  Infallibles 
a  trick.  He  wrote  the  Amber  Witch,  and 
pretended  that  it  had  been  brought  to  him  by 
his  sexton  ;  who  had  found  it  in  a  niche  in  the 
church,  where  it  had  lain  for  centuries  among 


450 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


a  heap  of  old  hymn  books  and  parish  accounts. 
Strauss  and  Company  were  fairly  caught. 
They  published  an  acute  analysis  of  the  fiction, 
and  pronounced  it  to  be  a  genuine  chronicle 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  Dr.  "Meinhold 
having  thus  trapped  his  prey,  confessed  the 
deception,  and  extinguished  the  authority  of 
the,  till  then,  dreaded  critics. 

The  forgery  of  the  Shelley  letters — so  fresh 
in  the  recollection  of  the  public — is  one  of  the 
most  mischievous  examples  of  the  most  mis- 
chievous class  of  literary  impostures ;  and 
from  various  signs  of  the  times  not  to  be 
passed  unnoticed  by  those  who  watch  and 
weigh,  we  may  expect  to  see  even  worse — 
that  is  to  say  cleverer,  scholars  of  the  same 
school.  The  discovery  was  made  accidentally 
by  Mr.  Palgrave,  who  happened — while 
glancing  through  the  volume  published  by 
Mr.  Moxon — to  detect  in  a  letter  supposed  to 
be  written  by  Shelley,  a  portion  of  an  article 
on  Florence  written  for  the  Quarterly  Review 
in  1840,  by  his  father,  Sir  Francis  Palgrave. 
This  was  sufficient  to  put  Mr.  Moxon  upon 
the  scent.  At  the  General  Post  Office  the 
letters  were  declared  to  be  genuine,  "  to  the 
best  of  the  belief"  of  the  clerks.  The  postmarks 
were  then  compared  with  the  postmarks  of 
Byron's  genuine  letters  to  Mr.  Murray,  posted 
from  the  same  cities  in  the  same  month  and 
year,  and  addressed  to  the  same  place — 
London.  Here  they  failed.  Where  "  Ravenna," 
on  a  genviine  letter,  was  in  a  small,  sharp 
type — in  the  Shelley  letter  it  was  a  large  un- 
certain type  ;  and  in  the  letters  from  Venice 
the  post-mark  was  stamped  in  an  italic,  and 
not,  as  in  the  Shelley  specimens,  in  a  Roman 
letter.  In  other  respects — seals,  hand- writing, 
manner  and  even  matter — everything  seemed 
undoubtedly  genuine.  The  onus  of  the  matter 
then  rested  with  Mr.  White,  the  publisher, 
from  whom  the  letters  had  been  purchased. 
Mr.  White  published  a  long  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  he  had  purchased  them  from 
"  a  well-dressed  lady-like  young  person,"  who 
called  upon  him  at  different  periods,  giving 
very  little  account  of  herself,  and  still  less  of 
the  manner  in  which  the  letters  had  come 
into  her  possession.  He  was  introduced  sub- 
sequently, however,  to  a  person  who  stated 
himself  to  be  a  son  of  Byron,  and  the  husband 
of  the  lady  ;  and  from  him  Mr.  White  com- 
pleted his  purchases.  "  It  is  proper,"  says 
the  Athenaeum  in  noticing  the  above  trans- 
actions, "  to  say  thus  early  that  there  has  been 
of  late  years,  as  we  are  assured,  a  most 
systematic  and  wholesale  forgery  of  letters 
purporting  to  be  written  by  Byron,  Shelley, 
and  Keats  ;  that  these  forgeries  carry  upon 
them  such  marks  of  genuineness  as  have 
deceived  the  entire  body  of  London  collectors  ; 
that  they  are  executed  with  a  skill  to  which 
the  forgeries  of  Chatterton  and  Ireland  can 
lay  no  claim  ;  that  they  have  been  sold  at 
public  auctions,  and  by  the  hands  of  book- 
sellers, to  collectors  of  experience  and  rank  ; 
and  that  the  imposition  has  extended  to  a 


SHADOWS. 

DAT   AND   NIGHT. 

As  most  of  us  have  our  Doubles,  so,  in 
many  noticeable  lives,  there  are  a  Day  and 
Night  so  wonderfully  contrasted,  so  strikingly 
opposed,  so  very  picturesque  in  their  opposi- 
tion to  each  other,  that  there  can  be  few  more 
remarkable  subjects  for  consideration. 

Let  me  recal  a  few  such  Days  and  Nights. 

The  weather  is  sultry,  scorching,  though 
there  are  banks  of  heavy  clouds  in  the  sky.  A 
hot  wind  shakes  the  strangely-shaped  leaves  of 
gaunt  trees  fitfully  to  and  fro,  or  agitates  tufts 
of  brushwood  and  furze,  rankly  luxuriant, 
which  grow  here  and  there  on  the  gray  rocks. 
There  are  sudden  declivities,  and  more  rocks 
beyond,  furrowed,  scarred  and  seamed  by 
tears  of  brine.  On  every  side  beyond,  as  far 
as  the  strained  eye  can  reach,  is  the  inter- 
minable sea.  There  are  birds  overhead  with 
sullen  flapping  wings,  and  insects  and  reptiles 
of  strange  shape  beneath.  In  a  mean  house 
with  whitewashed  walls  and  crazy  Venetian 
blinds,  with  paltry  furniture  strangely  diver- 
sified by  rich  pieces  of  plate  and  jewellers' 
ware,  is  a  man  in  a  bath  with  a  Madras  hand- 
kerchief tied  round  his  head.  Anon  he  is 
dressed  by  his  servants,  with  whom  he  is 
peevish  and  fretful.  He  grumbles  at  the 
coffee  at  breakfast,  abuses  his  attendants, 
begins  a  dozen  things  and  does  not  accomplish 
one.  Now  he  is  in  his  garden  :  you  will  ob- 
serve that  he  is  short,  stout,  and  with  a  dis- 
contented expression  of  countenance.  He 
wears  a  large  straw  hat,  a  white  jacket  and 
trowsers,  a  check  shirt,  and  has  a  black  hand- 
kerchief knotted  round  his  neck.  He  takes 
up  a  newspaper  and  throws  it  down,  a  news- 
paper and  casts  it  aside.  He  is  idle  and 


large  collection  of  books,  bearing  not  only" the 
signature  of  Lord  Byron,  but  notes  by  him 
in  many  of  their  pages.  .  .  At  the  same  sale 
at  which  Mr.  Moxon  bought  the  Shelley 
letters,  were  catalogued  for  sale  a  series  of 
(unpublished)  letters  from  Shelley  to  his  wife, 
revealing  the  innermost  secrets  of  his  heart, 
and  containing  facts,  not  wholly  dishonour- 
able to  a  father's  memory,  but  such  as  a  son 
would  wish  to  conceal.  These  letters  were 
bought  in  by  the  son  of  Shelley — the  present 
Sir  Percy  Shelley — and  are  now  proved,  we 
are  told,  to  be  forgeries."  Other  letters,  how- 
ever, which  seem  to  have  emanated  from  the 
same  source,  had  been  previously  sold  by 
public  auction.  One — the  most  infamous — 
in  which  Shelley  makes  an  assertion  against 
the  fidelity  of  his  wife,  sold,  it  is  said,  for  six 
giiineas. 

The  form  of  correspondence  —  especially 
when  it  involves  calumnies  against  the  dead 
— is  the  mosb  dangerous  form  in  which  the 
literary  forger  has  yet  exercised  his  labours. 
That  such  impositions  are  active  and  widely 
spread — not  only  in  England,  but  in  many 
parts  of  the  Continent — there  can  be  no  doubt. 


Charles  Dickens. 


SHADOWS. 


451 


loathes  his  idleness.  Through  an  open 
window  you  may  look  into  his  plain  study, 
of  which  the  walls  are  covered  with  striped 
paper.  You  may  see  hanging  there,  a  por- 
trait of  a  little  child  and  a  map  of  the  world. 

Who  may  this  man  be  1  What  was  he  ? 
A  testy  East  India  captain  with  a  liver 
complaint,  a  disappointed  Indigo  planter, 
a  crusty  widower  with  a  lagging  Chancery 
suit  1  No.  It  is  Night  now,  but  Day  was. 
Ten  years  before,  he  stood  on  the  steps  of  a 
throne  in  Notre  Dame  with  the  chief  of  the 
Catholic  church  behind  him,  witn  the  digni- 
taries of  that  church,  the  princes  of  his  empire, 
the  marshals  of  his  armies,  the  ladies  of  his 
court,  the  flower  of  his  subjects  on  his  right 
hand  and  on  his  left.  He  was  arrayed  in 
velvet,  satin,  and  gold,  laurels  on  his  head  and 
a  sceptre  in  his  hand.  He  was  Napoleon  the 
Great,  Empereur  et  roi ;  now  he  is  General 
Bonaparte,  a  prisoner  at  St.  Helena,  at  the 
beck  and  call  of  an  English  orderly  officer. 
The  portrait  of  the  little  child  is  that  of  the 
King  of  Rome,  whose  melancholy  double,  the 
pale  young  man  in  a  white  coat,  is  to  be 
Metternichised  in  Vienna  yonder,  and  the 
map  is  of  the  world  which  was  to  have  been  his 
inheritance. 

Again.  We  are  in  the  pit  of  an  Italian 
theatre.  Wax  tapers,  in  bell-shaped  shades, 
flare  round  the  dress-circle,  for  we  are  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  as  yet  gas  and  fish- 
tail burners  are  not.  Gaudy  frescoes  decorate 
the  front  of  the  tiers  of  boxes ;  the  palisade 
of  the  orchestra  is  surmouuted  with  a  spiked 
chevaux-de-frise;  the  occupants  of  the  pit  wear 
cocked-hats  and  wigs,  and,  in  the  dress  circle, 
the  beaux  wear  laced  ruffles  and  sparkling- 
hilted  swords,  and  the  belles  powder  and 
patches.  In  one  of  the  proscenium-boxes  is 
the  Grand  Duke,  sitting,  imposing  in  em- 
broidery ;  behind  him  are  his  suite,  standing 
humble  in  ditto.  The  corresponding  loge  on 
the  other  side  of  the  proscenium  is  empty. 
The  first  act  of  the  opera  is  over,  and  an 
intermediary  ballet  is  being  performed.  An 
impossible  shepherd,  in  blue  satin  trunks,  a 
cauliflower  wig,  and  carrying  a  golden  crook, 
makes  choregraphic  overtures,  to  live  with  him 
and  be  his  love,  to  an  apocryphal  shepherdess 
in  a  role  Pompadour  and  hair-powder.  You 
would  see  such  a  pair  nowhere  else  save  in 
Arcadia,  or  in  Wardour  Street,  and  in  Dresden 
China.  More  shepherds  and  shepherdesses 
execute  pastoral  gambadoes,  and  the  diver- 
tissement is  over.  Then  comin.ences  the  second 
act  of  the  opera.  About  this  time,  verging  on 
half-past  nine  in  the  evening,  you  hear  the 
door  of  the  vacant  private  box  open.  An  easy 
chair  is  brought  down  to  the  front,  and  a  book 
of  the  opera,  a  bottle  of  essences,  and  a  golden 
snuff-box  are  placed  upon  the  ledge  before  it. 
Anon  enters  unto  these  an  infirm,  staggering, 
broken-looking  old  man,  with  a  splendid  dress 
hanging  in  slovenly  magnificence  on  his  half- 
palsied  limbs.  He  has  a  bloated  countenance, 


and  a  blood-shot  eye  that  once  must  have  been 
bright  blue.  Every  feature  is  shattered, 
weary,  drooping,  and  flaccid.  Every  nerve  is 
unstrung :  the  man  is  a  wreck,  and  an  un- 
sightly one.  His  flabby  hands  are  covered 
with  rings,  a  crumpled  blue  ribbon  crosses  his 
breast,  and  round  his  neck  hangs  another 
ribbon,  from  which  dangles  something  that 
sparkles,  like  a  diamond  star.  Finally,  he 
is  more  than  three  parts  inebriated.  It  is  easy 
to  understand  that  from  his  unsteady  hand, 
from  the  dozing  torpor  into  which  he  occa- 
sionally falls,  from  the  querulous  incoherence 
of  his  speech,  from  the  anxiety  manifested  by 
the  thin,  pale,  old  man  in  uniform,  with  the 
cross  of  a  commander  of  Saint  Louis,  and  the 
hard  featured  gentlemen  with  silver  thistles  in 
their  cravats,  who  stand  on  either  side  of  their 
master,  and  seem  momentarily  to  fear  that  he 
will  fall  out  of  his  chair.  The  beaux  and 
belles  in  the  dress  circle  do  not  seem  to  ex- 
press much  curiosity  at  the  advent  of  this 
intoxicated  gentleman.  They  merely  whisper 
"E  il  Signore  Cavaliere  :  he  is  very  far  gone 
to-night,"  or  words  to  that  effect.  The  spec- 
tacle is  no  novelty.  The  opera  is  that  most 
beautiful  one  by  Gluck,  Orfeo.  The  Orpheus 
of  the  evening,  in  a  Grecian  tunic,  but  be- 
wigged  and  powdered  according  to  orthodoxy, 
is  singing  the  sublime  lament,  "  Che  faro  senza 
Euridice  ? "  The  beautiful  wailing  melody 
floats  upwards,  and  for  a  moment  the  belles 
forget  to  flirt,  and  the  beaux  to  sw 
Cambric  handkerchiefs  are  used  for 
purposes  than  to  assure  the  owner  that  the 
rouge  on  the  cheeks  holds  fast,  and  is  not 
coming  off.  What  is  the  slovenly  magnifico 
opposite  the  Grand  Duke  doing  1  During  the 
prelude  he  was  nodding  his  head  and  breathing 
stertorously ;  but  as  the  song  proceeds,  he 
sits  erect  in  his  chair  ;  his  blue  eye  dilates  ; 
a  score  of  years  of  seams  and  furrows  on  his 
brows  and  cheeks  vanish  :  he  is  a  man.  But 
the  strain  concludes,  and  his  Excellency  bursts 
into  a  fit  of  passionate  weeping,  and  has  re- 
course to  the  bottle  of  essences. 

His  Excellency  has  not  spent  a  pleasant 
day.  He  has  been  bullied  by  his  chaplain, 
snubbed  by  his  chamberlain,  and  has  had  a 
deadly  quarrel  with  his  favorite.  More- 
over his  dinner  has  disagreed  with  him, 
and  he  has  drunk  a  great  deal  more,  both 
before  and  after  it,  than  is  good  for  him.  Are 
these  tears  merely  the  offspring  of  maudlin 
drunkenness  ;  or  has  the  music  touched  some 
responsive  chord  of  the  cracked  lyre,  sent 
some  thoughts  of  what  he  was  through  his 
obfuscated  brain  clouded  with  wine  of  Alicant 
and  strong  waters  1  Have  the  strains  he  has 
heard  to-night,  some  mysterious  connection 
(as  only  music  can  have)  with  his  youth,  his 
dead  happiness,  his  hopes  crushed  for  ever  ; — 
with  the  days  when  he  was  Charles  Edward 
Stuart,  pretending  to  the  Crown  of  England  ; 


to  swagger, 
other 


when  he  rode  through  the 
burgh   at   the   head   of  the 


streets  of  Edin- 
clans  amid  the 


marbled  with  purple  stains,  a  heavy  eye-lid  [  crooning  of  the  bagpipes,  the  shouts  of  his 


452 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


partisans,  the  waving  of  silken  banners 
broidered  by  the  white  hands  of  noble  ladies. 
" Non  sum  qualis  eram"  his  chaplain  will  tell 
him  ;  but,  ah  me  !  what  a  sorry  evening  is 
this  to  so  bright  a  morning. 

To  come  nearer  home  :  the  good  Queen 
Anne  reigns  in  England,  and  an  enthusiastic 
phalanx  of  High  Church  ragamuffins  have 
just  been  bellowing  round  the  Queen's  sedan 
chair,  "  God  save  your  majesty  and  Doctor 
Sacheverell."  There  are  a  great  many  country 
gentlemen  in  town,  for  term  is  just  ou,  and 
the  cause  list  is  full.  A  white  haired  patriarch 
in  extreme  old  age,  who  has  been  subpoenaed 
on  some  trial,  has  strolled  from  Westminster 
Hall,  and  entered  the  House  of  Lords,  where 
he  stands  peering  curiously  at  the  carved  roof 
and  dingy  tapestry,  and  scarlet  covered  wool- 
sack. He  is  one  of  those  men  in  whose  whole 
apparel  and  bearing  you  seem  to  read  farmer, 
as  in  another  man's  you  will  read  thief.  His 
snowy  white  locks,  his  ruddy,  sunburnt, 
freckled  countenance  carved  into  a  thousand 
wrinkles,  like  a  Nuremberg  nut-cracker, 
tell  of  hale,  hearty  old  age.  You  may 
read  farmer  in  his  napped  felt  hat  and 
long  duffel  coat ;  in  his  scarlet-flapped  waist- 
coat and  boots  of  untanned  leather,  his  stout 
ashen  staff,  with  a  crutch  and  leathern  strap. 
His  full  clear  eye,  his  pleasant  smile,  his 
jaunty,  though  feeble  bearing,  say  clearly 
farmer — a  well  to  do,  Queen-loving,  God- 
fearing old  agriculturist.  His  life  has  probably 
passed  in  peace  and  comfort  ;  and  when  he 
dies  he  will  sleep  in  the  green  churchyard 
where  his  fore-elders  sleep.  Here  is  a  London 
gentleman  who  accosts  him,  a  coffee-house 
wit,  a  blood  skilled  in  the  nice  conduct  of  a 
clouded  cane.  He  patronises  the  old  farmer, 
and  undertakes  to  show  him  the  lions  of  the 
place.  This  is  the  door  leading  to  my  Lord 
Chancellor's  robing  room  ;  from  behind  that 
curtain  enters  Her  Majesty ;  there  is  the 
gallery  for  the  peeresses  ;  there  the  bar.  Is 
he  not  astonished  ?  Is  not  the  place  magnifi- 
cent 1  Being  from  the  country  ("  Shocking 
Boeotian,"  says  the  blood  mincingly  to  him- 
self) he  has  probably  never  been  in  the  House 
of  Lords  before.  The  old  man  raises  his  stick, 
and  points  it,  tremulously,  towards  where 
blazing  in  crimson  velvet,  embroidery  and 
gold  is  the  Throne.  "  Never,"  he  answers, 
"since  I  sat  in  that  chair!"  The  old  farmer's 
double  was  Richard  Cromwell,  whilom  Lord 
Protector  of  England. 

Here  is  a  placid-looking  little  old  man,  trot- 
ting briskly  down  John  Street,  Tottenham 
Court  Road.  He  is  about  seventy,  apparently, 
but  walks  erect.  He  has  a  natty  little  three- 
cornered  hat,  a  well-brushed  black  suit,  rather 
white  at  the  seams,  grey  silk  stockings,  and 
silver  buckles  in  his  shoes.  Two  powdered 
ailes  de  pigeon  give  relief  to  his  simple  good- 
humoured  countenance,  and  his  hair  is 
gathered  behind  into  a  neat  queue,  which 
leaves  a  meandering  line  of  powder  on  the 
back  of  his  coat.  His  linen  is  very  white,  so 


are  his  hands,  on  one  of  the  fingers  of  which 
he  wears  a  ring  of  price.  He  lodges  in  a 
little  street  in  the  neighbourhood,  pays  his 
rent  regularly,  has  frequent  friendly  chats 
with  the  book-stall  keepers,  of  whom  he  is 
an  excellent  customer,  and  with  whom  he  is 
highly  popular  ;  pats  all  the  children  on 
the  head,  and  smiles  affably  at  the  maid- 
servants. The  neighbours  set  him  down  as  a 
retired  schoolmaster,  a  half-pay  navy  purser, 
or,  perhaps,  a  widower  with  a  small  inde- 
pendence. ,At  any  rate,  he  is  a  pleasant 
body,  and  quite  the  gentleman.  This  is  about 
the  close  of  his  Day.  Would  you  like  to 
know  his  Night  ?  Read  the  Old  Bailey 
Sessions  Paper  :  ask  the  Bow  Street  officers, 
who  have  been  tracking  him  for  years,  and 
have  captured  him  at  last ;  who  are  carrying 
him  handcuffed  to  Newgate,  to  stand  his  trial 
for  murder.  His  double  was  Governor  Wall, 
commandant  of  Goree,  who  was  hanged  for 
the  murder  of  Serjeant  Armstrong,  whom  he 
caused  to  be  flogged  to  death  ;  very  strongly 
adjuring  the  drummer  who  inflicted  the  tor- 
ture, to  cut  his  liver  out ! 

But  I  should  never  end  were  I  to  notice  a 
tithe  of  the  Days  and  Nights  that  flit  across 
this  paper  while  I  write.  A  paralytic  old  oc- 
togenarian, drivelling,  idiotic,  and  who,  of  all 
the  passions  of  his  other  self  has  preserved  but 
one, — the  most  grovelling  avarice, — hobbles 
across  a  room,  and,  glancing  at  himself  in  a 
mirror,  mutters,  "  That  was  once  a  man." 
The  man  was  John  Churchill,  Duke  of  Marl- 
borough.  A  moping  invalid,  imbecile  and 
speechless,  dozing  in  an  arm-chair,  sees  a 
servant  endeavouring  to  break  an  obstinate 
lump  of  coal  in  the  grate  :  "  It's  a  stone,  you 
blackguard!"  he  cries  ;  and  these  are  the  first 
words  he  has  spoken  for  years — the  first  that 
have  passed  his  lips  since  the  Day  shone  no 
more  on  Jonathan  Swift,  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's. 
Anon  a  shrivelled  little  dotard,  with  a  bald 
head  and  a  yellow  face,  clad  in  a  nightcap, 
drawers,  and  slippers,  comes  grimacing  to 
my  desk,  and  tells  me  that  although  it  is 
Night  now,  he,  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  had 
his  Day — Ludovico  Magno :  of  the  Porte 
St.  Denis  :  Louis  le  Grand  in  the  Gallery  of 
Versailles  :  in  a  towering  perruque  and  high- 
heeled  shoes,  giving  laws  to  princes.  A 
mincing  gentleman  in  powder,  with  a  sky- 
blue  coat,  a  waistcoat  lined  with  rose-coloured 
satin,  and  silk  stockings,  and  with  an  air 
something  between  a  petit  maitre  and  a 
dancing-master,  tells  me  that,  when  alive,  he 
lived  over  an  upholsterer's  shop,  in  the  Rue 
St.  Honore  ;  that  he  was  frugal,  just  and 
incorruptible  ;  that  he  was  beloved  by  his 
landlord  and  landlady  ;  but  that  he  had  a 
double  of  the  Convention  and  of  the  Com- 
mittee of  Public  Safely  ;  a  double  who  swam 
in  the  blood  of  all  that  was  great  and  noble 
in  France  ;  a  double  whose  name  was  Maxi- 
milian Robespierre. 

O  Day  and  Night,  but  this  is  wondrous 
strange  ! 


Publi.litii  nt  thr  OlScr,  No  15,  Y»lliu<!on  Street  North.  Str*nd.     Printed  bjr  BKAUSUHT  Si  KIAKS,  \Vhttcfriart,  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"—  SHAKBSPBABB. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOUKNAL. 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


123.] 


SATURDAY,  JULY  31,  1852. 


OUR  HONOEABLE  FRIEND. 


WE  are  delighted  to  find  that  he  has  got 
in  !  Our  honorable  friend  is  triumphantly  re- 
turned to  serve  in  the  next  Parliament.  He 
is  the  honorable  member  for  Verbosity — the 
best  represented  place  in  England. 

Our  honorable  friend  has  issued  an  address 
of  congratulation  to  the  Electors,  which  is 
worthy  of  that  noble  constituency,  and  is  a 
very  pretty  piece  of  composition.  In  electing 
him,  he  says,  they  have  covered  themselves 
with  glory,  and  England  has  been  true  to 
herself.  (In  his  preliminary  address  he  had 
remarked,  in  a  poetical  quotation  of  great 
rarity,  that  nought  could  make  us  rue,  if 
England  to  herself  did  prove  but  true.) 

Our  honorable  friend  delivers  a  prediction, 
in  the  same  document,  that  the  feeble  minions 
of  a  faction  will  never  hold  up  their  heads 
any  more  ;  and  that  the  finger  of  scorn  will 
point  at  them  in  their  dejected  state,  through 
countless  ages  of  time.  Further,  that  the 
hireling  tools  that  would  destroy  the  sacred 
bulwarks  of  our  nationality  are  unworthy  of 
the  name  of  Englishmen  ;  and  that  so  long  as 
the  sea  shall  roll  around  our  ocean-girded 
isle,  so  long  his  motto  shall  be,  No  Surrender. 
Certain  dogged  persons  of  low  principles  and 
no  intellect,  have  disputed  whether  any  body 
knows  who  the  minions  are,  or  what  the  fac- 
tion is,  or  which  are  the  hireling  tools  and 
which  the  sacred  bulwarks,  or  what  it  is  that 
is  never  to  be  surrendered,  and  if  not,  why 
not.  But,  our  honorable  friend  the  member 
for  Verbosity  knows  all  about  it. 

Our  honorable  friend  has  sat  in  several 
parliaments,  and  given  bushels  of  votes.  He 
is  a  man  of  that  profundity  in  the  matter  of 
vote-giving,  that  you  never  know  what  he 
means.  When  he  seems  to  be  voting  pure 
white,  he  may  be  in  reality  voting  jet  black. 
When  he  says  Yes,  it  is  just  as  likely  as  not — 
or  rather  more  so — that  he  means  No.  This 
is  the  statesmanship  of  our  honorable  friend. 
It  is  in  this,  that  he  differs  from  mere  un- 
parliamentary men.  You  may  not  know 
what  he  meant  then,  or  what  he  means  now  ; 
but,  our  honorable  friend  knows,  and  did  from 
the  first  know,  both  what  he  meant  then,  and 
what  he  means  now ;  and  when  he  said  he 
didn't  mean  it  then,  he  did  in  fact  say,  that 
he  means  it  now.  And  if  you  mean  to  say 


that  you  did  not  then,  and  do  not  now,  kno\v 
what  he  did  mean  then,  or  does  mean  now 
our  honorable  friend  will  be  glad  to  receive 
an  explicit  declaration  from  you  whether  you 
are  prepared  to  destroy  the  sacred  bulwarks 
of  our  nationality. 

Our  honorable  friend,  the  member  for 
Verbosity,  has  this  great  attribute,  that  he 
always  means  something,  and  always  means 
the  same  thing.  When  he  came  down  to  that 
House  and  mournfully  boasted  in  his  place, 
as  an  individual  member  of  the  assembled 
Commons  of  this  great  and  happy  country, 
that  he  could  lay  his  hand  upon  his  heart, 
and  solemnly  declare  that  no  consideration  on 
earth  should  induce  him,  at  any  time  or 
under  any  circumstances,  to  go  as  far  north 
as  Berwick-upon-Tweed  ;  and  when  he  never- 
theless, next  year,  did  go  to  Berwick-upon- 
Tweed,  and  even  beyond  it,  to  Edinburgh ; 
he  had  one  single  meaning,  one  and  indivi- 
sible. And  God  forbid  (our  honorable  friend 
'says)  that  he  should  waste  another  argument 
upon  the  man  who  professes  that  he  cannot 
understand  it !  "I  do  NOT,  gentlemen,"  said 
our  honorable  friend,  with  indignant  em- 
phasis and  amid  great  cheering,  on  one  such 
public  occasion.  "  I  do  NOT,  gentlemen,  I  am 
free  to  confess,  envy  the  feelings  of  that  man 
whose  mind  is  so  constituted  as  that  he  can 
hold  such  language  to  me,  and  yet  lay  his 
head  upon  his  pillow,  claiming  to  be  a  native 
of  that  laud, 

Whose  march  is  o'er  the  motmtuin-wave, 
Whose  home  is  on  the  deep  ! 

(Vehement  cheering,  and  man  expelled.) 

When  our  honorable  friend  issued  his  pre- 
liminary address  to  the  constituent  body  of 
Verbosity  on  the  occasion  of  one  particular 
glorious  triumph,  it  was  supposed  by  some  of 
his  enemies,  that  even  he  wovdd  be  placed  in 
a  situation  of  difficulty  by  the  following  com- 
paratively trifling  conjunction  of  circumstance. 
The  dozen  noblemen  and  gentlemen  whom 
our  honorable  friend  supported,  had  "come 
in,"  expressly  to  do  a  certain  thing.  Now, 
four  of  the  dozen  said,  at  a  certain  place,  that 
they  didn't  mean  to  do  that  thing,  and  had 
never  meant  to  do  it ;  another  four  of  the 
dozen  said,  at  another  certain  place,  that  they 
did  mean  to  do  that  thing,  and  had  always 
meant  to  do  it ;  two  of  the  remaining  four 


123 


454 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


said,  at  two  other  certain  places,  that  they 
meant  to  do  half  of  that  thing  (but  differed 
about  which  half),  and  to  do  a  variety  of 
nameless  wonders  instead  of  the  other  half ; 
and  one  of  the  remaining  two  declared  that 
the  thing  itself  was  dead  and  buried,  while 
the  other  as  strenuously  protested  that  it  was 
alive  and  kicking.  It  was  admitted  that  the 
parliamentary  genius  of  our  honorable  friend 
would  be  quite  able  to  reconcile  such  small 
discrepancies  as  these  ;  but,  there  remained 
the  additional  difficulty  that  each  of  the 
twelve  made  entirely  different  statements  at 
different  places,  and  that  all  the  twelve  called 
everything  visible  and  invisible,  sacred  and 
profane,  to  witness,  that  they  were  a  perfectly 
impregnable  phalanx  of  unanimity.  This, 
it  was  apprehended,  would  be  a  stumbling- 
block  to  our  honorable  friend. 

The  difficulty  came  before  our  honorable 
friend,  in  this  way.  He  went  down  to  Ver- 
bosity to  meet  his  free  and  independent  con- 
stituents, and  to  render  an  account  (as  he 
informed  them  in  the  local  papers)  of  the 
trust  they  had  confided  to  his  hands — that 
trust  which  it  was  one  of  the  proudest  privi- 
leges of  an  Englishman  to  possess — that  trust 
which  it  was  the  proudest  privilege  of  an 
Englishman  to  hold.  It  may  be  mentioned 
as  a  proof  of  the  great  general  interest  at- 
taching to  the  contest,  that  a  Lunatic  whom 
nobody  employed  or  knew,  went  down  to 
Verbosity  with  several  thousand  pounds  in 
gold,  determined  to  give  the  whole  away — 
which  he  actually  did  ;  and  that  all  the  pub- 
licans opened  their  houses  for  nothing.  Like- 
wise, several  fighting  men,  and  a  patriotic 
group  of  burglars  sportively  armed  with  life- 
preservers,  proceeded  (in  barouches  and  very 
drunk)  to  the  scene  of  action  at  their  own 
expense ;  these  children  of  nature  having 
conceived  a  warm  attachment  to  our  honora- 
ble friend,  and  intending,  in  their  artless 
manner,  to  testify  it  by  knocking  the  voters 
in  the  opposite  interest  on  the  head. 

Our  honorable  friend  being  come  into  the 
presence  of  his  constituents,  and  having  pro- 
fessed with  great  suavity  that  he  was  delighted 
to  see  his  good  friend  Tipkisson  there,  in  his 
working  dress — his  good  friend  Tipkisson 
being  an  inveterate  saddler,  who  always  op- 
poses him,  and  for  whom  he  has  a  mortal 
hatred — made  them  a  brisk,  ginger-beery  sort 
of  speech,  in  which  he  showed  them  how  the 
dozen  noblemen  and  gentlemen  had  (in 
exactly  ten  days  from  their  coming  in)  exer- 
cised a  surprisingly  beneficial  effect  on  the 
whole  financial  condition  of  Europe,  had 
altered  the  state  of  the  exports  and  imports 
for  the  current  half-year,  had  prevented  the 
drain  of  gold,  had  made  all  that  matter  right 
about  the  glut  of  the  raw  material,  and  had 
restored  all  sorts  of  balances  with  which 
the  superseded  noblemen  and  gentlemen  had 
played  the  deuce — and  all  this,  with  wheat 
at  so  much  a  quarter,  gold  at  so  much  an 
ounce,  and  the  Bank  of  England  discount- 


ing good  bills  at  so  much  per  cent. !  He 
might  be  asked,  he  observed  in  a  perora- 
tion of  great  power,  what  were  his  prin- 
ciples ?  His  principles  were  what  they  always 
had  been.  His  principles  were  written  in 
the  countenances  of  the  lion  and  unicorn  ; 
were  stamped  indelibly  upon  the  royal  shield 
which  tho.se  grand  animals  supported,  and 
upon  the  free  words  of  fire  which  that  shield 
bore.  His  principles  were,  Britannia  and  her 
sea-king  trident !  His  principles  were,  com- 
mercial prosperity  co-existently  with  perfect 
and  profound  agricultural  contentment ;  but 
short  of  this  he  would  never  stop.  His 
principles  were,  these, — with  the  addition 
of  his  colors  nailed  to  the  mast,  every  man's 
heart  in  the  right  place,  every  man's  eye 
open,  every  man's  hand  ready,  every  man's 
mind  on  the  alert.  His  principles  were,  these, 
concurrently  with  a  general  revision  of  some- 
thing —  speaking  generally — and  a  possible 
re-adjustment  of  something  else,  not  to  be 
mentioned  more  particularly.  His  prin- 
ciples, to  sum  up  all  in  a  word,  were,  Hearths 
and  Altars,  Labor  and  Capital,  Crown  and 
Sceptre,  -Elephant  and  Castle.  And  now,  if  his 
good  friend  Tipkisson  required  any  further 
explanation  from  him  he  (our  honorable 
friend)  was  there,  willing  and  ready  to 
give  it. 

Tipkisson,  who  all  this  time  had  stood  con- 
spicuous in  the  crowd,  with  his  arms  folded  and 
his  eyes  intently  fastened  on  our  honorable 
friend  ;  Tipkisson,  who  throughout  our  honor- 
able friend's  address  had  not  relaxed  a  muscle 
of  his  visage,  but  had  stood  there,  wholly  un- 
affected by  the  torrent  of  eloquence  :  an  object 
of  contempt  and  scorn  to  mankind  (by  which 
we  mean,  of  course,  to  the  supporters  of  our 
honorable  friend)  ;  Tipkisson  now  said  that 
he  was  a  plain  man  (Cries  of  "  You  are 
indeed ! "),  and  that  what  he  wanted  to 
know  was,  what  our  honorable  friend  and 
the  dozen  noblemen  and  gentlemen  were 
driving  at  ? 

Our  honorable  friend  immediately  replied, 
"  At  the  illimitable  perspective." 

It  was  considered  by  the  whole  assembly 
that  this  happy  statement  of  our  honorable 
friend's  political  views  ought,  immediately,  to 
have  settled  Tipkisson's  business  and  covered 
him  with  confusion  ;  but,  that  implacable 
person,  regardless  of  the  execrations  that 
were  heaped  upon  him  from  all  sides  (by 
which  we  mean,  of  course,  from  our  honor- 
able friend's  side),  persisted  in  retaining  an 
unmoved  countenance,  and  obstinately  re- 
torted that  if  our  honorable  friend  meant 
that,  he  wished  to  know  what  tliat  meant  1 

It  was  in  repelling  this  most  objectionable 
and  indecent  opposition,  that  our  honorable 
friend  displayed  his  highest  qualifications  for 
the  representation  of  Verbosity.  His  warmest 
supporters  present,  and  those  who  were  best 
acquainted  with  his  generalship,  supposed 
that  the  moment  was  come  when  he  would 
fall  back  upon  the  sacred  bulwarks  of  our 


Charles  Die-kens.] 


TRANSPORTED  FOE  LIFE. 


4-55 


nationality.  No  such  thing.  He  replied 
thus  :  "  My  good  friend  Tipkisson,  gentlemen, 
wishes  to  know  what  I  mean  when  he  asks  me 
what  we  are  driving  at,  and  when  I  candidly 
tell  him,  at  the  illimitable  perspective.  He 
•wishes  (if  I  understand  him)  to  know  what  I 
mean  1 "  "I  do  !  "  says  Tipkisson, amid  cries 
of  "Shame"  and  "Down  with  him."  "Gentle- 
men," say  sour  honorable  friend,  "I  will  indulge 
my  good  friend  Tipkisson,  by  telling  him,  both 
what  I  mean  and  what  I  don't  mean.  (Cheers 
and  cries  of  "  Give  it  him  !  " )  Be  it  known  to 
him  then,  and  to  all  whom  it  may  concern,  that 
I  do  mean  altars,  hearths,  and  homes,  and 
that  I  don't  mean  mosques  and  Mahomme- 
danism  !  "  The  effect  of  this  home-thrust 
was  terrific.  Tipkisson  (who  is  a  Baptist)  was 
hooted  down  and  hustled  out,  and  has  ever 
since  been  regarded  as  a  Turkish  Renegade 
who  contemplates  an.  early  pilgrimage  to 
Mecca.  Nor  was  he  the  only  discomfited 
man.  The  charge,  while  it  stuck  to  him,  was 
magically  transferred  to  our  honorable  friend's 
opponent,  who  was  represented  in  an  immense 
variety  of  placards  as  a  firm  believer  in  Ma- 
homet ;  and  the  men  of  Verbosity  were  asked 
to  choose  between  our  honorable  friend  and 
the  Bible,  and  our  honorable  friend's  oppo- 
nent and  the  Koran.  They  decided  for  our 
honorable  friend,  and  rallied  round  the 
illimitable  perspective. 

It  has  been  claimed  for  our  honorable 
friend,  with  much  appearance  of  reason,  that 
he  was  the  first  to  bend  sacred  matters  to 
electioneering  tactics.  However  this  may  be, 
the  fine  precedent  was  undoubtedly  set  in  a 
Verbosity  election  :  and  it  is  certain  that  our 
honorable  friend  (who  was  a  disciple  of 
Brahma  in  his  youth,  and  was  a  Buddhist 
when  we  had  the  honour  of  travelling  with 
him  a  few  years  ago,)  always  professes  in 
public  more  anxiety  than  the  whole  Bench 
of  Bishops,  regarding  the  theological  and 
doxological  opinions  of  every  man,  woman, 
and  child,  in  the  United  Kingdom. 

As  we  began  by  saying  that  our  honorable 
friend  has  got  in  again  at  this  last  election, 
and  that  we  are  delighted  to  find  that  he  has 
got  in,  so  we  will  conclude.  Our  honor- 
able friend  cannot  come  in  for  Verbosity  too 
often.  It  is  a  good  sign  ;  it  is  a  great 
example.  It  is  to  men  like  our  honorable 
friend,  and  to  contests  like  those  from  which 
he  comes  triumphant,  that  we  are  mainly 
indebted  for  that  ready  interest  m  politics, 
that  fresh  enthusiasm  in  the  discharge  of  the 
duties  of  citizenship,  that  ardent  desire  to 
rush  to  the  poll,  at  present  so  manifest 
throughout  England.  When  the  contest  lies 
(as  it  sometimes  does)  between  two  such  men 
as  our  honorable  friend,  it  stimulates  the 
finest  emotions  of  our  nature,  and  awakens  the 
highest  admiration  of  which  our  heads  and 
hearts  are  capable. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  predict  that  our 
honorable  friend  will  be  always  at  his  post 
in  the  ensuing  session.  Whatever  the  question 


be,  or  whatever  the  form  of  its  discussion ; 
address  to  the  crown,  election-petition,  ex- 
penditure of  the  public  money,  extension  of 
the  public  suffrage,  education,  crime  ;  in  the 
whole  house,  in  committee  of  the  whole  house, 
in  select  committee  ;  in  every  parliamentary 
discussion  of  every  subject,  everywhere  :  the 
Honorable  Member  for  Verbosity  will  most 
certainly  be  found. 


TRANSPORTED  FOR  LIFE. 

IS  TWO  PARTS. — PART  I. 

The  following  narrative  is  not  fictitious.  It  lias 
been  taken  down  from  the  lips  of  the  narrator,  whose 
sufferings  are  described ;  with  the  object  of  shewing 
what  Transportation,  at  the  present  time,  really  is. 

MANY  years  ago — eventful  years  with  me — 
I  stood  at  the  bar  of  a  court  of  justice,  and 
heard  the  terrible  announcement  of  the  judge, 
that  I  was  to  be  transported  to  a  penal 
colony  for  the  remainder  of  my  life.  My 
innocence  of  the  crime  of  which  twelve  men 
had,  at  the  end  of  my  long  trial,  declared  me 
guilty,  has  since  been  established.  I  have  not 
forgotten,  nor  shall  I  ever  forget,  with  what 
emotions  I  rose,  at  the  end  of  a  trial  which 
lasted  a  whole  week,  to  make  my  last  appeal, 
"  in  arrest  of  judgment."  My  appeal  was  in. 
vain  ;  and,  when  I  heard  my  principal  fellow 
prisoner  whom  I  then  knew  to  be  guilty, 
asserting  in  fewer  words — though  with 
scarcely  less  fervour — that  he  also  was  guilt- 
less, I  felt  how  little  the  most  emphatic 
assertions  of  a  prisoner  could  weigh  with 
those  who  have  had  long  experience  in  the 
administration  of  justice.  Then,  and  not  till 
then,  a  feeling  of  my  utter  helplessness  came 
upon  me.  The  complete  isolation  of  the  soul 
of  every  man  from  me  had  never  before  pre- 
sented itself  so  strongly  to  my  mind.  My 
fellow  prisoner  has  since  acquitted  me  of  all 
participation  in  his  crime.  How  different, 
then,  were  the  thoughts  and  feelings  in  our 
breasts,  as  we  stood  there  side  by  side.  Yet 
the  crowd  about  us  were  as  unable  to  look 
into  the  mind  of  the  guilty  man,  as  I  was 
powerless  to  make  known  to  them  my  own. 

The  present  separate  celled  prison  omnibus 
had  not  come  into  use  at  that  time  ;  and,  after 
the  trial  was  over,  myself  and  a  batch  of  other 
prisoners  were  conveyed  from  Newgate  in  a 
long  van  open  at  the  top  and  guarded  by  a 
policeman,  in  the  place  of  conductor,  to  the 
prison  at  Milbank.  I  was  chained  leg  to  leg 
with  a  man  who  had  been  twice  convicted  of 
burglary.  The  operation  of  riveting  on  the 
irons  is  a  painful  one,  and  is  performed  with 
as  much  rudeness  and  with  as  little  feeling  as 
it  could  have  been  done  five  centuries  since — 
each  stroke  of  the  riveting  hammer  causing  a 
sensation  of  pain  something  like  tooth- 
drawing.  It  was  a  fine  spring  morning  ;  and 
through  the  entrance  of  the  vehicle,  I  caught 
a  glimpse — perhaps,  as  I  thought,  for  the  last 
time — of  the  busy  streets,  already  growing 


456 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


strange  to  me  after  the  three  months'  im- 
prisonment which  preceded  my  trial.  I 
thought  of  how  often  I  had  passed  through 
those  very  streets,  as  free  and  happy  as  any  of 
the  throng  I  saw  there.  Some  stood  to  look 
at  our  vehicle;  though  most  were  too  busy 
to  take  any  heed  of  us.  The  sun  was  shining  ; 
the  shopkeepers,  here  and  there,  were  unfurl- 
ing their  street  blinds,  or  watering  the  pave- 
ment in  front  of  their  doors.  A  water-cart 
had  passed  over  one  part  of  our  route,  and 
the  air  seemed  so  fresh  to  me,  who  had  been 
iised  to  the  close  atmosphere  of  a  prison  cell, 
that  I  could  have  shut  my  eyes  and  fancied 
myself  in  the  country.  The  narrow  strip  of 
sky  between  the  two  lines  of  houses  which  we 
were  able  to  observe  above  our  roofless  vehicle 
seemed  bluer  than  it  had  ever  been  before  : 
the  colours  of  the  shops  were  brighter  ;  the 
people  in  the  streets,  men,  women,  and 
children,  more  neat  and  clean  than  when  I 
had  seen  them  last.  A  business-like  air  was 
in  the  countenances  of  most  of  them.  Every 
one  seemed  to  be  charged  with  an  errand.  I 
almost  wondered  to  see  them  wending  so 
gravely  towards  the  city  on  such  a  fine 
morning.  Yet  how  often  I  had  been  one 
of  them  ;  and  had  never  dreamed,  unless  by 
predetermination,  of  wandering  away  into 
the  country  on  such  a  fine  day  to  enjoy  that 
liberty,  of  which  I  had  never  truly  known 
the  value  until  then. 

It  was  indeed  many  a  day  before  I  saw 
again  anything  so  refreshing  as  the  sight  of 
the  streets  in  that  half-hour's  ride.  At 
Milbauk  I  remained  about  two  months. 
Meanwhile  I  heard  nothing  of  what  had 
passed  in  the  world  outside  the  walls  of  my 
prison — what  was  the  public  opinion  upon 
my  sentence  ;  or  whether  the  efforts  of  my 
few  friends  on  my  behalf  were  likely  to  prove 
successful.  One  night,  however,  I  learnt 
from  a  turnkey — a  kind-hearted  man — that 
one  of  my  fellow  prisoners  (not  the  principal 
one)  had  confessed  his  guilt,  and  had  ex- 
onerated me  from  all  participation  in  it :  but 
I  heard  no  more.  Nothing  occurred  to  show 
that  this  circumstance  exercised  a  favourable 
influence  over  my  fate.  Indeed,  I  knew  that 
such  confessions  have  ordinarily  little  effect. 
I  was,  therefore,  not  surprised  when  I  heard 
from  the  officer  on  duty,  as  he  looked  into 
my  cell  one  night,  that  we  were  to  be  removed 
early  on  the  following  morning. 

At  about  four  o'clock  we  were  accordingly 
called  forth,  and  ordered  to  put  on  an  entirely 
new  suit  of  clothes,  consisting  of  a  coarse 
brown  serge  jacket,  waistcoat,  breeches,  stock- 
ings, highlows,  and  a  particularly  fright- 
ful skull-cap.  All  the  articles  appeared  to 
have  been  selected  at  random,  without  the 
slightest  reference  to  the  dimensions  of  the 
wearer ;  the  jacket  would  have  enveloped  two 
such  bodies  as  mine,  and  the  breeches  scarcely 
came  down  to  my  knees.  A  few  minutes 
were  allowed  for  the  slipping  on  of  these 
garments  ;  after  which  every  man  received  a 


hunch  of  bread,  and  we  were  equipped  for  a 
voyage  of  seventeen  thousand  miles.  We 
were  formed  in  line,  and  handcuffed  two 
and  two  ;  a  heavy  iron  chain,  in  addition, 
being  passed  through  a  ring  of  the  handcuff, 
so  as  to  fasten  about  a  dozen  of  us  together. 
The  signal  was  then  given  to  march  ;  and 
we  proceeded,  under  a  strong  guard  of  the 
prison  officers  with  muskets  loaded,  down 
to  the  river  side  in  front  of  the  prison,  to- 
embark. 

Notwithstanding  the  early  hour,  a  number 
of  persons  were  there  to  watch  the  process  of 
embarkation.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the 
failure  of  the  Government  in  the  systems  for 
the  treatment  of  convicts,  they  have  been 
eminently  successful  in  rendering  their  ap- 
pearance abject  and  pitiable :  when  to  the 
ugliness  of  the  clothing  was  added  the 
total  disregard  of  bulk  and  stature,  the- 
appearance  of  some  of  our  party  was  perfectly 
ludicrous.  The  nether  garments  of  one  man, 
intended  to  reach  to  the  knee,  only  had  to  be 
buttoned  a  little  above  his  ancles  ;  whilst 
those  of  others  did  not  extend  to  the  knee. 
Two  hundred  and  twenty  of  us  were  conveyed 
in  three  drafts  on  board  a  steamer  in  waiting 
to  convey  us.  Our  boat  contained  seventy. 
I  could  not  help  thinking  of  water  parties  of 
a  different  character  ;  but,  upon  the  whole, 
my  mind  was  more  tranquil  than  I  could 
have  expected.  I  endeavoured,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  step  out  of  myself  and  to  speculate 
upon  the  history  and  character  of  those  who,, 
with  one  exception,  were  strangers  to  me  ;. 
but  who  were  now  to  be  my  companions  by 
night  and  day,  for  at  least  four  months  ;  and. 
to  wonder  if  there  was  one  among  them  with 
whom  I  might  hope  to  beguile  the  long  and 
wearisome  days  and  nights  of  the  coming 
voyage. 

At  Milbank  we  had  been  kept  upon  the 
silent  and  solitary  system.  The  restraint 
being  removed  aboard  the  steamer,  every 
man  seemed  determined  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.  Many  had  been  former  acquaintances, 
and  had  a  world  of  news  to  exchange. 
Nothing  could  have  produced  a  stranger 
effect  than  their  conduct,  contrasted  with 
their  abject  appearance,  condition,  and  pros- 
pects. They  laughed,  jested,  and  sang  ;  and, 
despite  the  chains  with  which  they  were 
loaded,  some  of  them  even  danced.  My 
nearest  neighbour  was  one  of  the  merriest.. 
He  exulted  in  the  many  escapes  he  had  had,, 
and  in  the  fact  that,  after  all,  he  was  only 
transported  for  ten  years. 

At  Woolwich  we  were  put  aboard  the  con- 
vict ship  ;  every  man  as  he  descended  into  the 
hold  being  numbered  on  the  back,  like  one  of 
a  flock  of  sheep.  The  centre  of  the  vessel 
was  appropriated  to  the  prisoners,  and  was 
divided  into  compartments,  each  accomrnc-- 
dating  eight  men,  with  a  square  table  and 
seats  of  portable  deal  boards,  arranged  in  tiers 
— above  and  below — all  round.  At  night  these 
were  so  disposed  as  to  form  sleeping  berths. 


Ch&rles  Dickens.] 


TRANSPORTED  FOR  LIFE. 


457 


If  any  one  will  imagine  a  long  room  filled  with 
pauper  coffins  with  the  lids  off,  he  will  have  a 
good  idea  of  our  dormitory.  Our  irons  were 
immediately  knocked  off;  but,  on  the  follow- 
ing morning,  we  were  one  at  a  time  summoned 
on  deck  and  ironed  more  heavily,  having  a 
ring  round  the  anele,  with  a  long  heavy  chain 
attached  to  another  ring.  This  we  dragged 
about  with  us  till  my  leg  was  severely  exco- 
riated ;  and  getting  in  and  out  of  my  sleeping 
berth,  and  going  up  and  down  the  ladder 
became  a  difficult  task.  I  have  since  learnt 
that  it  is  not  usual  to  chain  prisoners  on  the 
voyage,  except  for  misconduct ;  and  I  believe 
that  my  fellow-prisoners  had  to  attribute  this 
to  the  accident  of  my  being  among  their 
number.  But  if  they  thus  suffered  on  my 
account,  Heaven  knows  I  suffered  enough 
on  theirs  during  the  voyage ;  for  petty 
offences  were  frequently  committed,  of  which 
the  particular  authors  could  not  be  detected  ; 
consequently,  all  were  punished  by  increased 
privations.  During  our  stay  at  Woolwich, 
the  prisoners  were  allowed  to  write  to  their 
friends,  and  to  take  a  last  fai'ewell  of  those 
who  might  choose  to  visit  them,  although 
strangers  were  compelled  to  remain  in  a  boat 
alongside,  and  were  not  allowed  to  come 
aboard.  So  disfigured  were  they  by  their 
dress  and  close  cut  hair,  that  wives  could 
scarcely  recognise  their  own  husbands.  A 
gentleman  who  had  known  me  from  child- 
hood said,  "  If  I  had  not  heard  your  voice,  I 
could  not  believe  it  was  yourself."  Excepting 
some  affecting  leave-takings,  the  time  here 
was  spent  in  great  hilarity.  Some  of 
the  prisoners'  friends  brought  them  a  little 
money  ;  and  it  was  mysteriously  hinted  to  me 
by  one  of  the  officers  of  the  vessel,  that  a 
round  Dutch  cheese,  scooped  out  and  filled 
with  sovereigns,  would  be  found  useful ;  but 
I  was  unable  to  avail  myself  of  his  counsel. 
Some  tea,  which  was  afterwards  stolen  from 
me,  and  a  few  shillings  were  all  my  viaticum. 
There  was  a  subscription  for  a  violin ;  but  it 
was  subsequently  found  that  no  one  was 
capable  of  playing  on  it.  Nevertheless, 
without  music  and  with  a  heavy  chain 
clanking  to  one  leg,  some  danced  as  merrily 
as  if  they  had  been  in  a  booth  at  a  fair. 
They  were  also  allowed  to  make  purchases 
of  the  "  bumboat-man,"  who  appeared  to 
enjoy  a  monopoly  of  this  branch  of  Govern- 
ment patronage.  He  supplied  a  variety 
of  trifling  articles,  such  as  cakes,  fruit, 
needles,  thread,  tin  plates,  &c.,  at  a  profit 
of  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent.; 
but  his  customers  contrived  to  square  the 
account  in  a  way  peculiarly  their  own  ;  for, 
while  he  was  extorting  an  undue  profit  on  the 
one  hand,  his  basket  was  generally  robbed 
by  adroit  thieves  on  the  other. 

In  the  river,  our  rations  consisted  of 
biscuits,  soup,  and  cocoa,  night  and  morning. 
At  sea,  we  had  salt  meat  with  a  pudding — 
pleasantly  termed  plum-pudding — but  he  was 
lucky  indeed  who  found  a  plum  in  his  slice. 


On  alternate  days  we  had  pork  and  pea-soup. 
Each  man  received  an  iron  spoon  and  a  tin 
pot,  but  no  plates,  knives  or  forks.  Upon  a 
kind  hint  from  the  surgeon  (who  is  the  repre- 
sentative of  Government  in  a  convict  ship),  I 
had  purchased  a  tin  plate,  although,  as  I  was 
the  only  member  of  my  mess  who  indulged  in 
this  luxury,  it  exposed  me  to  some  coarse 
ridicule ;  but  as  I  bore  this  with  good 
humour,  my  companions  (seven  more  despe- 
rate characters  could  not  well  have  been 
found)  were  soon  reconciled  to  me  and  my 
tin  plate.  The  food  was  delivered  to  one 
of  every  eight  men,  who  was  called  the 
captain  of  the  mess.  He  then  divided  it — 
meat  or  pudding — into  eight  lots  ;  and  these 
were  laid  in  two  rows  on  the  mess  table.  To 
prevent  partiality,  one  of  the  mess  was  selected 
to  name  the  several  owners,  turning  his  back, 
whilst  another,  placing  his  hand  on  the 
tempting  lump,  cried  out  "  Who  shall  ?  "  I 
subsequently,  however,  discovered  that  under 
this  ostentatious  parade  of  fair  play  there 
lurked  the  grossest  injustice  ;  for  having 
noticed  that  both  the  parties  engaged  iu 
dealing  out  "  even  handed  justice,"  always 
got  the  largest  portions,  and  that  their  office 
was  regarded  as  a  privilege,  I  was  led  to 
inquire  of  one  of  the  mess  during  the  voyage, 
and  learnt  that  there  was  a  well  understood 
confederacy  between  the  adjudicators. 

Our  ship  was  of  five  hundred  and  sixty 
tons  burden ;  and  besides  the  ordinary  com- 
plement of  seamen,  carried  a  military  guard 
of  fifty  men.  The  entire  management  of  the 
two  hundred  and  twenty  prisoners  was  con- 
fided to  the  surgeon,  whose  duties  were  both 
arduous  and  dangerous  ;  for  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  avoid  incurring  the  ill-will  of  some 
of  the  more  desperate  characters.  We  had 
also  a  chaplain,  who  read  prayers  every 
day  iu  the  prison  when  the  sea  was  not  too 
rough ;  and  on  Sundays  performed  divine 
service  on  deck,  which  we  all  attended. 

The  day  fixed  for  our  departure  had  (as  is 
customary)  been  studiously  concealed  from 
us.  One  morning  we  were  towed  down  the 
river,  and  about  two  miles  out  into  the 
Channel.  The  time  passed  at  Woolwich — 
from  the  corresponding  with  friends,  dealings 
with  the  bumboat-man,  the  temporary  enjoy- 
ment of  little  luxuries  of  which  they  had  been 
long  deprived,  the  revival  of  old  acquaintances, 
the  exchange  of  news  and  of  messages,  the 
eager  examination  of  newspapers  occasionally, 
though  secretly,  introduced — was  one  of  com- 
parative enjoyment  to  most  of  the  prisoners. 
But  there  were  those  who,  like  myself,  clung 
to  the  hope  that  they  would  yet  be  snatched 
from  the  abyss  of  misery  which  lay  before 
them.  The  bumboat-man's  basket  had  no 
attraction  for  them,  nor  could  they  enjoy  any 
of  the  gratifications  placed  for  a  moment 
within  their  reach.  They  corresponded  con- 
tinually with  their  friends,  scanned  with 
eager  anxiety  every  boat  that  came  alongside, 
and  observed  with  wistful  eye  every  post 


458 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


delivery.  Circumstances  did  justify  hopes  in 
some  ;  but  they  sank  as  the  vessel  got  rapidly 
out  to  sea.  Still  many  clung  to  them  ;  adverse 
winds  might  keep  us  in  the  Downs,  where  a 
countermand  might  yet  be  received.  These 
hopes  were,  however,  in  no  case  realised. 
Order  and  quiet  was  now  maintained  ;  but 
the  men  generally  were  much  depressed  as 
we  gradually  lost  sight  of  land,  and  began  to 
speculate  upon  the  sufferings  which  awaited 
them.  Our  place  of  destination  was  generally 
understood  (although  that  was  kept  as  secret 
as  possible)  to  be  Norfolk  Island. 

Once  at  sea,  and  every  hope  being  cut  off 
for  the  present,  I  resolved  to  submit  myself 
as  cheerfully  as  possible  to  my  strange  fate, 
and  to  endeavour  to  be  useful  to  my  fellow 
prisoners  ;  trusting  that  my  life  might  be 
spared  through  the  dangers  of  a  long  sea 
voyage,  and  the  hardships  of  a  penal  settle- 
ment, until  that  day  of  justice  and  reinstate- 
ment in  society  w'hich  I  never  doubted  would, 
sooner  or  later,  arrive.  I  was  made  librarian, 
chaplain's  clerk,  and  inspector  of  the  night 
watch  ;  so  that,  although  my  miseries  were 
neither  few  nor  trifling,  the  want  of  occupa- 
tion was  not  one  of  the  number.  The  books 
constituting  the  library  were  supplied  by 
various  charitable  societies ;  they  were  selected 
•with  care,  being  confined  to  religious  and 
scientific  subjects  popularly  treated,  excluding 
such  as  would  convey  information  that  was 
likely  to  be  misapplied.  Many  were  on 
natural  history  with  plates,  and  these  were 
much  sought  after  by  those  who  could  not 
read — a  large  proportion.  Our  books  were 
a  blessing,  and  I  am  persuaded  had  a  good 
effect  upon  the  minds  and  feelings.  There 
•were  about  one  hundred  volumes,  great  and 
small  ;  and,  notwithstanding  they  were  in 
constant  circulation,  there  was  not  one 
deficient  at  the  end  of  the  voyage. 

The  authorities  aboard  were  very  jealous  of 
books  upon  nautical  and  geographical  sub- 
jects. On  one  occasion  the  captain,  noticing 
a  volume  of  "  Guthrie's  Geography "  in  a 
prisoner's  hand,  immediately  seized  and  threw 
it  overboard.  It  was  supposed  that  informa- 
tion might  be  derived  from  such  sources  which 
•would  tempt  the  prisoners  to  endeavour  to 
take  the  ship,  and  effect  their  escape ;  and, 
in  truth,  the  practicability  of  this  was  a 
favourite  topic  ;  especially  with  those  who  had 
been  transported  before,  and  who  had  pretty 
accurate  information  as  to  instances  of  both 
success  and  failure  in  the  seizing  of  ships,  as 
well  by  crews  as  by  convicts.  Our  irons  had 
been  taken  off  on  first  getting  to  sea,  and  it 
was  said  that  the  capture  of  the  ship,  and 
an  escape  to  the  coast  would  be  easy,  if  the 
prisoners  were  true  to  each  other.  The 
successful  seizure  of  the  Wellington  by  con- 
victs on  its  way  from  Sydney  to  Norfolk 
Island,  as  well  as  the  famous  mutiny  of  the 
Bounty,  were  quoted  as  instances  of  the 
facility  with  which  the  object  might  be  ac- 
complished. It  was  generally  believed  that 


a  sudden  rush  upon  the  poop  would  settle 
the  matter — that  the  sentinels  would,  in  a 
moment,  be  overpowered  and  disarmed. 
Amongst  the  prisonei's  were  several  old 
sailors  who,  it  was  believed,  would  be  able  to 
steer  the  ship  should  the  mates  prove  re- 
fractory. Nothing,  I  believe,  prevented  the 
attempt  but  the  consciousness  that  there 
were  those  among  themselves  who  would 
have  been  as  much  opposed  to  their  design 
as  the  captain  himself,  and  who  would  have 
frustrated  it,  if  there  had  been  any  serious 
intention  of  carrying  it  into  execution.  Before 
we  were  well  out  of  the  Channel  we  en- 
countered a  severe  gale,  which  carried  away 
our  foretop-gallant  mast  and  royal.  A  great 
number  of  the  prisoners  were  sea-sick.  When 
it  is  remembered  how  wretched  is  the  saloon 
of  even  a  first-class  steamer  occupied  by  the 
most  civilised  of  human  beings,  with  con- 
venient berths,  attentive  stewards,  and  all 
suitable  appliances,  some  faint,  but  very 
inadequate  idea,  may  be  gained  of  the  loath- 
some and  miserable  circumstances  in  which  I 
was  placed,  with  one-third  of  our  party  sea- 
sick, and  no  provision  made  for  such  a  state 
of  things. 

We  had  not  been  a  month  at  sea  when  the 
small-pox  broke  out  amongst  us  ;  although,  by 
the  exertions  of  the  medical  officer,  it  was 
confined  to  six  of  our  number.  A  young 
man,  whom  I  had  previously  remarked  as  one 
of  the  finest  and  most  robust-looking  aboard, 
fell  a  victim.  He  was  committed  to  the  deep 
in  the  usual  manner ;  the  church  service 
being  read  by  the  chaplain,  and  I  acting  as 
clerk.  All  the  prisoners  were  assembled  on. 
deck,  and  many  of  them  seemed  affected.  For 
myself  I  rejoiced  that,  although  a  transported 
convict,  and  in  spite  of  my  degrading  dress 
and  miserable  condition,  I  could  respond 
without  shame  to  the  beautiful  prayers  of 
the  burial  service.  The  rest  recovered  ; 
and,  after  this,  the  general  health  was  very 
good.  We  had  no  vegetables,  except  some 
preserved  potatoes,  which  only  lasted  three 
weeks. 

Before  we  arrived  at  the  Cape  we  kept  too- 
far  out  at  sea  to  catch  more  than  shadowy 
glimpses  of  the  land  ;  these,  however,  sufficed 
for  topics  of  conversation,  especially  as  we 
were'  enabled  to  learn  from  day  to  day  the 
exact  progress  we  made.  The  most  distinct 
view  we  obtained  of  any  land  was  of  Gough's 
Island,  in  40  degrees,  19  minutes  latitude,  and 
7  degrees,  30  minutes  west  longitude  ;  six  days 
after  sighting  which  we  bore  up  for  the  Caper 
at  the  request  of  the  surgeon,  who  represented 
to  the  captain  that  the  health  of  the  prisoners 
required  rest  and  the  support  of  fresh  pro- 
visions for  a  few  days.  Flights  of  pigeons 
indicated  the  approach  of  land,  though  still 
five  hundred  miles  distant.  The  water  lost 
its  deep  blue  tint,  and  the  swell  of  the  waves 
grew  less  and  less.  We  entered  Symou's  Bay 
seventy-one  days  after  leaving  Woolwich. 
When  one  lynx-eyed  man  declared  he  could 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TEANSPOETED  FOE  LIFE. 


459 


see  a  team  of  four  horses  with  a  driver,  his 
assertion  produced  a  loud  laugh  ;  but  when 
its  motion  was  distinctly  observable,  and 
nearer  approach  confirmed  the  fact  that  it 
actually  was  a  man  driving  a  waggon  with 
four  horses,  the  excitement  was  immense. 
The  weather  was  very  fine.  The  bay  is  in  the 
form  of  a  horse-shoe,  shut  in  with  mountains, 
the  slopes  of  which  are  green  to  the  water's 
edge,  and  dotted  far  and  wide  with  white 
villas. 

I  cannot  express  the  intense  desire  I  felt  to 
land  and  to  explore  the  regions  beyond  those 
mountains  ;  which,  to  my  imagination,  con- 
cealed a  paradise.  I  would  at  that  moment 
have  accepted  my  liberty,  even  if  the  country 
had  been  inhabited  by  cannibals.  I  cannot, 
therefore,  be  surprised — with  the  beautiful 
shores  stretched  so  temptingly  around  us — 
at  the  numerous  plans  of  escape  which 
were  anxiously  discussed  during  the  few 
days  we  remained  in  the  bay ;  especially 
as  it  was  the  first  and  last  time  in  the 
course  of  the  voyage  that  such  a  temptation 
would  occur.  A  party  of  four  of  the  prisoners 
made  a  desperate  effort.  Three  of  them 
were  employed  about  the  ship,  and  had,  there- 
fore, facilities  for  making  arrangements  for 
flight.  They  were  not  compelled  to  descend 
into  the  prison  dungeon,  like  the  rest  of  us, 
an  hour  before  sunset.  The  fourth  answered 
to  his  name  at  the  evening  muster,  but 
slipped  back  instead  of  descending  the  ladder, 
and  concealed  himself  upon  deck  until  mid- 
night ;  when  all  four  glided  stealthily  down 
the  ship's  side,  and  struck  out  for  the  shore. 
Whether  they  eluded  the  sentinels,  or  were 
in  collusion  with  them,  was  not  known ;  but,  as 
it  was  one  of  the  brilliant  moonlight  nights  of 
those  latitudes,  and  the  bay  was  perfectly  calm, 
they  could  hardly  have  escaped  the  obser- 
vation of  the  sentinels  on  duty.  The  vessel 
lay  at  anchor  in  the  centre  of  the  bay,  which 
at  that  part  is  three  miles  broad  ;  so  that 
land,  at  the  nearest  point,  which  they  could 
hardly  have  ventured  to  approach  —  guard 
being  constantly  on  duty  there— was  a  mile 
and  a  half  distant.  But  they  calculated  upon 
getting  rest  upon  the  anchor  chains  of  other 
vessels  lying  between  our  ship  and  the 
shore.  They  found  their  strength,  however, 
less  than  they  had  expected,  for  they  had  not 
allowed  for  the  weakening  effects  of  a  two 
months'  voyage  upon  wretched  and  unvaried 
diet.  Three  of  them  turned  back,  and  with 
great  difficulty  regained  the  ship — indeed,  but 
for  the  help  of  one  of  them,  who  was  a  good 
swimmer  and  a  man  of  extraordinary  mus- 
cular power,  the  other  two  would  have  been 
drowned.  The  ftrarth  man  firmly  refused  to 
turn,  back,  preferring,  as  he  said,  death  itself 
to  Norfolk  Island.  The  three  who  returned 
were  found  at  daylight  upon  deck,  their 
clothes  saturated  with  the  salt  water,  and 
were  reported.  The  surgeon,  upon  dis- 
covering the  escape  of  one  of  his  men  was 
much  excited  ;  information  was  given  to  the 


authorities  ashore  ;  scouts  were  despatched  to 
Cape  Town,  and  in  all  directions,  but  no 
tidings  were  obtained  of  the  runaway.  By 
some  it  was  conjectured  that  he  had  been 
snapped  under  by  one  of  the  sharks  with 
which  the  bay  abounds.  This  was  the  man 
to  whom  I  had  been  chained  leg  to  leg  at 
Newgate.  He  had  been  a  steward  on  board  a 
ship,  and  had  frequently  been  at  Cape  Town. 
There  is  no  doubt,  therefore,  that  he  had 
planned  all  along  to  get  away  at  this  point. 
He  was  transported  a  second  time  for  house- 
breaking  ;  the  commission  of  which  crime  he 
did  not  deny.  Indeed,  it  was  by  no  means  usual 
for  the  prisoners  among  themselves  to  deny 
their  guilt  ;  nor  was  there  any  inducement 
to  do  so.  On  the  contrary,  such  a  pretence, 
if  credited,  only  produced  distrust,  from  the 
want  of  community  of  feeling,  views,  interests, 
and  principles,  which  form  the  only  bond 
among  those  unhappy  men.  A  convict  who 
said,  "  I  am  innocent,"  was  in  danger  of  the 
fate  of  the  white  crow,  whose  brethren  picked 
out  his  eyes  simply  from  the  different  colour 
of  his  plumage. 

Like  all  the  other  offences  of  my  fellow-cap- 
tives, this  escape  drew  down  upon  the  whole  of 
us  increased  privations.  The  surgeon  hastened 
our  departure ;  and,  during  the  rest  of  our  stay, 
we  were  almost  always  kept  below ;  getting 
only  an  occasional  peep  at  the  magnificent  coast 
through  the  port-holes.  We  were  restricted 
from  making  little  purchases — which  had 
been  permitted  before — of  oranges,  eggs,  salt 
fish,  and  Cape  wine  ;  all  of  which  were  ex- 
tremely cheap,  and  were  brought  alongside 
by  a  very  fine  specimen  of  the  Hottentot  race, 
who  spoke  English  about  as  well  as  the 
Chinese  Comprador  at  Canton,  or  the  market 
women  at  Boulogne  or  Calais.  Nearly  all  my 
leisure,  during  my  stay  here,  was  spent  in 
writing  letters  to  my  friends  and  to  persons 
of  influence  in  England  ;  no  less  than  nine- 
teen of  which  I  despatched  by  different 
opportunities. 

On  the  seventh  day  after  entering  this 
beautiful  bay  a  favourable  breeze  sprang  up, 
and  we  set  sail  for  Norfolk  Island.  After 
doubling  the  Cape,  we  got  into  the  Trade 
Winds  ;  which  continued  with  us — although 
at  times  very  light  almost  to  a  dead  calm — for 
the  rest  of  our  voyage.  Flights  of  albatrosses 
and  other  sea  birds  accompanied  us  ;  wheeling 
about  the  ship  in  graceful  circles,  and  occa- 
sionally darting  down  and  soaring  up  again 
with  some  small  fish  in  their  beaks.  To  shoot 
them  was  a  favourite  amusement  with  the 
civil  and  military  officers  aboard. 

We  had  left  the  Cape  about  three  weeks, 
when  there  was  a  general  murmuring  among 
the  men,  which  some  of  the  more  desperate 
sought  to  kindle  into  open  mutiny.  At  the 
commencement  of  our  voyage,  there  had  been 
exhibited  on  deck  a  table  showing  the  rations 
to  which  we  were  entitled  under  the  con- 
tractor's agreement  with  the  Government ; 
and  in  it  was  the  item  of  "  two  gallons  of  wine 


460 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


each,"  to  be  given  in  the  course  of  the  voyage. 
This  had  a  smack  of  luxury  with  it  which 
seemed  out  of  keeping  with  the  rest  of  our 
miserable  dietary  ;  but  experience  had  shown 
that  prisoners  became  so  reduced  by  a  four 
mouths'  voyage',  crowded  together  to  suffoca- 
tion, as  absolutely  to  require  some  slight 
stimulant,  and  accordingly  this  modicum  of 
wine  (Cape)  was  ordered,  and  came  under  the 
head  of  "  Medical  comforts."  This  had  been 
served  out  to  each  man  mixed  Avith  lime 
juice — a  gill  at  a  time,  once  a  week.  As  even 
the  allowance  had  not  commenced  until  we 
had  been  some  time  at  sea,  it  was  evident  that, 
at  this  rate,  there  would  be  a  large  surplus  at 
the  end  of  the  voyage.  We  were  in  about 
40  degrees  of  latitude  ;  and,  with  our  slender 
clothing  and  reduced  condition,  suffered 
severely  from  cold.  The  more  evil-disposed 
insisted  that  keeping  back  the  wine  was  a 
deliberate  fraud — a  foretaste  of  the  cruelty 
and  injustice  in  store  for  them,  and  hinted 
that  any  fate  was  better  than  Norfolk  Island, 
where  all  chance  of  escape  would  be  cut  off. 
They  compared  their  own  strength  with  the 
militaiy  guard,  counted  up  many  soldiers  and 
sailors  who  would,  they  believed,  desert  to 
their  side  upon  the  first  outbreak.  I  observed 
more  attention  was  paid  to  these  dangerous 
suggestions  than  formerly  ;  and,  amongst  a 
considerable  party  of  the  oldest  prisoners, 
there  seemed  a  more  fixed  and  serious  purpose. 
Thinking  it  probable  that  the  surgeon,  who 
had  shown  great  zeal  and  humanity  hitherto, 
had  proper  reasons  for  reserving  the  wine,  I 
was  loath  to  interfere  ;  but  the  aspect  of  affairs 
was  every  day  becoming  more  alarming.  Men 
left  their  berths  and  debated  in  clusters,  for 
hours  together,  various  schemes  for  seizing 
the  ship.  In  this  state  of  things,  I  suggested 
that  we  should  respectfully  memorialise  the 
surgeon  on  the  subject.  My  proposal  was  at 
first  very  jeeringly  received  ;  but  some  of 
the  better  disposed  approving  of  it,  the  rest 
agreed,  believing,  and  I  fear  hoping,  that  the 
memorial  would  be  treated  as  an  impertinence, 
and  thus  fan  the  flame  they  had  kindled.  I 
immediately  prepared  an  address  ;  expressing 
our  gratitude  for  the  medical  skill  and  kind- 
ness we  had  received,  and  respectfully  stating 
our  complaint  as  to  the  wine.  This  being 
signed  by  the  captain  of  each  of  the  different 
messes  on  behalf  of  the  whole,  I  forwarded  it 
to  the  surgeon,  with  a  note  stating  the  cir- 
cumstances which  had  induced  me  to  inter- 
fere. In  a  few  minutes  he  came  down,  and 
said  that  withholding  the  wine  was  the  result 
of  a  miscalculation,  and  assured  us  that  we 
should  receive  the  remainder  in  double  allow- 
ances daily  for  the  future — a  promise  which 
he  faithfully  observed.  This  kept  the  men  in 
good  humour  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage,  and 
the  evil  counsels,  which  were  every  now  and 
then  repeated  by  some  of  the  most  desperate, 
failed  of  their  intended  effect. 

Between  the  Cape  and  Norfolk  Island,  a  dis- 
tance of  about  ten  thousand  miles,  we  only 


sighted  one  sail,  which  was  believed  to  be  an 
American  whaler.  I  had  hoped  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  little  volcanic  island  of  St. 
Pauls  ;  but,  for  the  sake  of  a  stronger  and 
steadier  wind,  our  Captain  kept  a  much  higher 
latitude  than  is  usual,  and  we  passed  the 
island  at  about  three  hundred  miles  to  the 
south. 

Among  my  two  hundred  and  twenty  com- 
panions, I  found  one — I  am  sorry  to  say  only 
one — in  whose  society  and  conversation  I 
found  solace  and  amusement.  He  was  a  fine 
young  man,  with  an  intelligent  countenance, 
and  not  quite  twenty-one  years  of  age.  His 
was  a  sad  story.  He  had  been  a  merchant's 
clerk,  and  in  an  evil  hour  had  been  tempted 
by  the  offer  of  a  promising  speculation  to 
create  himself  a  capital  by  forging  acceptances, 
These  he  renewed  as  they  became  due,  until 
an  accident  led  to  his  detection.  He  had  a 
young  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been  married 
only  three  months.  On  the  very  night  of 
his  apprehension  he  had  been  reading-  aloud 
to  her  "  The  Diary  of  a  late  Physician  ;  "  and, 
having  finished  one  of  the  short  stories  he 
turned  the  page,  and  his  eye  caught  the  title  of 
the  next.  It  was  the  episode  of  the  "  Forger." 
He  hesitated  a  moment  ;  but,  as  he  told  me,  he 
felt  his  wife's  eye  upon  him,  and  a  guilty  fear 
of  awakening  her  suspicions  compelled  him  to 
read  on.  The  details  of  the  story  sank  deep 
into  his  heart,  and  he  observed  with  a  super- 
stitious dread  his  wife's  intense  interest  in 
the  hero  of  the  narrative.  He  had  not  laid 
down  the  book  an  hour,  Avhen  the  officers  of 
justice  arrived  :  he  was  torn  from  his  wife, 
tried,  and  convicted. — He  had  read  exten- 
sively, and  possessed  an  extraordinary  memory 
— would  to  Heaven  that  all  who  are  tempted  to 
sin,  as  he  had  sinned,  might  picture  to  them- 
selves his  mental  suffering  !  Sometimes  we 
spent  many  hours  of  the  night  together, 
standing  at  the  foot  of  our  berths,  discoursing 
of  every  conceivable  subject  that  could  serve 
to  lift  him  for  awhile  above  the  feeling  of 
his  degraded  position  ;  but  there  were  periods 
when  he  sank  into  a  low  despondency  for  days 
together.  In  vain  I  sought  to  cheer  him 
with  the  prospect  of  future  liberty,  and  an 
honourable  career  that  should  atone  for 
past  error ;  fur  away  from  the  scene  of  his 
first  crime. 

We  had  now  left  England  three  mouths ; 
yet  this  period  seemed  to  me  a  life  of  misery, 
to  which  all  my  previous  career  was  but 
a  short  prologue.  My  sufferings,  both  mental 
and  physical,  had  much  weakened  me,  and 
there  were  times  when  I  found  it  hard  to 
keep  that  hopeful  and  patient  tone  of  mind, 
with  which  I  had  tried  to  go  through  the 
voyage.  It  was  monstrous  and  incredible 
(I  thought)  that  I,  who  had  never  offended 
against  the  laws  of  my  country,  should  be 
there  suffering  the  most  terrible  punishment, 
short  of  death,  which  had  been  devised  for 
the  worst  of  ruffians  ;  and  when  my  mind 
was  overwrought  by  this  thought  I  marvelled 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TEANSPOETED  FOR  LIFE. 


461 


at  the  tameness  with  which  I  had  endured  it. 
I  remember  once  endeavouring  to  trace  those 
ideas  of  the  duty  of  bearing  injustice  with 
patience,  to  their  origin ;  and,  it  seemed  to  me, 
that  I  had  been  cheating  myself  all  along  with 
the  maxims  of  those  who  had  never  sirffered 
as  I  had,  or  had  even  imagined  such  a  case  as 
mine.  These  gloomy  thoughts  visited  me 
mostly  at  night-time  ;  and,  although  the  morn- 
ing generally  brought  with  it  a  calmer  feeling 
and  a  more  reasonable  consideration  of  the 
uselessness  of  anything  I  might  say  or  do  to 
ameliorate  my  condition,  I  could  not  help, 
while  the  mood  lasted,  feeling  impatient  and 
discontented  with  myself,  as  if  I  had  "  lacked 
gall  to  make  oppression  bitter." 

My  dreams  since  my  conviction  had  been 
almost  invariably  of  a  painful  nature.  The 
bustle  of  the  day,  and  the  routine  of  duties  to 
which  I  had  now  become  accustomed,  served 
to  occupy  my  mind  ;  but,  on  finding  myself 
alone,  the  feeling  of  my  misfortunes  weighed 
heavily  upon  me,  and  in  my  sleep  this  sense 
seemed  to  give  birth  to  every  possible  variety 
of  fearful  and  distressing  imagination.  Once, 
and  once  only,  do  I  distinctly  remember 
dreaming  of  my  former  condition.  It  was  on 
the  night  after  we  had  been  promised  the 
increased  allowance  of  wine.  This  trifling 
piece  of  good  fortune,  and  the  satisfaction 
I  felt  in  having  removed  a  cause  of  dis- 
content breaking  the  dreary  monotony  of 
convict  life,  were  sufficient  to  beget  in  me 
better  spirits.  My  hopes  for  the  future  grew 
brighter  that  night,  and  the  miseries  of  the 
past  seemed  to  me  soon  about  to  be  forgotten 
in  happier  times.  Thus,  in  spite  of  the 
intense  cold,  and  our  scanty  bed  clothing, 
I  fell  asleep.  Then  it  was,  that  with  no  fear 
of  the  gun  of  the  sentry,  or  the  hard  life- 
struggle  with  the  waves  which  had  probably 
overcome  my  unhappy  comrade,  I  slipped 
away  from  that  dungeon  floating  on  the  wide 
ocean ;  and,  in  an  instant,  retracing  all  our  long 
and  wearisome  voyage,  was  again  in  England, 
in  my  old  home.  There  was  little  remarkable 
in  the  dream  itself.  I  was  merely  living  again 
one  of  the  ordinary  days  of  my  previous  life. 
But  how  strange  that  there  was  no  presenti- 
ment of  coming  evil,  no  wondennent  at  my 
own  intense  delight  in  the  commonest  things 
of  life  !  How  strange  to  have  been  shown  the 
time  to  come,  with  all  its  terrible  experiences  ; 
and  then  to  drink  a  Lethe  draught,  and 
slipping  back  again,  to  have  no  memory  of  it — 
every  thought  and  recollection  of  what  I  had 
suffered  shuffled  off  with  my  degrading 
garments,  and  left  behind  in  that  gloomy 
ship's  hold  ;  where,  but  a  moment  before,  1 
had  lain  down  to  sleep  with  my  miserable 
companions.  I  was  at  home.  Faces  of  old 
friends  were  there.  The  same  furniture  was 
about  the  room,  the  same  pictures  upon 
the  walls  ;  but  the  table  was  strewn  with 
strange  books  in  rich  and  curious  binding, 
which  I  was  examining  and  wondering  how 
they  came  there.  Blessed  dream  !  not  a  whit 


less  sweet  or  real  while  it  lasted  than  if  its 
magic  flight  and  freedom  had  been  true. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  this  fancy  lasted, 
but  I  think  I  had  been  dreaming  all  the 
time  I  had  been  asleep.  At  all  events  I 
was  still  amid  the  same  scene,  when  I  felt 
some  one  shake  me,  and  heard  a  voice  calling 
me  by  name.  No  wonder  that  the  spell 
was  broken  at  the  well-known  sound  of  that 
voice.  It  was  the  man  whom  I  loathed  as 
the  author  of  all  my  misfortunes,  and  with 
whom  I  had  been  supposed  to  have  been 
associated  in  guilt.  I  had  not  known  that  it 
was  his  turn  to  watch  that  night,  for  I  had 
studiously  avoided  all  intercourse  with  him 
from  the  day  of  my  sentence.  It  was  the  duty 
of  the  watchman  to  awaken  me  to  relieve  him, 
and  thus,  by  a  strange  fatality,  it  fell  to  him 
to  arouse  me  from  the  only  dream  of  happiness 
vouchsafed  to  me  during  the  voyage. 

It  may  be  of  interest  to  the  reader  to 
know  something  of  the  routine  of  manage- 
ment of  the  convicts  on  the  voyage.  The 
medical  superintendent,  as  I  have  mentioned, 
is  invested  with  absolute  control  over  the 
prisoners,  and  is  responsible  for  their  safety. 
He  was  assisted  in  our  vessel  by  two  over- 
seers who  had  been  non-commissioned  officers 
in  the  army,  and  were  to  be  overseers  in 
Norfolk  Island  :  one  of  them  was,  by  his  own 
account,  as  profligate  and  unprincipled  a 
vagabond  as  ever  I  met  with.  The  most 
recent  piece  of  scoundrelism  which  this 
officer — selected  for  carrying  out  the  great 
probation  system — frequently  related  and 
chuckled  over  to  the  prisoners,  was  a  promise 
of  marriage  he  had  made  to  a  servant,  who 
was  to  accompany  him  to  enjoy  his  "  colonial 
appointment,"  and  by  which  he  had  got  her 
watch  and  several  years'  savings.  The  latter 
fact  was  considered  highly  amusing,  and  con- 
tributed not  a  little  to  his  popularity.  He 
had  promised  to  marry  her  on  a  day  when 
he  knew  that  the  ship  would  have  been  at 
least  a  week  at  sea.  As  it  eventually  turned 
out,  the  maiden  was  not  so  easily  disposed  of; 
for  she  took  a  passage  shortly  after  in  another 
ship ;  and,  on  her  arrival  in  the  colony 
demanded  the  fulfilment  of  his  promise, 
under  pain  of  an  exposure  ;  which  it  seems 
the  wretch  had  not  the  courage  to  brave. 
Whether  matrimony,  under  the  circumstances, 
made  either  of  the  parties  happy,  is  more  than 
I  can  say. 

At  six  o'clock  every  morning,  the  prison 
door  was  unlocked  by  one  of  these  overseers, 
who  called  out  "  Beds  up  !  "  whereupon  every 
man  arose  from  his  berth,  rolled  up  his 
bedding — consisting  of  a  thin  mattrass  and  one 
blanket,  and  took  them  on  deck,  where  they 
remained  all  day  to  be  aired.  Then  the  floor 
of  the  prison  was  scraped  and  swept  in  turns 
by  the  prisoners  who  did  not  fulfil  any 
special  office — such  as  schoolmaster,  clerk, 
captain  of  the  mess.  The  captains  received  the 
day's  rations  for  their  respective  messes. 
Those  who  liked  it  got  something  of  a  wash 


462 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


-with  salt  water,  introduced  from  the  forecastle 
with  a  leathern  pipe.  Ablutions  performed 
under  such  difficulties  led  to  many  practical 
jokes,  and  not  a  few  battles.  At  eight  o'clock, 
a  pint  of  cocoa  was  served  out  to  each  man ; 
which,  with  his  biscuit,  made  his  breakfast. 
Immediately  afterwards  school  was  com- 
menced, books  were  distributed,  and  ex- 
changed ;  the  surgeon  examined  the  sick, 
heard  complaints,  and  awarded  punishments. 
These  consisted  of  confinement  below  deck, 
heavy  chains,  imprisonment  in  a  kind  of  sentry 
box  on  deck,  resembling  a  Chinese  cage,  in 
which  the  inmate  can  neither  sit,  lie  down, 
nor  stand  upright.  We  had  only  one  case 
of  flogging.  In  the  afternoon,  we  usually 
had  prayers  read  by  the  chaplain  ;  sometimes 
with  a  moral  exordium,  which  was  delivered 
in  an  impressive  and  earnest  manner.  At 
five  o'clock  we  had  a  pint  of  tea.  Neither  our 
tea  nor  our  cocoa  bore  much  resemblance  to 
the  beverages  which  I  had  previously  known 
under  those  names  ;  but  they  were  warm  and 
comforting.  At  six  o'clock  the  beds  were 
taken  down  and  arranged  ;  and  at  half-past 
six  we  were  mustered,  and  returned,  one  by 
one  to  our  prison,  where  we  were  locked  in — 
a  sentinel,  with  loaded  musket  and  fixed 
bayonet,  being  placed  at  the  door.  Our 
night  was  thus  nearly  twelve  hours  long.  It 
being  too  dark  to  read,  and  as  it  was  impos- 
sible to  sleep  much  more  than  half  the  time, 
I  was  compelled,  for  four  or  five  hours  every 
night,  to  hear  little  else  than  narratives  of 
offences  and  criminal  indulgences,  of  the 
most  revolting  character.  Obscene  and  blas- 
phemous songs  were  nightly  composed  and 
sung ;  and  schemes  for  future  crimes  were 
proposed  and  discussed,  with  a  coolness 
which  I  shudder  to  call  to  mind.  The  only 
check  on  them  was  the  sentinel  at  the  door, 
who  now  and  then  thrust  his  bayonet  between 
the  bars,  when  it  was  getting  very  late 
or  the  men  were  unusually  uproarious,  and 
called  out  "  silence." 

Our  voyage  occupied  one  hundred  and 
twenty-four  days  ;  and — when  it  is  con- 
sidered that  one-half  of  that  time  was  passed 
in  this  loathsome  place,  in  darkness,  and  with 
such  compam'ons — some  idea  may  be  formed 
of  what  I  suffered  in  this  comparatively 
small  portion  of  my  captivity.  I  have  not 
dwelt  upon  the  miseries  which,  in  addition 
to  those  inflicted  on  all  my  companions,  were 
peculiarly  my  own  ;  but  I  can  sincerely  say, 
that  not  for  a  Dukedom  would  I  pass  such 
another  four  months. 

We  had,  however,  now  and  then,  a  little 
fun  ;  one  of  the  most  prolific  sources  of  which 
was  the  exquisite  power  of  mimicry  possessed 
by  a  diminutive  sickly-looking  youth.  The 
second  overseer  was  an  Irishman,  who  not 
only  spoke  an  unusually  broad  brogue,  but 
exhibited  many  ludicrous  national  character- 
istics. These  were  caught  with  the  truth  of 
a  mirror  (only  adding  a  little  interest)  by  our 
humorous  companion  ;  and  the  object  of  his 


ridicule  never  appeared  in  sight  but  an  ill- 
suppressed  burst  of  laughter  was  heard  at  his 
expense.  The  clever  young  rogue  became  an 
object  of  even  more  fear  than  aversion  to  our 
overseer  ;  who  would  walk  half  round  the 
prison  and  back  again,  rather  than  encounter 
his  terrible  foe. 

In  the  course  of  the  voyage,  I  took  every 
opportunity  of  informing  myself,  as  far  as 
possible,  of  the  history  and  character  of  my 
companions,  both  from  themselves  and  their 
fellow  convicts.  No  mixed  society  of  free  and 
unconvicted  persons  could  well  present  greater 
variety,  both  morally  and  intellectually,  than 
these  men.  There  was  Dick  Pearson,  a  man 
of  middle  age  who,  though  he  called  himself 
a  sailor,  was  quite  a  specimen  of  the  trans- 
ported convict.  He  had  lived,  even  from  boy- 
hood, by  highway  robbery,  burglary,  and 
other  offences  of  a  most  daring  character. 
He  had  been  convicted  fifteen  times,  and  had 
already  served  one  penalty  of  seven  years 
transportation.  There  was  scarcely  a  known 
crime  in  which  this  man  was  not  adept,  or  a 
prison  within  twenty  miles  of  the  metropolis 
of  which  he  had  not  been  an  occupant.  To 
obtain  as  full  an  insight  as  possible  into  the 
criminal  mind,  to  judge  how  far  there  was 
any  hope  of  reclaiming  such  men,  and  what 
was  most  likely  to  lead  to  reform,  I  frequently 
conversed  with  Dick  and  others  of  his  class. 
In  exchange,  he  asked  me  a  variety  of 
questions  upon  geograph}' — a  kind  of  curiosity 
which,  as  I  have  already  stated,  was  regarded 
with  much  suspicion  by  the  authorities. 
Indeed,  among  the  convicts,  he  made  no  secret 
that  his  object  was  to  obtain  such  information 
as  might  be  useful  to  them,  if  they  succeeded 
in  his  favourite  project  of  seizing  the  ship. 
That  he  was  capable  of  putting  into  execution 
such  a  design,  subsequent  events  at  Norfolk 
Island  sufficiently  proved.  Upon  one  occasion, 
Dick  ventured  to  hint  the  great  possibility  of 
a  successful  mutiny,  as  he  knew  that  it  would 
be  supported  by  several  of  the  sailors,  and 
even  by  some  of  the  military  guard  ;  which 
latter  statement  was,  I  am  afraid,  true.  I 
pointed  out  to  him  the  preparations  which 
had  been  made  to  resist  such  an  attempt,  the 
small  chance  of  victory,  the  increased  suffer- 
ing which  would  be  entailed  upon  all  the 
prisoners  in  case  of  failure,  and  that  even 
success  could  only  be  purchased  by  much 
bloodshed  on  both  sides.  This,  he  said,  he 
considered  would  be  fully  justified  to  obtain 
their  liberty  ;  the  faintest  hope  of  which,  he 
thought,  well  worth  the  peril  of  their  lives. 
The  attempt  to  escape  at  Symon's  Bay  was 
planned  by  him ;  and  subsequently,  on  landing, 
he  was  the  ringleader  of  a  more  serious  and 
desperate  conspiracy  for  effecting  the  escape 
of  a  large  body  of  the  prisoners  from  Norfolk 
Island. 

How  different  a  character  was  poor,  meek, 
good-hearted  Stoven !  He  was  about  fifty 
years  old,  and  had  been  for  many  years  a  re- 
spectable stockbroker.  Being  unfortunate  in 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TRANSPORTED  FOR  LIFE. 


463 


some  speculations  into  which  he  was  drawn, 
he  applied  himself  to  that  last  refuge  of  the 
intelligent  destitute — the  business  of  a  school- 
master— the  profits  of  which  were  never  ade- 
quate to  support  his  large  family  iu  decency. 
In  emergencies  he  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  applying  to  his  brother — a  wealthy 
member  of  one  of  the  learned  professions 
— who  occasionally  assisted  him.  On  his 
last  application  for  an  advance  of  five 
pounds,  the  brother  was  unfortunately  ab- 
sent from  England  ;  and  Stoven,  goaded  by 
the  sufferings  of  his  family,  unhappily  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  forging  his  brother's  ac- 
ceptance for  the  amount  of  which  he  had 
asked  the  loan  ;  intending,  as  he  assured  me, 
to  acquaint  his  brother  of  it,  persuading  him- 
self that  he  would  forgive  him  and  provide 
for  the  payment,  if  he  should  himself  be  un- 
able to  do  so.  His  moderation,  however,  was 
his  destruction  ;  for  the  bill  fell  into  the 
hands  of  a  gentleman  who  knew  his  brother, 
and  expressed  his  surprise  at  seeing  an  accep- 
tance of  his  in  circulation  for  so  insignificant 
a  sum.  The  brother  naturally  denied  having 
put  his  name  to  any  such  bill.  Inquiries 
were  made,  and  he  was  compelled  to  give 
evidence  against  his  own  brother,  to  consign 
him  to  convict  infamy,  and,  as  it  proved,  to 
death.  He  died  a  victim  to  the  privations 
and  misery  of  the  voyage. 

Then  we  had  one  of  the  Eebeccaites.  He 
had  been  a  small  farmer  in  South  Wales,  and 
had  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  practical 
resistance  to  the  turnpike  extortion ;  against 
which  he  and  his  neighbours  had  petitioned 
and  protested  in  vain.  It  has  been  said  that 
a  man  cannot  unknowingly  commit  a  crime. 
In  a  moral  sense,  at  least,  this  is  true  ;  and 
Morgan,  so  far  from  being  cognisant  of  crime, 
I  have  no  doubt,  firmly  believed  he  was  dis- 
charging his  duty  to  himself  and  his  neigh- 
bours. Throughout  the  voyage,  and  subse- 
quently in  Norfolk  Island,  the  conduct  of  this 
man — and  of  some  others  of  his  countrymen 
{with  the  exception  of  one  man,  a  desperate 
ruffian),  who,  for  a  similar  offence,  were  suffer- 
ing with  him — was  sufficient  to  show  that  they 
were  the  unlikeliest  of  men  to  be  guilty  of  a 
moral  crime.  Dick  Pearson,  poor  Stoven,  and 
Morgan,  who  may  be  considered  as  types  of 
classes  aboard,  were  all  members  of  one 
mess,  enduring  the  same  suiferings  (if  Dick, 
hardened  as  he  was,  suffered  at  all),  and  all 
with  the  same  sentence  of  seven  years  trans- 
portation. 

Considering  our  miserable  plight  as  to 
clothing,  food,  and  everything  else,  it  might 
be  supposed  that  the  thievish  propensities  of 
the  men  must,  perforce,  have  remained  in 
abeyance.  Not  a  day  or  night,  however, 
passed  without  some  robbery.  The  worst  of 
them  seemed  to  take  a  delight  in  "  keeping 
their  bands  in,"  no  matter  how  contemptible 
the  prize  might  be.  Knives  being  forbidden, 
fragments  of  tin  plates,  to  serve  roughly  the 
purpose  of  cutting,  were  eagerly  sought  for. 


As  I  have  mentioned,  a  tin  pint  pot  was 
delivered  to  every  prisoner  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  voyage,  which  served  to  receive 
his  cocoa,  as  well  as  his  pea-soup.  I  had  not  been 
at  sea  a  couple  of  days  when  I  found  that  mine 
had  been  changed.  But,  as  they  were  scarcely 
distinguishable  one  from  the  other,  I  gave  the 
new-comer  a  thorough  cleaning,  and  adopted  it 
in  lieu  of  my  own.  The  very  next  day,  how- 
ever, a  man  sidled  up  to  my  mess,  and  suddenly 
clapping  his  hand  upon  the  pot,  exclaimed, 
"  Halloa  !  what  are  you  a-doing  with  my  tin 
pot  ? "  "  How  do  you  know  it  is  yours  1 " 
I  inquired.  "There's  my  mark  at  the  side," 
he  replied,  "  and  there  should  be  a  round  O 
at  the  bottom."  I  turned  it  up  ;  and,  seeing 
the  mark  of  identity  referred  to,  felt  bound 
to  surrender  it.  The  pot  was  received  with 
an  appearance  of  indignation,  and  I  was 
treated  as  if  I  had  attempted  to  do  a  dirty 
trick,  and  advised  "not  to  try  that  game 
on  again."  My  messmates  chuckled  at  the 
scene  ;  and  it  was  subsequently  explained 
to  me  that  this  trick  of  exchanging  was  a 
common  trick  amongst  prisoners.  I  suf- 
ered  much  inconvenience  in  consequence 
for  several  days  ;  and,  for  want  of  my  pot  to 
receive  them,  was  deprived  of  my  rations  of 
cocoa,  tea  and  soup.  At  length  I  got  another  ; 
for,  happening  to  mention  the  trick  which  had 
been  played  me  to  one  of  the  prisoners,  a 
rough  fellow  with  a  most  ferocious  cast  of 
countenance,  he  insisted  upon  my  taking  his, 
saying  he  would  try  to  get  the  use  of  his 
messmates',  and  reminding  me  that  I  had 
written  a  letter  for  him  at  Woolwich — a  cir- 
cumstance which  it  is  not  remarkable  that  I 
had  forgotten,  as  I  had  written  at  least  fifty, 
while  in  the  river.  I  had,  indeed,  frequent 
proofs  that  a  kindness  is  sometimes  long  re- 
membered, and  often  gratefully  requited,  by 
even  the  worst  of  criminals. 

Towards  the  end  of  our  voyage,  and  when 
about  three  hundred  miles  from  Norfolk 
Island,  we  encountered  a  terrific  storm.  The 
Pacific  is  like  Othello's  mind,  "not  easily 
moved ;  but,  being  wrought,  vexed  in  the 
extreme."  For  two  or  three  days,  it  had 
presented  an  appearance  little  in  accordance 
with  its  name  ;  and,  on  this  night,  the  storm 
increased  to  a  hurricane.  During  the  whole 
night  the  hatches  were  fastened  down,  and 
we  could  do  nothing  but  lie  and  listen  to  the 
frequent  breaking  and  long  roll  of  the  thunder, 
the  rushing  of  water  over  the  decks,  and  the 
terrific  howling  of  the  wind  in  the  rigging. 
Nothing  could  be  more  helpless  than  our 
condition  in  the  event  of  any  disaster  to  the 
ship.  A  compact  mass  of  human  life  closed  ; 
fastened  down  ;  the  narrow  outlet  strongly 
barred.  We  were  perfectly  helpless.  We  could 
hear  the  din  of  the  sailors  running  to  and 
fro ;  and  in  the  intervals  of  the  thunder, 
their  responsive  "  Aye,  aye,  Sir,"  to  the  orders 
of  their  captain.  At  every  plunge  of  the 
vessel,  all  seemed  to  wait  in  breathless  expec- 
tation that  it  was  about  to  founder  ;  but 


464 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  oy 


again  and  again  we  rose,  and  the  lightning 
flashing  through  our  tiny  portholes,  showed 
distinctly  every  object  in  the  prison.  It  was 
curious  to  observe  the  effect  of  terror  upon 
some  of  the  most  hardened  of  my  companions. 
The  most  noisy  were  silent  then.  Some,  who 
at  other  times  were  accustomed  to  hold  in 
contempt  a  more  civilised  mind,  asked  me 
— with  a  tone  of  civility  which  I  had  never 
experienced  from  them  before — my  opinion 
upon  our  situation.  Men,  who  were  perhaps 
in  action  the  most  daring,  finding  no  resource 
in  their  own  minds  in  that  terrible  and  help- 
less state,  appealed  to  me — as  to  an  oracle — 
as  to  "  whether  we  should  go  to  the  bottom  ;  " 
to  which,  of  course,  I  could  only  reply,  that 
in  comparison  with  the  number  of  safe 
voyages,  shipwrecks  were  extremely  rare, 
and  that  we  were  in  the  hands  of  a  skilful 
captain. 

Our  near  approach  to  Norfolk  Island  was 
regarded  with  different  feelings  by  the  men. 
The  greater  part,  who  detested  regular  labour 
above  all  things,  would,  I  think,  have  pre- 
ferred to  spend  the  rest  of  their  "  lagging " 
aboard  the  ship.  For  my  own  part,  I  had 
an  unspeakable  desire  to  leave  it  ;  hoping 
that  whatever  fresh  sufferings  might  await 
me,  I  should  at  least  be  placed  in  less  close 
contiguity  with  the  rest  of  the  prisoners. — At 
length,  after  a  voyage  of  four  calendar  months, 
we  came  in  sight  of  our  place  of  captivity. 
We  first  saw  Nepean  Island,  which  at  a 
distance  had  an  extremely  hard  and  repulsive 
appearance  ;  but,  as  the  main  island  came  to 
view,  the  magnificent  Norfolk  Island  pine 
trees  had  an  imposing  and  pleasing  aspect. 
Here  and  there  we  had  glimpses  of  the 
richly  wooded  slopes  which  adorn  all  the 
islands  of  the  Pacific. 

There  being  no  harbour,  we  lay  off  about  a 
mile  from  the  coral  reefs,  the  captain  ex- 
changing signals  with  the  shore  ;  shortly  after 
which  a  boat  came  alongside,  rowed  by 
prisoners.  "We  were  conveyed  ashore  under 
a  guard  of  soldiers  in  each  boat.  It  was  re- 
markable that  after  a  voyage  of  seventeen 
thousand  miles,  several  of  my  companions 
were,  in  this  passage  of  about  a  mile  from  the 
ship  to  the  shore,  sea-sick.  This  was  doubt- 
less owing  to  the  new  motion  of  the  boat. 
True  to  their  instincts,  they  continued  to  rob 
one  another  to  the  last.  One  prisoner  had  a 
pair  of  Wellington  boots  stolen  from  him  in 
the  boat ;  having  on  his  way  to  the  shore 
taken  them  off  for  some  purpose.  They  were 
purloined  by  two  other  prisoners,  who  had 
shared  the  plunder  between  them,  each  being 
discovered  with  an  odd  boot  (much  too  small 
to  be  of  any  use  to  him)  concealed  in  his 
trowsers,  which  having  been  selected  with 
that  disregard  for  the  dimensions  of  the 
wearer  already  mentioned,  afforded  him  ample 
space  for  the  concealment  of  any  booty  of 
the  kind.  Two  of  the  guard  also  complained 
that  they  had  been  robbed  of  "  sticks  "  of 
tobacco. 


On  the  morning  of  our  landing,  a  calm  had 
succeeded  the  storm.  The  cloudless  sky  had 
a  brilliant  hue  known  only  in  that  delightful 
parallel  of  latitude,  which  borders  on  a  tropical 
climate.  I  felt  cheered  by  the  sight  of  land, 
and  by  the  healthful  breezes  which  fanned 
us  as  we  left  the  ship.  I  was  prepared  to 
meet  great  hardships ;  but  I  did  not  expect 
the  horrors  which  awaited  me.  In  happy 
ignorance,  my  feelings  were  rather  of  an 
agreeable  kind  as  I  first  set  foot  on  that 
paradise ;  which,  changed  by  the  wickedness 
of  man,  has  been  since  termed,  "  The  Ocean 
Hell." 


THE  THINKER  AND  THE  DOER. 

ONE  sits  at  home,  with  pale  impassive  brow, 
Bent  on  the  eloquence  of  lifeless  letters  ; 

Noting  man's  thoughts  from  Mind's  first  dawn,  till  now, 
When  Truth  seems,  Heaven-inspired,  to  burst  her 
fetters. 

Another  plies  the  force  of  stalwart  limbs, 

And  keen  wit  sharpen'd  by  the  whirl  of  action ; 

For  midnight  lore  110  studious  lamp  he  trims, 

Curtain'd  and  muffled  from  the  world's  distraction. 

Two  destinies — converging  to  one  end, 
The  glorious  issue  of  all  human  labour  ; 

Where  in  harmonious  union  softly  blend 

The  praise  of  God,  the  profit  of  our  neighbour. 

Each  has  his  gift — the  stamp  affix'd  at  birth, 
That  marks  him  for  the  servant  of  a  Master  ; 

The  chosen  steward  of  His  realm  of  Earth  ; 
The  shepherd  watching  for  a  higher  Pastor. 

Each  has  his  crown — of  earthly  laurels  here, 
Gather'd  and  woven  by  the  hand  of  mortals  ; 

And  when  the  Spirit-City's  towers  appear, 

Dropp'd  on  his  brows  by  angels  at  its  portals. 

Judge  not  which  serves  his  mighty  Master  best, 
Haply  thou  mightest  be  true  worth's  detractor; 

For  each  obeys  his  nature's  high  behest, — 
The  close-pent  thinker,  and  the  busy  actor. 


TEN  MINUTES  "CROSS  COUNTRY." 


IN  the  days  when  railway  locomotion  was 
looked  upon  as  something  highly  interesting, 
but  humorously  chimerical  and  impractica- 
ble, a  merry  fellow  prophesied  that  ere  many 
years, "  England  would  become  like  a  gridiron." 
A  harmless  enthusiast,  this  merry  fellow,  but 
slightly  amenable  to  those  commissions  de  luna- 
tico  with  which  his  brother  enthusiasts  had 
been  visited :  Salomon  de  Cans  for  talking  some 
nonsense  about  steam ;  Cyrano  de  Bergerac  for 
his  meanderings  in  aerostation  ;  and  that  mad- 
cap, Galileo,  for  raving  about  the  movement 
of  the  earth.  Railroads  and  thirty  miles  an 
hour  !  How  we  laughed  in  our  Hessian  boots, 
and  Cossack  trowsers,  and  high -collared  coats, 
at  the  absurdity  of  the  thing  ;  how  waggish 
the  committees  of  the  House  of  Commong 
waxed  ;  and  what  smart  things  the  Quarterly 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TEN  MINUTES   "  CROSS  COUNTRY." 


465 


Review  said  about  steam.  Somehow,  the 
world  hath  wagged  considerably  since  then, 
and  the  prediction  of  the  merry  fellow  has 
been,  like  a  great  many  other  jovial  prophecies, 
considerably  more  than  accomplished.  The 
railway  gridiron  not  only  spreads  itself  over 
the  map ;  but  innumerable  little  auxiliary 
bars,  called  branch  lines,  continue  to  inter-- 
sect it ;  so  that  the  gridiron  assumes,  day  by 
day,  more  the  aspect  of — what  shall  I  say  1 — 
a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  a  centipede,  his 
hundred  legs  well  dipped  in  ink,  has  been 
executing  a  cheerful  hornpipe.  Am  I  exag- 
gerating ?  I  call  witnesses  to  disprove  the  asser- 
tion :  Bradshaw's  railway  guide,  nay,  the  very 
stones  of  the  Whistleby  station,  which  as  all 
men  know  is  on  the  Whistleby,  Slocumb,  and 
Dumbledowndeary  branch  of  the  East  Apple- 
shire  line,  a  succursal  of  the  great  Nornor- 
eastern  trunk  line.  At  this  station  I  find 
myself  one  Sunday  evening  provided  with  a 
return  ticket  from  Whistleby  to  Babylon 
Bridge.  The  up  train — so  a  porter  in  a  full 
suit  of  velveteen,  well  oiled,  tells  me — will  be 
due  in  twenty  minutes.  Tlie  evening  being 
fine,  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  take  a 
stroll  "  cross  country." 

This  cross  country  is  not  strange  to  me  ; 
for,  when  I  was  a  dweller  in  the  tents  of  that 
Dumbledowndeary  of  which  I  have  already 
been  bold  enough  to  speak,  I  frequently  wan- 
dered from  thence  to  Whistleby,  and  from 
Whistleby  through  that  cross  country  which 
includes  in  its  circuit,  two  or  three  villages, 
and  many  farms.  Whither  shall  my  walk 
be  now  'I  Two  miles  away,  along  green  lanes, 
running  between  orchards  and  at  the  foot  of 
a  hill,  in  a  hollow  so  deep  as  to  be  almost 
like  a  pit,  lies  Codliugford.  A  lovely  little 
village  it  is,  though  unhealthy  through  its 
situation — so  unhealthy,  indeed,  that  it  was 
decimated  by  the  cholera,  till  the  fright- 
ened villagers  rolled  blazing  tar-barrels  down 
the  steep  street  to  drive  the  maleficent 
vapours  away.  Not  hither  will  I  walk  now, 
however  ;  for  two  great  silk-printing  factories, 
with  tier  above  tier  of  windows  in  distressing 
regularity,  mar  the  otherwise  charming  land- 
scape :  tall  chimneys  tower  over  the  pent- 
house roofs  and  swinging  inn  signs  ;  and 
streams  of  indigo  and  cochineal  discolour  the 
once  pellucid  creek,  where  I  know  of  several 
trout,  and  have  some  suspicion  of  perch,  even. 
Not  Codliugford-wise,  through  which  the 
great  Dover  road  runs,  and  through  which  it 
is  traditionally  reported  that  seventy  stage 
coaches  (when  there  were  coaches),  passed 
every  day,  will  I  bend  my  steps  ;  nor  shall  my 
walk  be  to  Crabapple  Heath,  an  inland  Dum- 
bledowndeary in  miniature,  whose  inhabitants 
have  run  mad  on  the  subject  of  shops,  as  those 
of  Dumbledowndeary  have  upon  houses,  and 
have  erected  Imperial  tea  warehouses  ;  and 
"  Saloons  of  Fashion  "  and  Pantechnicons  of 
wearing  apparel,  and  Berlin  wool  establish- 
ments amid  the  gorse  and  furze,  and  almost 
as  "unprofitablygay ;"  when,  goodness  knows 


the  one  "everything  shop"  of  thevillage, whose 
proprietor  dispensed  linendrapery,  sweet-stuff, 
ironmongery,  Leghorn  bonnets,  patent  medi- 
cines, boots  and  shoes,  and  cheap  periodicals, 
with  equal  impartiality,  was  quite  enough  for 
their  simple  requirements.  The  Crabappleians 
wait  for  customers,  as  do  the  Dumbledown- 
dearians  for  tenants.  Neither  will  I  wend  my 
steps  to  the  church,  a  grey  old  building,  with 
a  leaden  steeple  charmingly  out  of  the  perpen- 
dicular, whose  rusted  weathercock,  all  on  one 
side,  gazes  with  a  sort  of  sleepy  astonishment 
at  the  bran-new  railway,  running  close  by, 
and  the  little  railway  cottage  in  Kentish 
ragstone,  where  a  railway  employe  passes  his 
time  between  whistling,  smoking,  and  warning 
off  the  line  any  stray  bullock,  which  in  the 
absorbing  gravity  of  cud-chewing  might 
otherwise  stare  an  express  train  in  the  face, 
and  be  thereby  converted  into  premature 
beef.  This  church  is  well  worth  visiting, 
though  I  have  not  time  to  tarry  there  to-day. 
Mr.  Gray  might  have  composed  his  Elegy  in 
the  green  churchyard,  where  the  "  rude  fore- 
fathers of  the  hamlet  sleep  ;"  or  in  the  church 
where  painstaking  churchwardens  have 
covered  rich  oak  carvings,  and  stone  pilasters, 
and  fretted  roof,  with  one  unvarying  coat  of 
whitewash — and  would,  I  dare  say,  had  they 
had  their  way,  have  whitewashed  the  great 
squire's  pew,  with  its  somnolent  crimson - 
covered  hassocks  and  cushions,  its  corpulent 
prayer-books  and  Bibles,  giving  an  additional 
coat  of  priming  to  the  stone  tablets  erected 
to  worthies  who  nourished  two  hundred 
year  ago,  the  monumental  brasses  telling  of 
mitred  abbots  and  signet-ringed  priors,  in  the 
days  when  matins  and  complins  were  sung  in 
Dumbledowndeary  church,  and  rich  copes 
and  dalmatics  hung  in  the  little  vestry  in- 
stead of  the  parson's  plain  gown  and  surplice, 
flanked  by  the  "  Churchman's  Almanack," 
a  paper  relating  to  assessed  taxes,  a  box  of 
lucifers,  and  the  clerk's  snuff-box.  Mr.  Gray, 
I  say,  might  have  meditated  on  the  tombs  of 
a  succession  of  village  magnates,  "  Lords  of 
this  Manor  of  Codlingford,"  or  on  the  great 
altar-tomb  where  some  pious  dame  of  the 
olden  time  lies  in  marble,  her  hands  piously 
joined,  and  her  feet  resting  on  a  little  dog  ; 
or,  haply,  he  might  have  strolled  into  th-e 
belfry,  where  hang  the  frayed  and  faded 
bell-ropes,  and  where  a  gaily -emblazoned 
board,  like  a  cheerful  hatchment,  tells  of  the 
achievements  of  the  Rochester  "youths"  in 
the  year  of  grace,  1730,  how  many  bob  majors 
they  rang,  and  how  Jesse  Cotes  was  tenor. 
He  might  have  moralised  on  the  little  gap 
(like  a  grave)  under  the  gallery  stairs,  where 
the  tressels  and  coil  of  ropes  lie ;  lie  might  have 
filled  the  pulpit  with  crowds  of  mind-pictured 
preachers  :  shaven  friars,  cowled  penitents, 
and  stoled  bishops  ;  Episcopalians  with  beard 
and  moustache  ;  crop-eared  Presbyterians 
in  Geneva  band,  beating  the  drum  ecclesi- 
astic ;  red-coated  Independents,  with  Bible 
in  one  hand  and  broadsword  in  the  other  ; 


466 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


smug  rectors  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  with  rosy 
gills  and  cauliflower  wigs,  upholding  Doctor 
Sacheverell ;  portly  Georgian  vicars  thunder- 
ing at  the  squire  (slumbering  peacefully  in 
his  pew)  on  a  question  of  doctrine  and  tithes. 
He  might  have  wandered  into  the  church- 
yard again,  and  listened  through  the  half- 
opened  porch  to  the  organ,  tenderly  handled 
by  the  amateur  organist  (a  worthy  man,  and  a 
shoemaker,  mundanely  speaking),  or  watched 
the  sun-dial,  whose  hands  nor  Papist  nor  Cal- 
vinist,  stout  Episcopalian  nor  fierce  Nonjuror, 
had  been  able  to  tamper  with,  and  gazed  at 
the  boats  rippling  the  silver  surface  of  the 
river,  and  the  purple  haze  from  the  fields 
gradually  arising  to  meet  a  blue  descending 
veil  from  heaven,  till  the  shadows  were  inde- 
finitely prolonged,  and  the  stars  began  to 
shine. 

But  I  have  no  call  to  do  this ;  for  my  name  is 
not  Gray,  and  I  am  no  poet.  I  promised  myself 
and  you,  reader,  a  walk  ;  and  behold,  I  have 
been  telling  you  where  we  are  not  to  go,  without 
instructing  you  as  to  where  our  promenade  is 
really  to  be.  Shall  it  be  to  Abbey  wood, 
whose  name  is  all  that  now  remains  to  recall 
the  once  renowned  Abbey  of  Pippinham  ? 
But  I  should  have  my  Dugdale  with  me  to 
enjoy  properly  a  walk  thither.  Sitting  by 
this  ruined  but  yet  sturdy  oak  tree,  which 
perchance  has  sheltered  beneath  its  gnarled 
branches  many  a  cowled  and  shaven  monk  in 
the  old  time,  sitting  thus  with  the  Monasticon 
Anglicanum  before  me,  there  would  be  voices 
of  the  past  for  me  in  Pippinham  Wood.  I 
should  live  again  in  the  time  when  there  were 
monks  and  abbeys  ;  for  all  that  distressingly 
modern  public-house  yonder,  with  its  nourishes 
about  "  fine  ale,"  and  "  Poppins's  ginger-beer," 
in  lieu  of  the  ancient  hostelry,  the  black  jack, 
and  the  stoup  of  Canary ;  for  all  the  brutal 
Vandalism  of  that  brazen  bill-sticker  who  has 
posted  a  placard  of  somebody's  weekly  news- 
paper, price  threepence,  on  a  charmingly 
autique  wall,  all  shingle,  round  pebbles,  and 
moss,  a  fragment  perchance  of  the  old  abbey  : 
nay,  which  might  have  been  a  borough,  God 
wot,  returning  its  burgess  to  Parliament  before 
the  Eeform  Bill. 

And,  while  I  yet  hesitate  as  to  where  I 
shall  walk,  I  see  '•'  looming  in  the  distance," 
as  Mr.  Disraeli  would  say,  a  wreath  of  white 
smoke  ;  and  know  that  in  a  very  few  minutes 
the  up  train  will  be  due  at  Whistleby.  The 
bell  rings  ;  I  hasten  to  the  platform  ;  Bod- 
lingford,  Crabapple  Heath,  Pippinham  Wood, 
and  all  the  cross  country  are  nothing  to  me 
now,  for  my  time  is  up,  and  I  am  bound  for 
Babylon  Bridge. 

So,  also,  at  a  larger  station,  and  on  a  longer 
line  do  we  stand,  often  forgetful  that  the  sands 
are  running  through  the  glass.  Now  pro- 
posing to  walk,  now  to  ride  ;  now  irresolutely 
balancing  between  a  jaunt  in  yon  sleepy- 
looking  one  horse  fly,  and  a  ride  on  one  of  that 
string  of  mettlesome  hobbyhorses,  till  another 
bell  rings  ;  and,  gliding  slowly  into  the  station, 


comes  another  train,  hung  with  black,  whose 
stoker  carries  a  scythe  and  hour  glass,  and 
whose  guard  a  mattock  and  a  spade. 


THE  FLYING  BEIDGE. 


Quand  J'etais  Jeune,  "  When  I  was  Young  ; 
Eecoliections  of  an  Old  Man,"  by  Paul  L. 
JacoD,  who  styles  himself  Bibliophile,  Book- 
lover,  and  Member  of  all  the  Academies,  is 
an  amusing  collection  of  anecdotes  ;  the 
writer  of  which  might  not  have  liked  to  be 
compelled  to  raise  his  hand  and  swear  that 
every  incident  contained  in  it  is  matter  of 
fact,  chronicled  as  it  actually  occurred. 
Nevertheless,  sketches  of  what  might  come 
under  the  eye  of  a  French  printer,  journalist, 
novelist,  and  theatrical  critic  during  the 
ominous  period  between  1762  and  '82 
would  be  interesting,  if  they  had  only  pro- 
bability and  general  truthfulness  (though  not 
literal  truth)  to  recommend  them.  That  is 
as  much  as  can  be  expected  when  any  man 
sits  down  to  write  fragments  of  his  own  life, 
and  is  perhaps  quite  as  much  as  we  usually 
get,  in  many  narratives  and  descriptions 
which  profess  to  maintain  the  most  complete 
accuracy. 

The  author,  in  his  first  very  extraordinary 
chapter,  L 'Imprimeur,  "The  Printer,"  tells  us, 
"  My  name  is  Jacob,  which  would  announce 
me  to  be  a  Jew  ;  but  I  am  a  Frenchman  of  a 
good  bourgeoisie  and  of  a  learned  stock ;  for 
my  great  uncle,  le  pere  Louis  Jacob,  who 
lived  in  1648,  published  a  treatise  on  the  best 
libraries,  public  and  private,  which  have  been 
and  at  present  are,  in  the  world  ;  and  my 
great  grandfather  Jacob,  who  did  not  dis- 
cover the  philosopher's  stone  in  the  hermetic 
science,  published  in  1647,  'The  Clavicle,  or 
the  science  of  Eaymond  Lulle  ; '  these  are 
authentic  titles  of  nobility,  and  I  io  not  intend 
to  degenerate." 

His  second  chapter  is  Le  Pont  Volant, 
"  The  Flying  Bridge,"  which  now  follows : — 

In  the  year  1764,  memorable  in  history 
for  the  definitive  expulsion  of  the  Jesuits,  who 
were  banished  from  France  on  the  occasion 
of  the  outrage  of  Damiens  against  Louis  the 
Fifteenth — as  they  had  already  been  by  Henry 
the  Fourth,  as  a  punishment  of  the  crime  of 
Jean  Chatel — I  had  only  just  finished  my 
philosophy  at  the  College  de  Montagu, 
although  I  had  a  beard  on  my  chin ;  for 
collegiate  education  being  more  extended 
than  in  our  days,  it  was  not  unusual  to  see 
grown  men  on  the  benches  of  the  schools  : 
such  instances  are  now  only  to  be  found  in 
the  German  Universities.  I  must  confess, 
however,  that  we  were  all  over  barded, 
cuirassed,  and  caparisoned  with  Greek  and 
Latin. 

At  that  time,  I  inhabited  a  small  apart- 
ment suited  to  my  modest  income,  and  situated 
in  the  fifth  story  of  a  six-storied  house  in  the 
Eue  d'Ecosse,  in  order  to  be  within  easy  reach 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  FLYING  BRIDGE. 


467 


of  the  course  of  lectures  at  the  Ecole  de 
Droit,  Rue  Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais.  This 
Quartier  Saint  Jaques,  where  my  youth  was 
spent  in  studious  solitude,  was  as  dear  to  me 
as  a  second  country  ;  I  loved  that  interesting 
population  of  booksellers  and  antiquarians, 
who  printed  and  sold  under  the  patronage  of 
the  University.  In  their  shops,  and  in  the 
midst  of  their  family  of  volumes,  I  passed  the 
sweetest  moments,  and  found  the  most  lively 
pleasures ;  for  I  still  wore  my  white  robe  of 
innocence,  and  a  coat  of  coarse  stuff  rubbed 
at  the  elbows,  with  breeches  of  drugget  (long 
since  well  ripened  at  the  knees)  and  speckled 
stockings  that  displayed  the  meagre  outlines 
of  my  calves. 

But  behold,  one  fine  morning,  adieu  to 
booksellers,  ancient  and  modern  ;  adieu  to 
black-letter  editions  and  parchment  manu- 
scripts !  I  fell  in  love,  dumbly,  patiently, 
expectantly  in  love.  You  know  nothing  about 
the  state  of  a  bibliophile  who  transfers  his 
love  of  paper,  printing,  and  binding,  to  a 
single  animated  object  of  recent  date  ;  a  new 
and  rare  work  which  can  be  revised  and  aug- 
mented ;  whose  first  page  is  still  maiden,  and 
which  is  guarded  with  more  jealousy  than  an 
ancient  Elzevir. 

In  a  house  on  the  other  side  of  the  street, 
at  an  attic  window  opposite  to  my  garret,  I 
perceived  a  fair  pretty  face,  which  I  regarded 
with  complaisance.  Melancholy  blue  eyes, 
a  cherry  mouth,  modest  and  inviting  expres- 
sion, curling  hair  untouched  by  powder,  a 
nymph-like  figure  unencumbered  by  hoop- 
petticoats,  charming  arms,  and  a  goddess's 
bosom,  which  my  indiscreet  eyes  caught  a 
glimpse  of  through  the  folds  of  the  necker- 
chief; the  least  of  these  perfections  would 
have  been  enough  to  soften  a  harder  heart 
and  disorder  a  stronger  head  than  mine. 

Nevertheless,  she  was  only  a  book-stitcher 
who  worked  for  M.  Barbon's  library.  She 
was  twenty  years  old,  and  had  only  her  little 
chamber  and  her  liberty,  although  many 
of  the  Latin  classics  had  already  passed 
through  her  hands.  Her  name  was  plain 
Nanette ;  and  her  face  might  serve  her 
instead  of  letters  of  nobility,  since  the  Com- 
tesse  Dubarry  rose  from  a  lower  station — and 
Louis  the  Fifteenth's  was  a  petticoat  govern- 
ment. 

Still  Nanette  was  discreet,  and  stuck  to 
her  stitching.  The  neighbourhood  of  the 
colleges,  the  schools,  and  the  encyclopedists, 
had  not  prevailed  against  her  virtue ;  or 
rather,  a  love  which  she  concealed  preserved 
her  from  the  dangers  to  which  she  was 
exposed  by  her  beauty  and  her  inexperience, 
from  young  and  old  libertines.  As  to  me, 
who  observed  her  at  every  hour,  of  the  day, 
and  even  of  the  night,  without  remarking  the 
shadow  of  a  man  in  her  room,  or  the  slightest 
equivocal  symptom  in  her  conduct,  I  allowed 
myself  to  be  seduced  by  these  austere  appear- 
ances ;  and  I  gradually  became  enthusiastic 
about  the  most  chaste  and  the  most  adorable 


of  book-stitchers,  without  having  the  courage 
to  address  a  single  word  to  her. 

She  was  in  the  habit  of  bringing  her  work 
before  an  open  window,  doubtless  to  be  nearer 
to  the  light,  which  hardly  penetrated  to  the 
back  of  her  attic  ;  but  I  persuaded  myself, 
in  spite  of  the  denials  of  diffidence,  that  I 
was  not  unconnected  with  those  long  pauses, 
during  which  I  simply  believed  I  was  the 
only  object  of  the  looks  and  smiles  which 
seemed  to  reach  me  in  a  direct  line.  I  began 
to  imitate  the  book-stitcher  by  installing 
myself  at  my  window  between  piles  of 
old  volumes,  whose  leaves  I  inattentively 
turned  over  without  being  intoxicated  by 
their  learned  dust ;  my  eyes  were  directed 
towards  my  neighbour,  who  seemed  to  take 
pleasure  in  my  following  her  example  of 
turning  papers  about,  and  who  managed  the 
rustling  of  the  printed  leaves  in  a  sort  of 
regular  cadence,  which  made  harmonious 
music  in  the  ears  of  a  bibliophile. 

In  the  course  of  a  mouth  I  collated  more 
than  a  hundred  folio  volumes,  while  Nanette 
stitched  more  than  a  hundred  duodecimos. 
In  love,  the  act  of  gazing  is  the  burning 
mirror  of  Archimedes,  which  set  fire  to  ships 
sailing  in  the  open  sea. 

I  soon  forgot  that  the  width  of  the  street 
separated  us,  and  I  sent  forth  sighs,  which 
were  re-echoed.  My  joy  was  at  its  height, 
because  I  imagined  that  I  had  hunted  to  bay 
that  innocence  which  was  intimidated,  whose 
outworks  were  stormed,  and  which  only 
required  to  make  an  honourable  capitulation ; 
so  true  is  it,  that  a  man  blindly  in  love  can 
see  nothing,  not  even  in  broad  sunshine  !  I 
ventured  to  employ  the  offensive  arms  of 
signs  with  the  head,  inviting  grimaces,  the 
telegraphic  language  of  gestures,  flying  kisses, 
and  letters  ;  but  no  answer  was  given  to 
these  regular  modes  of  attack,  which  I 
directed  with  all  the  art  of  Ovid  and  of 
Gentil  Bernard.  The  book-stitcher  only 
blushed  with  downcast  eyes,  or  redoubled  her 
industry  without  looking  at  my  window,  or 
turned  round  to  laugh,  or  even,  after  having 
tried  to  keep  a  serious  countenance,  lost  her 
temper,  and  retreated  from  the  window.  I 
attributed  these  different  manoeuvres  to 
coquetry  and  female  cunning.  Poor  novice 
that  I  was  ! 

In  the  upper  story,  and  over  my  chamber, 
there  lodged  a  young  theologian,  whose 
friends — rich  agriculturists  of  Picardy — des- 
tined him  for  the  ecclesiastical  profession. 
He  had  been  sent  for  this  purpose  to  study, 
at  Paris,  the  Sorbonne  sacred  and  canon  law, 
under  pere  Biballier,  who,  after  the  illustrious 
dom  Calmet,  was  the  first  doctor  of  religious 
science,  and  Avho  was  to  acquire  so  ridiculous 
a  reputation  for  his  criticism  of  the  "  Beli- 
saire  "  of  M.  de  Marmontel. 

Athanase  Gerbier — such  was  the  name  of 
the  apprentice  priest — united  in  his  person 
all  sorts  of  qualities  which  could  be  useless 
to  a  churchman,  who  desires  only  to  gain  the 


468 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


favour  of  God  by  edifying  his  neighbour. 
He  might  have  been  admitted  among  the 
guards  of  Frederic  King  of  Prussia,  for  the 
sake  of  his  gigantic  stature.  His  black  and 
bright  eyes,  his  curly  hair  and  beard,  his 
delicate  and  regular  features — composed  a 
physiognomy  capable  of  inspiring  wandering 
thoughts  in  the  toughest  of  devotees.  So 
that  it  was  only  for  his  own  defence  that  he 
wore  the  long  cassock  of  brown  cloth,  the 
bauds,  and  the  hat  of  the  seculars. 

Athanase  Gerbier  yielded  with  so  bad  a 
grace  to  the  pious  intentions  of  his  father, 
that  he  only  just  wiped  the  dust  off  the 
benches  of  the  theological  class,  and  gained 
nothing  by  his  apprenticeship  except  an 
invincible  disgust  for  the  gown  which  he  was 
destined  to  wear.  He  scarcely  retained  enough 
Latin  and  sufficient  technical  phrases  to  answer 
the  necessary  examinations.  But  as  the 
clergy  at  this  epoch,  estimating  their  power 
by  the  number  of  annual  recruits,  were  not 
difficult  about  the  choice  of  their  new  members, 
he  was  admitted  against  his  own  will  by  the 
bishop,  and  judged  fit  to  be  ordained  priest 
at  Whitsuntide.  His  father,  proud  of  having 
such  a  son  as  a  blessing  upon  his  house  and 
lands,  wrote  to  him  to  present  himself  at 
Amiens,  where  the  ceremony  of  ordination 
would  take  place  in  the  presence  of  his  family. 
Gerbier,  who  had  hoped  as  a  last  resource,  that 
an  episcopal  sentence  would  favour  his  wishes 
by  pronouncing  his  rejection,  fell  into  a  state 
of  disconsolate  helplessness ;  for  he  had  not 
the  moral  courage  to  resist  the  paternal 
authority,  which  despotically  disposed  of  his 
future  life,  and  condemned  him  to  a  profes- 
sion so  repugnant  to  his  natural  inclinations. 
He  suffered  from  this  cowardly  weakness, 
which  he  secretly  acknowledged  and  cursed 
as  the  cause  of  his  critical  position  ;  still  he 
made  no  attempt  to  conquer  it.  Such  is  the 
effect  of  childish  prejudice. 

I  had  endeavoured  to  form  with  him  an 
intimacy  of  neighbourhood  and  of  study  ;  but 
he  was  too  timid  and  too  silent  to  accept  my 
repeated  advances,  which  seemed  rather  to 
embarrass  him,  if  I  could  judge  from  his 
blushing,  his  stammering,  and  his  beating  a 
retreat  with  overstrained  politeness. 

I  often  began  with  him  an  entirely  per- 
sonal conversation,  in  order  to  set  him  at 
ease  and  enter  more  into  his  confidence  ;  but 
his  furbelowed  masters  had  already  cured 
his  natural  frankness  and  engrained  him  with 
hypocrisy.  Moreover,  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
ignorance,  which  I  exposed  without  intending 
it,  and  our  meetings  occurred  less  frequently 
in  proportion  as  I  lost  more  time  in  my  in- 
trigue at  the  window,  which  I  had  to  carry 
on  all  by  myself.  There  was  even  between 
us  a  coldness  not  far  from  turning  into  hatred  ; 
for  Gerbier  avoided  me,  and  darted  threaten- 
ing glances  at  me. 

One  day  I  found  him  on  the  staircase  :  he 
carried  a  little  chest,  and  stopped  at  every 
step,  not  so  much  to  take  breath  under  his 


burden  as  to  defer  the  moment  of  departure  ; 
he  shed  tears,  and  wiped  them  away  with  the 
back  of  his  hand.  I  noticed  him  closely 
before  accosting  him,  and  felt  pity  for  his 
grief. 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  tears,  Monsieur 
Athanase  ? "  I  asked,  with  an  air  of  in- 
terest which  was  not  feigned  ;  "  has  anything 
unpleasant  occurred  iu  respect  to  your 
thesis  1 " 

"  Ah  !  "  replied  he,  nipping  his  eyebrows, 
"  you  are  very  glad  of  my  departure  !  Yes, 
my  father  has  come  to  fetch  me,  and  take  me 
to  Amiens,  to  be  a  priest  !  Man  dieu !  if  I 
dare  confess  the  truth  to  him  !  Yes,  I  am  the 
most  unfortunate  of  men  !  " 

"  What !  you  are  going  to  be  ordained  a 
priest  ?  I  congratulate  you  ;  it  is  very 
respectable,  and  you  may  get  forward  with  a 
little  audacity,  address,  and  talent,  especially 
if  you  preach.  Bourdaloue,  Massillon,  and 
Bossuet  are  the  models  to  follow.  I  advise 
you  to  make  your  first  attempts  in  the  style 
of  Massillon :  his  is  the  eloquence  of  the 
:  heart ;  you  would  thereby  get  the  women  on 
your  side,  and  they  make  the  reputation  of 
i  a  preacher." 

"  Mafoi  !  preach  yourself,  if  that  gives  you 
I  any    amusement ;   as   to   me,   I  had    rather 
i  throw    myself    into    the    river.      But    you 
shall  not  profit  much  by  my  absence,  Mon- 
sieur ;  and  if  I  do  not  come  back  to  tell  you 
what's  what,  and  have  my  revenge  of  your 
treachery !     'Tis    too    bad,   much    too    bad, 
Monsieur  Jacob ! " 

As  if  he  was  afraid  of  having  expressed  too 
'  clearly  the  bottom  of  his  thoughts,  he  turned 
1  his  back  and  left  me,  without  the  least  regard 
j  to  my  well-meant  condolence,  and  without 
I  acquainting  me  with  the  motive  for  his  ill- 
will,  which  I  had  never  suspected. 

I  reflected  a  moment  on  these  mysterious 

reproaches  ;    and  while   I  was    thinking  of 

following  him   to   obtain   an   explanation   of 

these  last  words,  I  saw  him  at  the  turn  of 

j  the   Eue  d'Ecosse  in   his  fathers  char-a-banc. 

Nanette,  motionless  at  her  window,  with  red 

eyes  and  clasped  hands,  looked  after  him  till 

he  disappeared.     She  took  no  notice  of  the 

I  glances  which  I  shot  from  the  street  to  her 

\  attic,  but  shut  her  window  with  a  slam,  and 

appeared  no  more  the  whole  day  long,  though 

I  uselessly  remained  at  mine  to  watch  her. 

In  the  evening  I  observed  that  she  went 
out  with  a  basket  in  her  hand,  and  ran  to  a 
fruit- woman,  doubtless  to  get  something  for 
her  supper.  I  determined  to  wait  for  her  iu 
the  passage  of  her  house,  and  bluntly  declare 
my  love  to  her,  which  deprived  me  of  all 
repose.  In  fact,  when  she  returned  with  her 
basket  full  of  nothing  but  charcoal,  and 
passed  close  to  me  without  recognising  me  in 
the  darkness  in  which  we  were,  I  seized  her 
by  the  arm,  and  suddenly  approached  my  face 
so  close  to  hers,  undoubtedly  through  the 
force  of  attraction,  that  she  screamed  with 
surprise  as  she  endeavoured  to  escape  from 


Charles  Dickens.  J 


THE  FLYING  BRIDGE. 


409 


this    tete-d-tete,    which    commenced    with    a 
kiss. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  I,  with  ardour,  "  I 
venture  here  to  intercede  with  you  for  some 
one  who  loves  you  more  than  you  think,  and 
who  is  exceedingly  unhappy  !  " 

"  And  'tis  you  who  speak  to  me  on  his 
account !  "  replied  she,  mistaking  the  am- 
biguous sense  of  this  declaration  ;  "  but  his 
timidity  has  not  prevented  his  declaring 
sentiments  which  I  share  with  him  ;  I 
know  how  unhappy  he  is,  and  I  blame  his 
incredible  weakness.  I  am  more  unhappy 
than  he.  To-morrow  I  shall  have  ceased  to 
suffer  !  " 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  love  him,  my  dear 
Nanette  ! "  cried  I,  squeezing  her  hand. 
"  Then  his  happiness  only  depends  upon  your- 
self, and  I  entreat  you  not  to  let  him  languish. 
Permit  me  to  visit  you,  to  love  you  con- 
stantly !  I  am  now  the  happiest  of  men  !  " 

"  Monsieur,  you  are  not  then  a  friend  of 
his?"  she  replied,  disengaging  herself  from 
my  hands.  "  And  that  I  should  think  he 
had  confided  all  to  you !  When  I  really 
love,  it  is  for  life  ;  and  it  is  better  to  die 
than  to  renounce  the  beloved  object.  Adieu, 
Monsieur  ;  you  will  be  sorry  to  have  so  ill 
understood  me  ! " 

She  had  escaped  before  I  had  time  to  think 
of  detaining  her,  and  she  scolded  me  in  these 
terms  from  the  top  of  the  staircase,  up  which 
she  had  run,  while  I  remained  below  silent 
and  stupefied  at  these  strange  maledictions, 
which  I  did  not  understand,  especially  when 
I  compared  them  with  the  opening  portion  of 
our  friendly  interview. 

I  remembered  the  verses  in  Virgil  where 
Galatea  hides  herself  in  the  osier-ground,  in 
order  to  be  followed  and  caught  there  ;  and 
the  tardy  inspiration  started  me  on  the  track 
of  the  fair  fugitive.  But  I  could  not  catch 
her  :  in  vain  I  entreated  her  outside  the  door 
and  through  the  key-hole  ;  she  did  not  deign 
to  answer  me,  the  pitiless  Nanette!  The 
silence  which  reigned  in  her  chamber  even 
made  me  think  that  she  had  chosen  some 
other  hiding-place,  and  I  descended  slowly, 
not  without  making  a  halt  at  every  step  and 
raising  my  head  to  listen  whether  she  did 
not  call  me. 

This  flight,  which  was  not  caused  by 
coquetry,  discouraged  me  at  first  by  scatter- 
ing doubts  in  the  midst  of  a  passion  which 
was  as  incredulous,  as  it  was  inexperienced. 
Still,  it  is  not  the  first  blow  which  destroys  a 
deliberately  formed  opinion,  and  I  gradually 
returned  to  the  belief  that  I  was  beloved. 
My  doubts  were  even  effaced  by  the  shadow 
of  favourable  presumptions,  and  I  inter- 
preted to  my  advantage  what  had  before 
appeared  the  most  adverse  to  my  hopes.  We 
so  easily  deceive  ourselves  about  what  we 
desire  !  I  had  no  difficulty  in  drawing  a 
happy  omen  from  the  conversation  which  had 
so  greatly  surprised  and  afflicted  me  ;  I  per- 
suaded myself  that  Nanette  had  withdrawn 


I  herself  from  my  blunt  declaration  to  conceal 
her  trouble  and  delay  her  defeat ;  I  ended  by 
concluding  that  the  sensitive  book-stitcher  was 
not  less  impatient  than  myself  for  some  oc- 
casion which  might  hasten  the  ordinary 
denouement.  I  therefore  determined  to  make 
this  occasion  arise  as  soon  as  possible — the 
imagination  of  a  young  man  is  so  bold  and  ex- 
travagant when  spurred  on  by  love,  and 
when  it  gallops  unbridled  over  the  waste- 
ground  of  desire  ! 

It  was  summer,  and  as  the  heat  of  the  day 
is  retained  during  the  night  in  those  houses 
where  the  fresh  air  does  not  penetrate, 
Nanette  usually  left  her  Vindow  half-open 
during  the  evening,  in  order  to  breathe  a 
less  suffocating  atmosphere  while  she  slept, 
and,  while  watching  her  motions,  I  became 
aware  of  this  dangerous  habit. 

I  had  often  calculated  the  distance  between, 
our  two  windows,  and  every  time,  this 
distance,  which  I  devoured  in  idea,  was  di- 
minished in  my  eyes  ;  this  day  I  familiarised 
myself  with  it,  by  means  of  measuring  it 
according  to  the  desire  of  passing  it  which  I 
felt — fifteen  feet  in  breadth,  and  sixty  in 
height  ;  I  had  only  to  throw  a  bridge  from 
one  side  of  the  street  to  the  other  ;  and,  en- 
chanted with  this  audacious  project,  which 
would  have  put  a  fairy's  wand  to  the  proof,  I 
excited  myself  by  the  certainty  of  success  to 
venture  on  these  risks  and  perils.  All  my 
castles  in  the  air  were  at  that  time  situated 
in  the  Hue  d'Ecosse. 

I  immediately  busied  myself  about  the 
means  of  creating  a  bridge  which  should  have 
sufficient  solidity  for  me  to  pass  it,  without 
imminent  danger  of  my  carrying  away  the 
flexible  flooring  under  my  weight.  I  had, 
when  twenty-four,  a  sure  foot  and  an  eye 
steady  enough  to  save  me  from  trips  and 
giddiness.  Moreover,  love  is  a  lucky  guide 
in  the  greatest  hazards. 

When  the  night  had  caused  the  lights  to 
be  put  out,  and  set  the  neighbours  snoring,  I 
groped  my  way  into  the  street,  where  I  had 
remarked  a  pile  of  planks  which  had  been 
brought  yesterday  to  the  front  of  a  cabinet- 
maker's shop.  I  had  taken  care  to  hang  out 
from  my  balcony  a  long  and  stout  rope,  to 
which  I  fastened  two  oaken  planks,  and  by 
which  I  afterwards  hoisted  them  to  my 
chamber-window,  without  noise  and  without 
accident.  I  mentally  triumphed  over  my 
future  conquest,  when  I  found  myself  the 
proprietor  of  these  capital  boards,  which  I 
was  not  slow  in  making  use  of ;  thus,  with 
my  rope  I  fastened  the  shortest  and  the 
thickest  to  the  sill  of  my  window,  from  which 
it  projected  about  six  feet,  and  on  this  first 
scaffolding  I  pushed  my  second  plank  to  the 
opposite  window,  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
extremities  had  scarcely  at  each  end  a  point 
of  support. 

Oh  !  how  I  leapt  with  joy  while  admiring 
this  bridge  of  a  single  arch,  boldly  thrown 
across  the  street,  and  giving  me  a  pathway  two 


470 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


feet  wide,  without  a  parapet  !  I  was  too  im- 
patient to  make  trial  of  my  aerial  construction 
to  contemplate  it  very  long  at  a  distance,  and 
discover  its  defects  :  to  hesitate  under  such 
circumstances  was  to  retreat.  But  love  per- 
forms impossibilities — and  I  was  mad  with 
love  ! 

I  only  looked  at  the  happy  termination  of 
the  path  which  I  had  to  travel  in  the  air,  and 
I  bravely  ventured  cross-legs  on  this  plank, 
which  bent  and  shook  at  every  motion  I  made. 
When  I  was  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge,  which 
was  ready  to  give  way  with  me,  and  when  I 
measured  with  a  glance  that  frightful  perpen- 
dicular height,  I  fett  a  cold  shiver  to  the  very 
tip  of  my  hair,  and  I  shut  my  eyes  to  save 
myself  from  falling,  for  a  giddiness  made  the 
neighbouring  objects  turn  and  twist,  caused 
a  singing  in  my  ears,  and  a  grinding  of  my 
teeth,  made  my  blood  stagnate,  and  my  heart 
beat.  It  was  only  for  one  moment,  a  terrible 
moment,  that  I  fancied  I  must  be  killed,  and  I 
forgot  Nanette  ;  then  I  took  courage,  and  as 
it  was  more  difficult  to  go  back  than  to 
advance,  I  did  advance,  resigned  to  what 
might  happen.  I  owed  thanks  to  my  lucky 
star  when  I  got  into  harbour  without  ship- 
wreck, and  escaped  from  that  horrible  night- 
mare by  reaching  the  shore  :  that  is  to  say, 
Nanette's  window.  This  window,  which  I 
pushed  gently,  resisted  my  efforts  ;  from 
which  I  concluded  that  it  was  fastened,  and  I 
directly  sought  for  a  method  of  opening  it 
without  making  a  noise.  I  determined,  how- 
ever, on  no  account  to  raise  the  siege  of  a 
place  which  was  almost  carried  by  storm.  I 
listened  whether  Nanette  did  not  wake,  and  I 
pressed  my  face  against  the  dim  glass  in  the 
hope  of  distinguishing  what  was  going  on 
•within.  I  perceived  a  reddish  glimmer,  which 
tinged  the  white  curtains  of  the  bed  with  a 
spectral  light,  and  I  wondered  at  this  great 
fire  kindled  on  the  hearth  in  the  midst  of 
summer. 

A  deep  sigh  attracted  my  looks  and  my  at- 
tention down  below  into  the  street,  where  a  man 
was  standing  sentinel.  The  presence  of  this 
troublesome  witness,  who  seemed  to  have 
stopped  for  the  purpose  of  observing  me, 
urged  me  to  hasten  the  denouement  of  the 
adventure,  and  I  darted  a  more  searching 
glance  into  the  chamber.  I  then  beheld  all : — 
Nanette,  stretched  upon  her  bed  but  not 
undressed,  seemed  deprived  of  consciousness  ; 
a  brasier  of  charcoal  near  her  surrounded  her 
with  an  atmosphere  of  poisonous  smoke  :  she 
was  on  the  point  of  perishing,  if  she  was  not 
already  dead  of  suffocation. 

I  hesitated  no  longer ;  I  forgot  the  man 
who  was  watching  me,  and  the  fragile  support 
on  which  I  was  suspended  ;  I  threw  myself 
with  all  my  strength  against  the  worm-eaten 
sashes,  and  smashed  them  in  pieces,  as  well  as 
the  glass  panes,  which  I  could  hear  rattle 
down  upon  the  pavement.  But  I  had  entered 
Nanette's  chamber,  and  the  fresh  air  which 
rushed  upon  her  immediately  counteracted 


the  influence  of  that  stupefying  smoke.  I 
stamped  and  extinguished  the  burning  char- 
coal under  my  feet,  and,  almost  suffocated 
myself,  I  ran  to  the  assistance  of  the  insen- 
sible Nanette  ;  I  called  her  by  name,  I  rubbed 
her  hands  in  mine,  and  moistened  her  temples 
with  cold  water. 

Sensation  gradually  returned  ;  but,  para- 
lysed by  the  effects  of  the  vapour,  she 
revealed  the  thoughts  which  had  lulled  her 
sleep  of  death. 

"  Athanase  !  is  it  you? "  said  she,  stretching 
out  her  arms  as  if  to  embrace  me.  "  I  have 
killed  myself  for  grief  because  I  had  no  more 
hope  of  becoming  your  wife.  Athanase,  my 
love,  pardon  me,  and  think  of  your  poor 
Nanette ! " 

"  Confusion  !  "  thought  I  to  myself,  with 
disappointment.  "  Athanase  !  'tis  not  me 
then  that  she  loves  ]  'tis  a  little  late  for  me  to 
learn  the  truth.  Why  did  not  she  tell  me  ? 
I  should  not  have  run  the  risk  of  breaking 
my  neck  ;  yes,  but  then  I  should  not  have 
saved  her  !  " 

"  Athanase  !  ah  !  it  is  not  he  ; "  she  con- 
tinued, regaining  the  use  of  her  senses  as 
the  carbonic  exhalations  were  driven  off  by 
the  sharp  night-air.  "You  here,  M.  Jacob? 
Who  gave  you  leave  to  intrude  into  my 
room  1  You  are  not  come  to  prevent  me  from 
dying  ?  But  you  are  mistaken  ;  I  do  not  love 
you.  I  love  none  but  Athanase  Gerbier,  and 
I  am  dying  because  they  have  made  him  a 
priest." 

"You  shall  not  die,  Mademoiselle,"  I 
replied,  the  more  respectfully  that  I  had  it  at 
heart  to  repair  the  errors  of  my  presumption  ; 
"  I  deceived  myself,  I  confess,  and  I  beg  you 
to  forget  it,  in  return  for  the  service  which 
I  am  rendering  to  my  neighbour  Athanase, 
by  restoring  you  to  him  safe  and  sound.  A 
few  minutes  later,  I  shudder  at  the  thought 
of  it,  and  you  would  have  been  lost.  Pardon 
me  for  having  entered  by  your  window." 

"  Pardon  you  1  "  cried  a  thundering  voice, 
which  proceeded  from  my  own  chamber. 
''  Yes,  when  I  have  punished  you  for  your 
infamous  treachery  ;  when  I  shall  have  tram- 
pled you  both  under  my  feet,  and  over- 
whelmed you  with  scorn.  Where  is  the 
wretch,  that  I  may  strangle  him  !  " 

At  these  words,  the  plank  of  the  bridge 
rattled  and  tottered  under  the  steps  of  a 
man,  who  darted  into  the  attic  ;  and,  with 
his  fist  raised,  threw  me  down  near  the 
bed  on  which  Nanette  was  still  lying, 
feeble  and  almost  asleep,  as  if  she  were 
intoxicated.  That  voice,  those  steps,  and 
the  blow  which  felled  me  to  the  ground, 
awoke  her  from  her  stupor  and  she  sat  up 
pale  and  haggard. 

"  Nanette,"  said  he,  stammering  with  rage, 
"  I  find  you  faithless  and  culpable  !  I  who 
have  renounced  my  father,  my  family,  and 
my  profession,  for  the  sake  of  loving  you  only 
in  the  world.  The  very  day  of  my  departure, 
you  receive  my  rival." 


Charles  Dickens.] 


ALL  ABOUT  PIGS. 


471 


Athanase  Gerbier,  in  despair  at  leaving 
Paris  and  his  mistress  to  devote  himself  to  the 
Church,  had  waited  till  his  father  stopped 
at  the  first  inn,  and  then  fled,  in  spite  of  the 
distance  of  several  leagues.  He  returned  to 
Paris,  joyous  and  out  of  breath,  faint  with 
hunger  and  fatigue,  bathed  in  perspiration 
and  dust,  but  sustained  by  the  love  which 
drove  him  back.  On  his  arrival  in  the  Rue 
d'Ecosse,  towards  midnight,  he  observed  a 
communication  established  between  my  win- 
dow and  that  of  Nanette.  He  also  saw,  on 
this  mysterious  bridge,  a  living  shadow  tra- 
velling with  prudent  slowness.  Grief  and 
astonishment  deprived  him  of  speech,  and  he 
remained  the  mute  spectator  of  what  he  would 
have  hindered  at  the  price  of  his  blood.  He 
refused  to  believe  his  own  eyes  for  the  sake 
of  excusing  his  dear  Nanette ;  but,  as  soon 
as  I  had  broken  the  sashes  and  disappeared 
through  the  breach,  he  was  no  longer  master 
of  himself.  He  swore  a  thousand  deaths,  cried 
vengeance,  and  sought  the  most  prompt  mode 
of  surprising  me.  I  had  neglected  to  shut  the 
street  door;  he  mounted  the  stairs  without 
hindrance,  penetrated  into  my  apartment,  and 
blindly  crossed  over  by  the  dangerous  road 
which  I  had  passed  with  so  much  precaution. 

"Ah  !"  said  Nanette  in  a  persuasive  tone, 
and  folding  him  in  her  arms,  "thank  from 
the  bottom  of  your  heart,  and  repay  with 
a  grateful  friendship  this  good  M.  Jacob, 
who  has  saved  my  life ;  for,  without  him,  you 
would  have  found  only  my  corpse.  I  had 
resolved  to  suffocate  myself  !  " 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  her  dying,"  added  I, 
with  a  smile,  "  and  1  bring  her  to  life  :  still 
she  does  not  love  me,  and'  will  love  no  one 
but  you  !  "  , 

We  embraced  each  other.  They  promised 
me  friendship  instead  of  love,  and  I  assisted 
these  lovers  with  so  disinterested  a  zeal,  that 
in  spite  of  an  angry  father — in  spite  of  the 
bishop  and  the  Sorbonne — in  spite  of  misfor- 
tune and  the  rest,  this  history  finished,  like 
the  old  fairy  tales,  with  a  marriage  and  a 
numerous  family. 


ALL  ABOUT  PIGS. 


CONSIDERING  how  many  nations  abhor 
pork,  it  may  appear  remarkable  that  the  pig 
has  been  so  generally  deemed  a  valuable 
animal.  The  Jews,  the  Mohammedans,  and 
the  Hindoos,  all  shun  pork  as  an  article  of 
food.  There  is  a  story  told  of  the  early  Jews, 
which  places  their  porco-phobia  in  rather  a 
ludicrous  light.  Although  they  were  for- 
bidden to  eat  pork,  they  were  permitted  to 
rear  pigs  for  sale,  and  they  might  also  use 
lard  as  a  fuel  for  their  lamps  ;  but  about 
70  B.C.  further  restrictions  were  laid  on 
them.  Dr.  Kitto  states  that,  at  that  period, 
Jerusalem  was  besieged  by  one  of  two 
brothers,  who  were  rival  claimants  for  power. 
The  besieger,  not  wishing  to  interrupt  the 
services  of  the  temple,  permitted  an  arrange- 


ment under  which  money  was  let  down  from 
the  temple  in  a  box,  in  return  for  which  the 
lambs  required  for  the  daily  sacrifices  were 
sent  up.  But  one  morning,  some  mischievous 
Jerusalemite  contrived  to  put  a  pig  into  the 
box  instead  of  a  lamb.  When  half  way,  the 
pig  reared  himself  up,  and  happened  to  rest 
iiis  fore  feet  upon  the  temple  wall !  This  sacri- 
lege was  enough  to  bring  about  a  new  decree 
or  law,  prohibiting  the  rearing  of  swine  at 
Jerusalem. 

The  wild  pigs,  unowned  and  uncared  for, 
which  roam  about  many  cities,  obtrude  them- 
selves upon  the  notice  of  travellers  in  a  way 
most  unavoidable.  Thus,  Colonel  Sykes  says 
that  in  the  Deccan,  every  village  abounds  in 
wild  hogs,  but  any  property  in  them  is 
equally  abjured  by  individuals  and  the  com- 
munity ;  they  live  in  the  streets,  they  are 
public  scavengers,  and  they  dispute  with  the 
dogs  the  possession  of  the  offal  thrown  out 
from  the  houses. 

The  Cincinnati  pigs,  which  Mrs.  Trollope, 
Sir  Charles  Lyell,  and  other  English  tourists 
in  America  have  commented  upon,  are  not 
all  rovers ;  there  is  much  pig-enterprise  in 
this  great  centre  of  Ohio  commerce.  Lyell 
describes  the  unowned  swine,  and  also  the 
sleeker  animals  which  bring  large  fortunes  to 
the  "pork  aristocracy"  of  Cincinnati.  The 
former  is  a  roaming,  restless,  thriftless  brute, 
with  long  legs,  porcupine-like  bristles,  a  hide 
of  almost  rhinocerine  thickness,  and  much  of 
the  grim  aspect  of  a  wolf  ;  whereas  the  tame 
hog  of  the  same  city  has  been  rendered  a 
most  valuable  animal. 

To  what  extent  a  pig  may  be  useful  to  man 
while  yet  living,  in  addition  to  the  purposes 
which  he  subserves  when  dead,  has,  perhaps,  not 
yet  been  fairly  ascertained.  Certain  it  is  that 
pigs  are  treated  in  a  very  ungentlemauly 
way,  by  the  gentlemen  who  walk  on  two 
legs.  Charles  Lamb,  it  is  true,  by  his  Disquisi- 
tion on  Eoast  Pig,  does  by  implication  pay  a 
compliment  to  the  living  animal.  But  Leigh 
Hunt  characterises  a  pig  as  an  animal 
"  having  a  peculiar  turn  of  mind  ;  a  fellow 
that  would  not  move  faster  than  he  could 
help  ;  irritable,  retrospective,  picking  objec- 
tions, and  prone  to  boggle  ;  a  chap  with  a 
tendency  to  take  every  path  but  the  proper 
one,  and  with  a  sidelong  tact  for  the  alleys." 
The  moral  and  mental  philosophy  of  a  pig's 
existence  is  thus  ingeniously  set  forth  by  Sir 
Francis  Head  : — "  With  pigs,  as  with  man- 
kind, idleness  is  the  root  of  all  evil.  The 
poor  animal,  finding  that  he  has  absolutely 
nothing  to  do,  having  no  enjoyment,  nothing 
to  look  forward  to,  but  the  pail  which  feeds 
him  ;  must  eagerly  (or,  as  we  accuse  him, 
greedily),  greet  its  arrival.  Having  no  busi- 
ness or  diversion — nothing  to  occupy  his  hours 
— the  whole  powers  of  his  system  are  directed 
to  the  digestion  of  a  super-abundance  of  food. 
To  encourage  this  nature  assists  him  with 
sleep,  which,  lulling  his  better  faculties,  leads 
his  stomach  to  become  the  ruling  power  of  his 


472 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  br 


system — a  tyrant  that  can  bear  no  one's 
presence  b\it  his  own.  The  poor  pig  thus 
treated,  gorges  himself,  sleeps,  eats  again, 
sleeps,  awakes  in  a  fright,  screams,  struggles 
against  the  blue  apron,  screams  fainter  and 
fainter,  turns  up  the  whites  of  his  little  eyes, 
and  dies !  " 

But  though  the  progress  of  modern  civili- 
sation may  not  have  advanced  far  into  pig- 
dom,  yet  do  we  occasionally  hear  of  shrewd 
knacks  and  habits  acquired  by  these  animals. 
The  jungle-hog  of  India,  we  are  told,  makes 
his  bed  of  meadow-grass  ;  this  he  cuts  down 
with  his  teeth,  as  if  it  were  done  with  a 
scythe,  and  piles  it  up  into  oblong  heaps,  as 
regularly  as  thatch  on  houses.  When  he  has 
thus  collected  a  large  heap,  he  creeps  under  it 
to  rest :  when  he  leaves  it  he  creeps  out  at  the 
other  end  without  disturbing  it.  He  remains 
quite  invisible  when  in  his  house,  but  leaves  a 
loop-hole  through  which  to  have  an  eye  upon 
his  enemies.  In  Minorca  an  ass  and  a  hog 
are  occasionally  yoked  together  to  a  plough  ; 
and  Pennant  speaks  of  a  Morayshire  farmer 
who  used  a  cow,  a  sow,  and  two  horses,  to  form 
his  team.  In  Hertfordshire  a  farmer  once  went 
to  St.  Al  ban's  market  in  a  small  cart  drawn 
by  four  hogs  ;  and  a  hog  has  been  known  to 
submit  to  the  saddle  and  bridle.  In  some 
parts  of  Italy,  pigs  are  employed  to  hunt  for 
truffles.  A  string  is  tied  to  the  animal's  leg, 
and  he  is  led  into  the  fields  where  truffles 
grow  :  wherever  he  stops,  smells  the  soil,  and 
roots  up  the  ground,  there  truffles  will  be 
found. 

In  connexion  with  field-sports,  the  boar  of 
olden  time  occurs  naturally  to  the  mind  of  mo- 
dern readers.  Of  the  legends,  the  histories,  the 
songs,  the  pictures  relating  to  boar-hunting, 
every  one  knows  something  ;  and  that  sport 
is  not  even  now  extinct.  We  have  few  or  no 
wild  boars  in  England,  but  many  parts  of  the 
Continent  abound  in  them.  The  Prince  of 
Cond6  kept  dogs  for  boar-hunting  down  to 
1830  ;  and  more  than  one  "  noble  lord  "  are 
reported  to  have  enjoyed  this  sport  in  the  south 
of  France  in  recent  times.  If  it  be  true  that  the 
boar's  head,  which  graces  the  dinner-table  at 
Queen's  College,  Oxford,  on  Christmas  day,  is 
"neatly  carved  in  wood,"  it  argues  a  sad 
scarcity  of  real  boars'  heads.  But  if  the 
sportsman  does  not  now  act  against  the  pig, 
he  occasionally  acts  with  him.  It  is  related 
that  the  gamekeeper  of  the  late  Sir  H.  St. 
John  Mildmay,  while  pursuing  his  avocations 
iu  the  New  Forest,  conceived  the  idea  of  edu- 
cating a  pigling  to  fill  the  part  of  a  pointer 
dog.  The  pig  used  to  accompany  him  to  a 
considerable  distance  from  home  ;  and  he 
enticed  her  still  further  by  the  bribe  of  a  kind 
of  pudding  made  of  barley  meal,  which  he 
carried  in  one  of  his  pockets ;  his  other 
pocket  was  filled  with  stones,  to  throw  at  the 
pig  whenever  she  misbehaved.  She  proved 
tolerably  tractable  ;  and  he  soon  taught  her 
what  he  wished,  by  this  system  of  rewards 
uiid  punishments.  She  became  an  excellent 


pointer.  One  fault,  alas  !  she  had  :  she  was 
an  epicure  in  delicate  young  lamb  ;  and  ate, 
without  cooking,  sundry  lambs  which  became 
her  prey  in  the  farm-yard.  She  was  lowered 
from  her  dignity  as  a  pointer,  and  became — 
bacon. 

It  must  be  confessed,  however,  that  any 
enumeration  of  the  uses  of  the  living  pig  to 
man  will  necessarily  be  a  short  one  ;  and  we 
will,  therefore,  trace  him  through  the  ordeal 
by  which  he  is  made  a  valuable  dead  pig. 

The  rearing  of  pigs  for  the  market  has 
become  a  much  more  carefully  studied  occu- 
pation than  in  former  days.  It  was  once 
deemed  that  any  refuse  would  suffice  for  any 
pig  ;  but  pig-breeders  have  become  philoso- 
phers, knowing  that  the  quality  of  pork  de- 
pends on  the  food  of  the  animal.  Certain  it 
is  that  pigs  are  nearly  as  omnivorous  as  the 
bipeds  who  own  and  kill  them.  They  will 
eat  all  kinds  of  clover,  cabbage,  vetches, 
lucern  ;  all  such  roots  as  potatoes,  carrots, 
turnips,  parsneps  ;  all  the  varieties  of  corn, 
beans,  and  peas  ;  linseed  meal  and  oil-cake  ; 
beech-mast  and  acorns  ;  apples  and  other 
fruits  (if  they  can  get  them)  ;  the  grains  and 
wash  from  distilleries  and  breweries  (many  a 
pig  has  been  drunk  with  distillery  refuse)  ; 
the  refuse  from  starch-works  and  from  corn- 
mills  ;  the  potato  peelings,  and  the  cabbage- 
cuttings,  and  all  the  odds  and  ends  which 
constitute  kitchen  refuse  ;  the  more  dainty 
butter-milk  and  skim-milk,  and  whey,  which 
give  the  choice  niceties  of  "  dairy-fed  pork  " 
— all  are  welcome  to  the  pig.  According  to 
the  purposes  for  which  the  animals  are  des- 
tined, so  is  the  food  chosen  by  those  who 
make  it  a  matter  of  business.  If  they  are  to 
be  sucking-pigs,  to  be  killed  at  two  or  three 
weeks  old,  their  quality  will  be  affected  by 
the  food  which  the  mother  eats  ;  if  they  are 
to  rise  to  the  dignity  of  porkers,  they  are  fed 
carefully  to  meet  the  palates  of  London 
buyers,  who  are  mightily  particular  in  their 
fresh  pork  ;  if  they  are  to  become  bacon-hogs, 
they  undergo  a  certain  kind  of  fattening  after 
they  get  beyond  the  age  of  porkers. 

In  respect  to  the  prize  pigs,  which  lead 
such  a  life  of  fame  every  December,  they  are 
fed  on  barley-meal,  steamed  potatoes,  Indian 
corn,  skim-milk,  pea-meal,  and  various  other 
things  which  pigs  do  love  ;  and  the  rearers 
try  to  discover  which  fodder  has  the  greatest 
fat-producing  qualities.  Thus  we  find  that, 
at  the  Christmas  Cattle  Show  in  1851,  as  at 
its  predecessors,  the  medals  and  the  purses  of 
sovereigns  were  awarded  to  the  owners  and 
breeders  of  fat  pigs,  who  were  able  to  show 
what  kind  of  food,  and  for  what  length  of 
time,  had  produced  the  roljr-poly  state  of  the 
animals.  One  had  revelled  in  buck -wheat, 
barley -meal,  peas,  and  milk-and-water  ; 
another  in  barley-meal,  potatoes,  and  whey ; 
and  so  on.  As  to  the  appearance  of  these  pets 
— trying  to  stand  and  to  look  out  of  their 
eyes,  but  unable  to  do  either — most  persona 
are  familiar  with  it. 


Churle*  Dickens.] 


ALL  ABOUT  PIGS. 


473 


The  English  pigs  are  better  fed  than  the 
Irish,  but  the  latter  are  more  important  to 
their  owners  ;  for  it  remains  too  often  true 
that  the  pig  is  "  the  gintlemau  that  pays  the 
rint."  They  are  often  bedded  better  than  the 
children  of  the  cotter,  and  if  he  had  anything 
better  than  potatoes  to  give  them,  he  would 
do  so  ;  but  he  has  not,  hence,  Irish  bacon  and 
pork  are  somewhat  coarse.  Almost  the 
whole  of  this  comes  over  to  England,  for  poor 
Paddy  can  seldom  afford  to  eat  his  own  pig. 
Pig-jobbers,  Mr.  Inglis  tells  us,  attend  in 
large  numbers  at  Irish  markets  and  fairs. 
A  pig-dealer  would  come  to  a  countryman 
who  held  a  pig  by  a  string,  "  How  much  do 
you  ask  ?  "  "  Twenty-eight  shillings,"  the 
answer  might  be.  "  Hold  out  yer  hand," 
says  the  buyer  ;  and  the  proprietor  of  the  pig 
holds  out  his  hand  accordingly.  The  buyer 
places  a  penny  in  it,  and  then  strikes  it  with 
a  force  that  might  break  the  back  of  an 
ox.  "  Will  ye  take  twenty  shillings  ?  "  The 
other  shakes  his  head.  "Ask  twenty-four, 
and  see  if  I  will  give  it  yer."  After  a 
little  more  bargaining,  the  purchase  is  agreed 
on,  and  perhaps  an  odd  shilling  spent  in 
whiskey. 

The  sides  of  Irish  bacon  are  sent,  roughly 
salted,  to  London,  Liverpool,  Bristol,  and 
other  English  ports ;  they  are  consigned  to 
bacon-curers  or  provision-merchants,  who 
complete  the  necessary  processes,  and  render 
the  flitches  and  hams  fit  for  sale.  The  lard 
or  fat  of  a  pig  "  takes  salt,"  as  it  is  termed, 
very  readily,  and  hence  the  fitness  of  pork  for 
salting  and  curing.  Attempts  have  often  been 
made  to  guess  at  the  number  of  pigs,  and  the 
quantity  of  pig-produce,  which  reach  England 
from  Ireland ;  but,  since  the  trade  between 
the  two  countries  has  been  assimilated  to  a 
coasting  trade,  authentic  data  are  wanting. 
In  1837,  the  number  of  pigs  which  crossed 
Saint  George's  Channel  was  seven  hundred 
thousand  ;  but  steam-navigation  must  since 
have  increased  this  number.  With  respect 
to  the  metropolis,  about  forty  thousand  pigs 
are  annually  sold  in  Smithfield,  fifteen  thou- 
sand sucking  pigs  at  Newgate  Market,  one 
hundred  thousand  to  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  stone  of  dead  pig  at  the  same 
market,  and  five  hundred  thousand  stone 
at  Leadenhall.  Most  of  this  is  English 
produce. 

The  remarkable  processes  by  which  pig- 
meat  is  cured,  are  best  illustrated,  perhaps, 
by  Westphalia  hams.  The  hams  are  piled  up 
in  deep  tubs  and  covered  with  layers  of  salt, 
saltpetre,  and  a  small  quantity  of  bay  leaves. 
In  this  situation  they  are  left  for  five  days ; 
a  strong  pickle  of  salt  and  water  is  then 
ma<le,  in  which  the  hams  are  immersed  ;  and 
wheia  this  pickle  has  thoroughly  penetrated 
the  meat,  the  hams  .are  soaked  for  twelve 
hours  in  pure  spring  water.  They  are  lastly 
hung  up  for  three  weeks  in  a  smoke  made 
from  juniper  bushes,  which  in  tliat  country 
&r&  very  plentiful.  Some  of  the  Trench 


chemists  have  made  a  fierce  onslaught  on 
saltpetre,  as  an  agent  in  curing  hams  and 
bacon  ;  they  say  that  the  nitric  acid  clings  to 
!  the  meat  in  too  obstinate  a  manner,  and  that 
most  of  the  ill  effects  of  such  food,  when  eaten 
too  exclusively,  may  be  traced  to  the  salt- 
petre ;  they  recommend  sugar  in  the  place  of 
saltpetre. 

The  fresh  pork,  the  salt  pork,  the  head,  the 
bacon,  the  pettitoes,  the  black-puddings  (in 
which  the  blood  of  pig  takes  a  part) — these 
are  the  forms  in  which  our  friend  the 
grunter  contributes  to  the  dinner-table.  But 
his  uses  do  not  end  here.  There  is  the  lard, 
there  is  the  skin,  there  are  the  bristles.  The 
lard,  made  by  a  careful  treatment  of  pig-fat, 
is  an  exceedingly  pure  substance,  and  is 
employed  in  numberless  ways  by  the  cook, 
the  apothecary,  and  the  perfumer.  Ointments 
have  very  generally  lard  as  one  of  their 
ingredients  ;  and  as  for  perfumery,  if  the 
bear's  grease,  and  the  marrow  oil,  and  the 
Circassian  cream,  and  the  pomade  divine,  and 
the  lip-salve — if  they  could  speak,  they  would, 
doubtless,  have  much  to  say  concerning  the 
virtues  of  lard. 

Pig-skin  is  converted  into  a  leather,  and  a, 
very  tough  leather  it  makes  ;  so  tough,  indeed, 
that  no  other  equals  it  as  a  material  for 
saddles.  A  hard  rider  would  soon  rub  and 
thump  a  saddle  to  death,  were  it  formed  of 
anything  less  obdurate  than  pig-skin  ;  and 
hence  pig-skin  has  come  to  have  a  sort  of 
figurative  meaning  among  equestrians.  It  is 
also  used  for  pocket-books,  and  for  some 
other  purposes.  The  supply  of  pig  leather 
depends  upon  the  prevalence,  or  otherwise,  of 
the  practice  of  cooking  pork  with  the  skin  on  ; 
very  little  pig-leather  is  derived  from  English 
pigs.  In  Mexico  the  skins  of  hogs,  blown  up 
like  bladders,  serve  as  water -bags  for  the 
itinerant  water-dealers. 

But  a  much  more  important  piggish  con- 
tribution to  man's  use  consists  in  bristles. 
These  bristles  are  used  in  England  to  an 
enormous  amount ;  and  it  is  found  that 
Eussia  and  Prussia  are  almost  the  only 
countries  which  can  furnish  us  with  the 
requisite  supply.  The  bristles  of  small  pigs 
are  short  and  slender ;  the  only  good  kinds 
are  obtained  from  large  hogs.  About  two 
million  pounds  of  bristles  are  imported 
annually,  all  taken  from  the  top  of  the  hog's 
back,  where  alone  they  are  large  and  strong 
enough.  It  has  been  calculated  that  an, 
average  bristle  weighs  about  two  grains, 
that  about  a  pound  is  yielded  by  each  hog, 
that  two  million  Russian  and  Prussian  hogs 
have  thus  annually  to  contribute  to  the  wants 
of  the  English  brush-maker,  and  that  the 
number  of  individual  bristles  thus  contributed 
cannot  be  much  less  than  seven  thousand 
millions  !  The  bristles  are  variously  coloured, 
and  are  sorted  before  being  used  by  the  brush- 
maker  ;  they  are  dressed  by  a  sort  of  combing 
process,  and  are  sometimes  bleached.  Great  is 
the  number  of  species  in  the  brush  genus,  to 


474 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


which  the  pig-bristle  lends  its  aid  ;  there  are 
painting-brushes  and  dusting-brushes,  white- 
Avash-brushes  and  distemper-brushes,  stair- 
brooms  and  hearth-brooms,  shoe-brushes 
and  clothes-brushes,  scrubbing-brushes  and 
bottle  -  brushes,  hair  -  brushes  and  tooth- 
brushes— brushes  round  and  brushes  flat, 
brushes  hollow  and  brushes  solid,  brushes 
with  handles  and  brushes  without  (or  sine 
manubrium,  as  an  inventor  has  leamedly 
named  them).  Bristles  are  also,  as  we 
know,  employed  by  the  cobbler  ;  and  they 
are  used  in  making  the  tough  ropes  with 
which  the  Shetland  fowlers  carry  on  their 
perilous  trade. 

In  Mexico  and  other  countries  where  pigs 
are  reared  on  a  large  scale,  many  manu- 
factures are  carried  on  in  which  pig-produce 
bears  a  part.  Cincinnati  seems  to  take  the 
lead  of  all  other  towns  in  this  respect.  Mrs. 
Trollope  complains  that  she  never  saw  a 
newspaper  without  remarking  such  advertise- 
ments as  the  following  :  "  Wanted  imme- 
diately, four  thousand  fat  hogs  ; "  "  For  sale, 
two  thousand  barrels  of  prime  pork  ; "  and 
that  it  is  impossible  to  walk  the  Cincinnati 
streets  without  encountering  snouts  of  various 
degrees  of  uncleanness.  It  is  said  that  the 
Cincinnati  pig-trade  began  about  1835,  at  a 
time  when  the  Germans  formed  a  notable 
proportion  of  the  population.  Some  specu- 
lators began  by  making  pickled  pork  of  the 
sides  and  hams  of  the  pigs  ;  others  thought 
that  the  "  trotters  "  and  the  "  cheeks  "  might 
command  a  sale ;  others  established  sausage 
manufactories ;  while  the  butchers  were 
willing  to  kill  the  pigs  for  the  sake  of  the 
skin  and  bristles.  A  Frenchman  established 
a  brush-work,  and  bought  and  used  all  the 
bristles ;  another  collected  the  finer  hair 
from  the  animal,  washed  and  curled  it,  and 
used  it  as  a  stuffing  for  mattrasses.  Then 
came  a  lard  speculator  ;  machines  were  in- 
vented for  pressing  oil  out  of  lard  (and 
beautiful  oil  this  seems  to  be,  as  the  late 
Great  Exhibition  testified)  ;  and  the  solid 
residue  of  this  pressed  lard  became  the  basis 
of  an  extensive  stearine  candle  manufacture. 
Then  came  a  chemist,  who  mourned  over  the 
red  streams  which  polluted  the  streets  of  the 
town  ;  he  "  killed  two  birds  with  one  stone," 
by  removing  the  unsightly  refuse,  and  estab- 
lishing a  large  manufactory  for  obtaining 
prnssiate  of  potash  from  the  pigs'  blood. 

Good  reader ;  we  have  not,  it  is  true,  sup- 
plied that  autobiography  of  which  the  open- 
ing paragraph  treated  ;  but  we  have,  it  is 
hoped,  gone  "the  whole  hog"  in  showing  the 
main  points  in  the  life  and  death  of  a  pig,  and 
the  varied  services  which — willingly  or  not — 
he  renders  to  man.  Many  persons  profess  to 
go  "  the  whole  hog,"  without  knowing  the 
origin  of  the  phrase  ;  and  we  may  therefore 
tell  them  that  Virginia  is  reputed  to  be  its 
birthplace.  When  a  Virginian  butcher  kills 
a  pig,  he  is  said  to  ask  his  customers  whether 
they  will  "  go  the  whole  hog,"  as,  in  such  case, 


he  sells  at  a  lower  price  per  pound  than  if 
they  pick  out  the  prime  joints  only. 


IN  the  winter  of  1851  I  left  Philadelphia, 
at  that  time  my  place  of  residence  in  the 
United  States,  to  make  a  short  stay  in  Boston. 
My  acquaintance  with  Boston  is  but  slight  ; 
for  I  visited  it  during  a  period  of  cheerless 
cold,  heightened  by  the  constant  prevalence 
of  east  winds  ;  and  my  own  engagements 
prevented  many  wanderings.  One  excursion, 
however,  which  I  took  in  its  vicinity,  put 
me  in  possession  of  a  document  which  I 
think  may  prove  not  uninteresting  to  the 
readers  of  "  Household  Words." 

About  fifteen  miles  from  Boston  stands 
Salem,  which  will  now  be  known  to  many 
through  Nathaniel  Hawthorne's  introduction 
to  the  "  Scarlet  Letter."  In  this  story, 
allusion  is  made  to  the  belief  in  witchcraft, 
which,  nearly  two  centuries  ago,  spread  like 
an  epidemic  not  only  over  portions  of  Eng- 
land and  the  European  continent,  but  also  in 
these  far  off  colonies  ;  and,  most  virulently  of 
all,  in  the  now  unimportant  little  town  of 
Salem.  Hearing  that  in  the  court-house 
of  Salem  a  few  records  of  the  examination 
of  some  of  the  victims  of  a  wild  and 
destructive  superstition  were  permitted  to  be 
seen,  I  was  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
accompanying  a  friend  on  a  short  visit  to 
the  town. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  Custom  House. 
We  found  it  exactly  as  described  by  Haw- 
thorne— a  dreary-looking  brick  building,  very 
much  out  of  repair ;  the  paint-work  worn 
and  dingy,  and  the  grass  growing  in  the 
chinks  of  the  stones  around  it,  rather  con- 
veying the  idea  of  a  deserted  mansion  of  faded 
gentility,  than  an  office  in  which  some  little 
segment  of  national  business  was  daily  being 
transacted.  We  first  entered  a  room  on  the 
ground-floor,  in  which  a  number  of  official- 
looking  personages  were  assembled,  at  that 
time  apparently  not  very  actively  employed  ; 
and,  in  one  or  two  of  whom  I  fancied  I 
recognised  some  resemblance  to  those  very 
respectable  fixtures  of  Government  service 
Hawthorne  unceremoniously  introduced  to 
the  public.  As  in  his  days  of  surveyorship, 
the  floor  was  thickly  strewn  with  grey  sand  ; 
but,  in  place  of  a  stove,  an  immense  pile  of 
wood  logs  was  blazing  and  crackling  on  the 
hearth  ;  casting  around  the  most  cheerful 
and  inspiring  glow.  After  warming  ourselves 
for  a  few  moments,  we  ascended  to  the  second 
story. 

The  room  we  entered  was  a  large,  un- 
finished apartment,  covered  with  the  dust  of 
years,  and  serving  no  other  purpose  than  that 
of  a  lumber-room.  It  was  a  strange,  sugges- 
tive place  ;  a  chamber  for  ghost  revels,  in 
which  you  could  not  long  remain  without 
raising  mental  ghosts  for  yourself.  In  one 
corner  several  barrels  were  piled,  in  which. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  PAGE  FROM  A  SAD  BOOK. 


475 


had  been  stowed  papers  filled  with  curious 
records  of  the  judicial  and  business  doings 
of  past  generations.  Scattered  over  the  floor, 
•was  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  odds  and 
ends  from  all  parts  of  the  world  ; — boxes,  the 
mystery  of  whose  dust-hidden  contents  I 
vainly  endeavoured  to  penetrate  ;  veritable 
Turkish  pipes ;  canes  from  the  wide  cane- 
brakes  of  the  Southern  States  ;  a  bag  of  dates 
and  some  bottles  of  sweet  Eastern  wine  (to 
the  good  quality  of  both  of  which  I  can 
testify)  ;  several  beautiful  sea-shells  ;  a  large 
square  of  tapestry  ;  one  of  Raphael's  cartoons, 
which  had  been  brought  over  from  Palermo. 
Lastly  a  strange-looking  musical  instrument, 
now,  for  the  first  time  for  a  long  period,  opened 
for  us  to  inspect.  It  was  broken  into  one  or 
two  pieces,  was  otherwise  woefully  damaged, 
and  was  covered  with  dust.  It  had  been  the 
property  of  a  poor  Frenchman,  who  had  spent 
many  years  in  conceiving  and  working  out 
what  was  now  a  melancholy  wreck ;  but  which, 
in  its  perfect  state,  had  been  an  ingenious 
piece  of  mechanism,  in  which  a  number  of 
little  automaton  figures  appeared  to  be  the 
active  agents  in  producing  the  music.  The 
Frenchman  accomplished  his  labour,  had  just 
begun  to  exhibit  it  to  the  world  and  to  reap 
the  harvest  of  his  patience  and  skill,  when 
he  died  ;  and  by  some  chance,  it  had  been  sent 
to  fall  to  pieces  in  the  obscure  lumber-room  of 
the  Salem  Custom  House.  Here  was  the 
tragedy !  The  barrels  in  the  corner  might 
excite  curious  speculations  as  to  their  contents ; 
but  the  result  of  a  man's  life  of  thoughtful 
effort,  passing  to  decay  unseen  and  unappre- 
ciated, suggested  many  a  sad  and  profound 
reflection  ;  and,  with  a  tender  pity,  I  laid  my 
hand  upon  this  neglected  child  of  the  poor 
Frenchman's  toil,  along  whose  wooden  frame 
and  wire  nerves  the  living  spirit  of  his 
thoughts  had  passed. 

Quitting  the  chamber,  I  accompanied  my 
friends  to  the  Court  House  ;  where  we  were 
soon  busily  occupied  with  the  object  of  our 


we  must  pronounce  to  be  guiltless  of  their 
alleged  offences  ;  and  many  were  the  thoughts 
and  questions  they  irresistibly  forced  upon 
me.  Who,  in  those  mixed  assemblages  of 
judges,  witnesses,  and  the  accused,  were  the 
deceived  parties  'I  "Were  all  alike  resting 
under  the  same  dark  shadow  of  superstition  ? 
We  find  men  holding  responsible  positions, 
— amongst  whom  we  expect  to  meet  with 
some  of  the  best  intelligences  of  their  time 
— solemnly  conducting  examinations,  issuing 
committals,  and  framing  death-warrants.  Men 
and  women,  as  well  as  young  persons  down 
to  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age,  making  depo- 
sitions of  a  character  so  absurd,  that  we  should 
call  them  laughable  did  we  not  remember 
human  lives  were  staked  on  them.  We  cannot 
think  that  so  many  people,  from  malice  or 
conscious  ill-intent,  could  invent  such  state- 
ments ;  neither  can  we  understand  how  they 
could  possibly  have  believed  what  they  say  ; 
or,  if  they  did,  by  what  process  of  the  imagi- 
nation they  were  wrought  to  such  a  pitch 
of  fantastic  illusion.  It  is  all  a  troubled 
mystery. 

We  ascertained  that  these  pages  consisted  of 
fragments  of  many  examinations,  besides 
some  of  the  death-warrants  of  the  unhappy 
so-called  wizards  and  witches  ;  but  we  did  not 
find  anything  very  distinctive  to  fix  our 
attention  for  some  time,  as  the  evidence  and 
accusations  were  for  the  most  part  the  same 
in  all.  At  last  we  took  up  a  paper  headed 
"  The  examination  of  Susannah  Martin,  May  2, 
1692."  The  replies  of  this  poor  woman, 
standing  up  for  her  life  against  a  terrible 
array  of  ignorance  and  superstition,  surprised 
us  by  the  evidence  they  gave  of  the  clearest 
prudence  and  self-possession  in  a  moment 
of  such  imminent  trial.  My  friend  re- 
marked to  me,  "  This  paper  corroborates  the 
opinion  I  expressed  a  few  minutes  ago : — that 
the  men  and  women  who  suffered  during  this 
period,  were  those  whose  higher  mental  gifts 
and  greater  breadth  of  character,  placed  them 


visit.     Most  eagerly   did   we   turn  over  the   beyond   the   understanding   of   the   common 


sheets  of  yellow,  time-stained  paper,  patiently 
deciphering  records  written  in  a  cramped  and 
ancient  hand.  Here  we  read  depositions 
as  to  the  most  extraordinary  bewitchments 
of  cattle,  the  casting  of  divers  persons  into 
grievous  fits  by  the  appearance  (as  the  sup- 
posed demon  was  termed)  of  those  accused, 
the  torturing  them  with  pins,  and  many 
other  diabolical  appliances  of  the  black 
art.  We  were  shown  a  large  bottle  full  of 
the  very  pins,  now  rusty  and  discoloured, 
which  had  been  taken  from  the  bodies  of  those 
afHicted.  Of  the  occurrence  of  all  which  I 
saw  chronicled  here,  I  had  heard,  read  and 
believed  ;  but  in  things  which  partake  so  much 
of  the  supernatural  and  improbable,  until 
confronted  by  their  positive  evidences,  we  are 
scarcely  able  to  feel  their  actuality.  But 
here,  in  my  sight,  were  the  very  pages  re- 
cording words  that  had  sworn  away  lives 
which,  in  these  days  of  our  better  knowledge, 


natures  around    them."     The   document  ran 
thus — 

The  examination  of  Susannah  Martin, 
May  2,  1692  :— 

As  soon  as  she  came  into  the  meeting-house 
many  persons  fell  into  fits. 

Judge.  Hath  this  woman  hurt  you  1 

Abigail  Williams  said,  "  it  is  Goody  Martin ; 
she  hath  hurt  me  often." 

Others  by  fits  were  hindered  from  speaking. 

Eliza  Hubbard  said  she  had  not  hurt  her. 

John  Indian  said  he  never  saw  her. 

Mercy  Lewis  pointed  to  her  and  fell  into 
a  fit. 

Ann  Putnam  threw  her  glove  in  a  fit  at 
her. 

The  Examinant  laughed. 

Judge.  What  !  do  you  laugh  at  it  1 

Susannah.  Well  I  may  at  such  folly. 

Judge.  Is  this  folly  to  see  these  so  hurt  1 


476 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Susannah.  I  never  hurt  man,  woman,  or 
child. 

Mercy  Lewis  cried  out,  "she  ha,th  hurt 
me  «i  great  many  times,  and  plucks  me 
down  !  " 

Then  Martin  laughed  again. 

Mary  Walcot  said  this  woman  hath  hurt 
her  a  great  many  times. 

Susannah  Sheldon  also  accused  her  of 
hurting  her. 

Judge.  What  do  you  say  to  this  1 

Susannah.  I  have  no  hand  in  witchcraft. 

Judge.  What  did  you  do  ?  Did  you  consent 
these  should  be  hurt  1 

Susannah.  No,  never  in  my  life. 

Judge.  What  ails  these  people  ? 

Susannah.  I  do  not  know. 

Judge.  But  what  do  you  think  ails  them  ? 

Susannah.  I  do  not  desire  to  spend  my 
judgment  upon  it. 

Judge.  Do  you  think  they  are  bewitched  ? 

Susannah.  I  do  not  think  they  are. 

Judge.  But  tell  us  your  thoughts  about 
them. 

Susannah.  My  thoughts  are  mine  own 
when  they  are  in,  but  when  they  are  out  they 
are  another's.  You  said  their  master. 

Judge.  Who  do  you  think  is  their  master  ? 

Susannah.  If  they  be  dealing  in  the  Black 
Art  you  may  know  as  well  as  I. 

Judge.  What  have  you  done  towards  the 
hurt  of  these  ? 

Susannah.  I  have  done  nothing. 

Judge.  Why  it  is  you,  or  your  appearance. 

Susannah.  I  cannot  help  it. 

Judge.  That  may  be  your  master  that  hurts 
them  ? 

Susannah.  I  desire  to  lead  my  life  according 
to  the  Word  of  God. 

Judge.  Is  this  according  to  the  word  of 
God?' 

Susannah.  If  I  were  such  a  person,  I  would 
tell  you  the  truth. 

Judge.  How  comes  your  appearance  just 
now  to  hurt  these  ? 

Susannah.  How  do  I  know  ? 

Judge.  Are  you  not  willing  to  tell  the 
truth  '? 

Susannah.  I  cannot  tell :  he  who  appeared 
in  Samuel's  shape,  a  glorified  shape,  can 
appear  in  any  one's  shape. 

Judge.  Do  you  believe  these  afflicted  per- 
sons do  not  say  true  ? 

Susannah.  They  may  lie  for  aught  I  know. 

Judge.  May  not  you  lie  ? 

Susannah.  I  dare  not  tell  a  lie  if  it  would 
save  my  life. 

Judge.  Then  you  will  speak  the  truth,  will 

you? 

Susannah.  I  have  spoken  nothing  else  :  I 
would  do  them  any  good. 

Judge.  I  do  not  think  you  have  such 
affection  for  those  whom  you  just  now  insinu- 
ated had  the  Devil  for  their  master. 

The  marshal  who  stood  by  her  said  she 
pioched  her  hands,  and  Eliza  Hubbard  was 
immediately  afflicted. 


Several  of  the  afflicted  said  they  saw  her 
on  the  beam. 

Judge.  Pray  God  discover  you  if  you  be 
guilty  ! 

Susannah.  Amen,  amen  !  A  false  tongue 
will  never  make  a  guilty  person. 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time  coming  to  the 
court  to-day,"  said  Mercy  Lewis  ;  "  you  can 
come  fast  enough  in  the  night." 

A  few  lines  of  the  manuscript  were  here 
rather  unintelligible. 

John  Indian  fell  into  a  fit,  and  cried  it  was 
that  woman.  "  She  bites  !  She  bites  !  " 

And  then  they  'said  Martin  was  biting 
her  lips. 

Judge.  Have  you  not  compassion  on  these 
afflicted  ? 

Susannah.  No  ;  I  have  none  ! 

They  cried  out,  there  was  the  black  man 
along  with  her  ;  and  Goody  Bibber  confirmed 
it.  Abigail  Williams  went  towards  her,  but 
could  not  come  near  her.  Nor  Goody  Bibber, 
though  she  had  not  accused  her  before.  Also, 
Mary  Walcot  could  not  come  near  her. 

John  Indian  said  he  would  kill  her  if  he 
came  near  her,  but  he  fell  down  before  he 
could  touch  her. 

Judge.  What  is  the  reason  these  cannot 
come  near  you  ? 

Susannah.  I  cannot  tell :  it  may  be  that 
the  Devil  bears  me  more  malice  than  an- 
other. 

Judge.  Do  you  not  see  God  evidently  dis- 
covering you  ? 

Susannah.  No  ;  not  a  bit  for  that. 

Judge.  All  the  congregation,  besides,  think 
so. 

Susannah.  Let  them  think  what  they  will. 

Judge.  What  is  the  reason  they  cannot 
come  to  you  1 

Susannah.  I  do  not  know  :  but  they  can  if 
they  will ;  or  else,  if  you  please,  I  will  come 
to  them. 

Judge.  What  was  that  the  black  man 
whispered  to  you  ? 

Susannah.  There  was  none  whispered  to  me. 

Here  ends  this  fragment  of  examination. 
We  carefully  turned  over  all  the  papers  in  the 
hope  of  finding  some  further  account  of  it, 
but  met  with  nothing  more  respecting  Su- 
sannah Martin  save  her  death-warrant,  of 
which  I  much  regret  I  did  not  also  obtain  a. 
copy.  The  glimpse  we  had  had  of  her,  how- 
ever, had  sufficed  to  arouse  our  warmest  sym- 
pathies, and  to  leave  in  us  a  strong  desire  to 
learn  more  of  a  woman,  whose  truthful  soul, 
in  the  midst  of  peril,  shone  out  so  calmly 
superior  to  its  dark  and  malignant  sur- 
roundings. A  few  days  after  this  visit  I 
quitted  the  neighbourhood  of  Boston,  carrying 
with  me  two  distinct  remembrances,  at  least — 
the  poor  Frenchman's  musical  instrument, 
and  the  replies  of  the  martyred  Witch  of 
Salem. 


f  ubliihfii  in  the  Oflee,  No  It.  Wellington  Street  North,  Sintad.    Printed  bjr  BHAVSUKI  *  ETAHI,  Whitetnart,  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD   WORDS." — SHAKESPRABE. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


124.] 


SATURDAY,  AUGUST  7,  1852. 


[PRICK  Id. 


THE  FARMER  OF  TIPTREE  HALL. 


ON  a  fine  morning  in  July,  two  hundred 
travellers  might  have  been  seen  leisurely 
wandering  along  the  road  leading  from  the 
Kelvedon  Rail  way  Station  to  the  good  hostelry, 
the  Star  and  Fleece.  They  had  come  down 
that  morning  from  London  by  a  special  train. 
Before  the  doors  of  the  Star  and  Fleece,  upon 
the  road  that  winds  among  the  gabled  houses 
and  gardens  of  an  Essex  village,  Kelvedon 
itself,  horses  stood  ready  caparisoned  in  vans, 
in  carts,  in  phaetons,  in  waggons,  in  omnibuses, 
to  convey  the  travellers  to  Tiptree  Hall,  for 
on  that  day  the  magician  who,  during  the  last 
eight  years,  has  performed  strange  works 
upon  the  top  of  Tiptree  Hill,  had  summoned 
men  from  afar  to  behold  his  annual  display  of 
gramarye. 

Mechi — for  that  is  the  magician's  name — 
dwelt  for  a  long  time  as  a  necromancer  in  the 
heart  of  London,  wearing  outwardly  the 
semblance  of  a  tradesman,  but  prospering  in 
trade  by  the  exercise  of  magic.  We  have  all 
heard  of  his  work  of  art,  commonly  called  the 
magic  strop,  out  of  which  a  few  passes  made 
with  an  edged  tool  are  said  to  produce 
wonderful  results.  Carrying  his  magic  witli 
him  into  this  and  similar  devices,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  he  should  have  at  last  gone 
so  far  as  to  succeed  in  making  money.  For 
the  attainment  of  this  result,  it  is  reported 
that  the  necromancer  needed  aid  from  no  less 
than  three  demons,  named  Sense,  Energy,  and 
Enterprise  ;  and  it  is  believed  by  some  that 
he  has  carried  these  demons  with  him  to  the 
country,  together  with  a  portion  of  the  money 
they  have  made,  and  that  there  they  are  all 
labouring  together  to  create  a  magic  farm 
upon  the  top  of  Tiptree  Hill.  There  are 
some,  also,  who  state  that,  as  there  are  necro- 
mantic crystals  in  which  it  is  said  that  only 
the  fresh  eyes  of  children  can  see  wonders, 
so  the  magic  in  the  works  on  Tiptree  Hill 
is  of  a  kind  that  can  be  practised  only  by 
a  person  having  his  wits  clear  and  his 
temper  good.  If  so,  the  magician  cannot  be 
a  man  whose  hall  we  shall  be  disinclined 
to  visit. 

We  get,  therefore,  with  a  good  will  into 
the  omnibus  that  is  to  carry  us  to  Tiptree, 
and  listen  to  the  talk  within,  for  the  soil 
without  is  dreary  and  the  dull  road,  about 


which  no  tricks  of  gramarye  have  yet  been 
played, 

"  Is  a  straight  ride  unadvised  by 
The  least  mischief  worth  a  nay — 
Up  and  down — as  dull  as  grammar  on  the  eve 
of  holiday." 

A  field  outside,  however,  has  suggested  to 
some  of  our  neighbours,  who  are  all  farmers 
visiting  the  magic  farm,  an  animated  dialogue 
on  beans,  and  we  have  had  mentally  a  heavy 
feed  of  beans,  before  new  speakers  arise,  and 
there  occurs  a  change  of  topic. 

The  next  topic  is  corn  :  one  inexpert  theorist 
considering  a  whitened  field  to  be  white  for 
the  harvest,  is  informed  that  it  is  white  with 
the  multitude  of  blighted  and  dead  stalks. 
The  land  is  miserably  poor  ;  in  some  places 
the  eartli  is  left  without  attempt  at  cultiva- 
tion, and  shows  but  an  inch  or  two  of  soil, 
where  it  has  been  cut  for  gravel.  Then  we 
come  to  a  bare  heath,  Tiptree  heath  ;  the  Hall 
is  close  by.  Surely  no  man,  unless  he  meant 
to  farm  by  magic,  would  have  selected  such 
inhospitable  ground  in  which  to  sow  his  seed, 
and  hope  for  increase.  Here  are  fields  of 
promising  appearance,  concerning  which  the 
omnibus  conductor  volunteers  some  informa- 
tion. He  is  a  genius  of  the  soil,  in  a  loam- 
coloured  suit,  with  stains  of  clay  upon  his 
person,  who  by  some  art  has  been  trans- 
formed into  an  omnibus  conductor.  "Ah," 
he  says,  "  you  hadn't  a  seen  earn  like  that- 
some  year  ago.  That's  Mr.  Mechi's  doing. 
The  people  used  to  laugh  at  'un,  but  you  may 
see  by  the  earn  they  've  picked  up  some  of 
his  ideas."  The  genius  of  the  soil  is  evidently 
glad  of  it,  the  soil  itself  seems  to  be  glad  of  it, 
and  send  up  its  productions  with  a  nourish. 

The  heath,  however,  there  is  no  denying. 
The  genius  of  the  soil  points  to  luxuriant 
corn  on  one  side  of  the  way,  and  many  voices 
cry  (not  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  but 
from  the  bowels  of  the  omnibus,)  "  that 's 
Mechi's  !  "  We  are  at  the  outer  gate  of  Tip- 
tree  Hall,  and  from  a  patch  of  barren  heath, 
left  at  the  threshold  to  remind  all  comers  of 
what  had  been,  we  pass  instantly  between  a 
wealth  of  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  our  omnibus 
drives  up  to  the  Hall  door. 

Behind  the  door  stands  the  magician,  wel- 
coming those  friends  who  in  vans,  carts,  phae- 
tons, waggons,  and  omnibuses  are  collecting 


1-24 


478 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


on  his  farm.  Horsemen  arid  gig  men,  with 
carriage-men,  arrive  also,  and  some  pedes- 
trians ;  there  will  be  three  hundred  of  us 
here  before  the  day  is  over. 

An  annual  agricultural  gathering  it  k 
called  ;  but  they  are  not  all  farmers  who  are 
here  assembling,  gossipping  and  making  rapid 
attacks  upon  a  lunch  table  in  storm  ing  parties 
of  fourteen.  There  are  indeed  stout  farmers 
dressed  for  the  day  in  white  corduroys  and 
yellow  kids,  blue  stocks,  and  long  napped 
beavers,  who  think  themselves  good  food  pro- 
ducers, as  indeed  they  ought  to  be,  for  they 
are  evidently  good  food  consumers ;  these  form 
among  themselves  one  or  two  incredulous 
knots,  having  no  faith  in  magic  about  which 
they  have  many  a  time  on  their  own  clods 

— "  among  themselves  in  pleasant  vein 
Stood  scoffing." 

But  there  are  also  farmers,  whose  stout 
frames  and  wholesome  faces  tell  only  of  the 
healthy  character  of  an  occupation  that  has  by 
no  means  dulled  their  minds.  These,  though 
they  are  some  of  them  old  men,  have  evidently 
come  to  learn  what  may  be  learnt.  There 
are  one  or  two  young  farmers  with  eye-glasses, 
hard  faces  and  crops  of  hair  that  has  been 
well  manured  with  grease  about  the  roots : 
these  evidently  have  nothing  to  learn — but 
there  are  other  young  men  about  whom  old 
men  cluster,  young  men  who  have  things  to 
teach,  who  have  followed  with  keen  eye  the 
movements  of  the  world,  who  have  invented 
implements  and  given  solid  produce  from 
their  minds,  who  have  themselves  attained 
rank  as  magicians,  and  to  whose  call  already 
spirits  of  the  soil  yield  up  their  hidden 
treasures. 

There  are  others  in  this  group  of  many- 
minded  men  who  have  a  thoughtful  town- 
bred  aspect.  Some  are  impressed  with  the 
belief  that  there  exists  an  intimate  connexion 
between  health  in  houses  and  fertility  in 
fields.  Many  men,  therefore,  whose  names 
are  eminent  among  the  advocates  of  public 
health,  scholars  and  noblemen  whose  talents 
are  devoted — as  all  talents  ought  to  be  devoted 
— to  the  furtherance  of  human  progress,  have 
come  down  to  see  the  magic  farm,  and  are 
now  making  assaults  upon  the  farmer's  lunch. 
The  eyes  of  the  country  which  communicate 
with  the  great  head  through  its  optic  nerve, 
the  Press,  are  also  here  ;  that  is  to  say,  there 
is  a  sprinkling  of  the  representatives  of  news- 
papers. If  there  be  no  magic  in  the  matter, 
certainly  there  must  be  marvel.  If  we  are 
to  say  no  more  than  that  a  successful  London 
tradesman  has  gone  down  to  Essex  and  ap- 
plied London  habits  of  free  energy  and  enter- 
prise to  the  cultivation  of  the  soil,  it  certainly 
supplies  us  matter  for  reflection  when  we  see 
him,  as  we  now  see  Mr.  Mechi  (lunch  being 
laid  waste),  set  out  from  his  own  door  to  walk 
about  his  farm,  followed  and  watched  by 
three  hundred  men  who  represent  all  classes 
of  opinion,  among  whom  are  some  of  the 


leading  fanners  and  sanitary  reformers,  with 
a  fair  representation  of  the  educated  classes 
in  this  country,  of  the  nobility,  the  gentry, 
and  the  public  in  general,  with  the  ambassa- 
dors to  London  from  America  and  Belgium. 
All  these  follow  each  other  in  a  long  file 
through  the  fields  of  Tiptree  Hall  to  see  and 
hear  what  has  been  done  upon  a  farm  of  no 
greater  extent  than  one  hundred  and  fifty 
acres. 

We  traverse  a  garden  that  is  smiling  where 
the  heath  once  frowned,  and  walk  through 
a  shrubbery  of  laurels  growing  there  in  token 
of  the  victory  obtained  in  the  great  battle  of 
civilisation  fought  on  Tiptree  Hill ;  so  we  come 
upon  the  farm,  and  one  field  that  is  more  espe- 
cially the  farmer's  field  of  glory.  There  is  a 
piece  of  water  near  it,  a  small  square  cutting  in 
the  ground — some  two  feet  square,  perhaps  ; 
about  this  cutting  the  visitors  collect.  A  pipe 
is  discharging  into  it  a  full  and  even  stream  of 
water,  which  again  passes  out  through  another 
pipe,  leaving  a  clear  little  pool  into  which  a 
brown  jug  is  dipped.  The  brown  jug  passes 
as  a  loving  cup  from  lip  to  lip  filled  with 
delicious  bog  water.  Bog  water  ! — it  may  be 
magic,  or  it  may  be  enterprise — but  this  fine 
field  of  ripening  com,  four  and  a  half  quarters 
to  the  acre,  was  a  bog  when  it  was  included 
in  the  eligible  site  of  Tiptree  Farm.  Horses 
that  came  too  near  the  spot  over  which  we 
are  now  walking  cheerfully  enough  under  the 
summer  sun,  sank  as  flies  do  in  treacle,  and 
had  to  be  dragged  out  by  their  yoke-fellows. 
Drain-pipes  were  sunk  some  sixteen  feet 
under  the  surface  of  the  bog  ;  the  water  that 
was  feeding  on  the  substance  of  the  land 
was  caught  in  pipes,  and  carried  off  to  feed 
the  laud  elsewhere  with  its  own  substance. 
This  is  the  water  flowing  for  many  hours 
daily  by  the  square  cutting  over  which  we 
stand,  and  it  supplies  a  large  part  of  the 
water  used  for  fertilising  purposes  through- 
out the  farm.  The  bog  land,  after  drainage, 
shrank  as  a  sponge  shrinks  when  the  water 
is  pressed  out  cf  it,  and  its  level  fell  several 
feet,  so  that  the  drain-pipes  do  not  now  lie 
at  an  unreasonable  depth  below  the  surface. 
The  transformation  of  a  bog  into  a  wheat 
field  is  good  magic,  or  good  work  to  be  done 
before  the  farmers  by  a  City  tradesman. 

But  the  City  tradesman's  farming  does  not 
pay.  Certainly  it  has  not  paid  up  to  the 
present  time  ;  nobody  gives  franker  or  fuller 
means  for  ascertaining  that  than  the  Farmer 
of  Tiptree  Hall  himself.  It  is  not,  however, 
every  man  who  encloses  bog  land  and  heath 
when  he  desires  to  own  a  profitable  farm.  It 
should  be  remembered  also  that  the  energy 
of  Leadenhall  Street,  first  let  loose  upon  Essex, 
would  be  likely  to  make  awkward  agricultural 
mist;ikes,  and  did  make  such  mistakes,  for 
which  it  received  good-humouredly  the 
amplest  share  of  ridicule,  and  set  to  work 
about  amending  them  with  undiminished 
zeal.  It  should  be  remembered  .also  that  the 
desire  of  the  Farmer  of  Tiptree  Hall  is  not 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  FAEMEE  OF  TIPTEEE  HALL. 


479 


himself  to   thrive   by   farming,  but  to  show   nature,  is  ready  to  convert  into  corn,  cabbage, 


others  how  they  may  do  so.  He  walks  before 
over  uncertain  ground,  and  bids  men  look 
and  see  where  he  treads  safely,  and  on  such 
ground  follow  him,  but  where  he  trips  or 


clover,  and  the  like,  which  will  again  pass 
into  flesh.  This  pool  is  not  a  Slough  of 
Despond,  but  a  true  Bethesda  to  the  sickly 
land  about  it.  Over  this  pool  we  may  well 


gets  into  quagmire  he  desires  that  they  take   think  how  large  a  tank  would  be  required  to 


warning  by  his  mishap,  and  keep  away.  Tip- 
tree  receives  with  open  arms  all  promising 
ideas  on  agriculture,  but  promise  and  per- 
formance do  not  always  sing  in  tune  together. 


hold  the  filth  of  London,  and  of  many  another 
city.  Such  filth  lies  partly  stagnant  under 
towns,  and  partly  pours  into  their  rivers  ;  it 
ripens  crops  for  undertakers  in  the  city,  and 


*/  O  IX  »/    7 

An   energetic   temper   of    experiment    must  |  yields  crops  for  butchers  and  for  bakers  in 
therefore  cost  its  owner  something  for  a  little 
while,  but  in  the  end  it  will  assuredly  attain 
to  results  that  reward  every  adventure.     A 
squire  of  the  old  school  does  not  expect  to 


reap  a  sudden  harvest  when  he  plants  oaks  : 
that  sort  of  gain  he  designs  for  posterity. 
In  like  manner,  the  capital  sunk  in  the  Tip- 
tree  soil  cannot  be  realised  in  one  or  in  a 
dozen  harvests.  In  calculating  profit  and 
loss  we  must  spread  them  over  years,  not 
only  past  years,  but  future  years  ;  and  we 
shall  find  that  instead  of  laying  out  his 
improvement  money  upon  a  present  annual 
loss,  Mr.  Mechi  is  assuredly  paying  towards 
a  good  deferred  annuity — a  better  one  than 
could  have  been  attained  in  three  succes- 
sive life-times  on  the  old  folio w-my-leader 
system. 

We  are  now,  however,  following  our  leader, 
among  barley,  wheat,  and  clover,  noticing 
occasionally  little  pipes  crossing  our  path, 
and  men  here  and  there  sprinkling  jets  out 
into  the  sun  from  gutta  percha  hose,  of  a 
liquid  that  conveys  its  name  in  scents  upon 
the  breeze — liquid  manure.  A.  gentleman, 
laudably  curious  to  ascertain  the  strength  and 
quality  of  this  fertilizer  as  employed  on 
Tiptree  Farm,  takes  up  a  little  of  it  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand  and  places  it  in  contact 
with  his  nose.  Here,  near  the  farm  buildings, 
is  the  great  tank,  to  the  mouth  of  which  we 
mount  up  the  side  of  a  rough  mound.  A 
couple  of  trap-doors  being  opened,  we  look 
down  into  a  gloomy  vault  of  the  size  of  a 
small  cottage,  wherein  there  sleep,  in  a  dull, 
heavy  way,  the  remains  of  a  great  many 
things.  Every  atom  of  manure  upon  the 
farm,  all  offal,  every  dead  dog  or  sheep,  is 
buried  here.  Cattle  dead  of  disease  are 
skinned,  cut  into  quarters  and  thrown  down 
this  trap-door.  "  What  is  the  density  of  this 
mass,  Mr.  Mechi  ? "  "  If  we  were  all  to 
jump  in  it  would  float  us  all,  and  an  elephant 
or  two  into  the  bargain."  This  is  a  country 
supply  of  Mechi's  Magic  Paste  intended  to 
improve  the  blades  of  grass  and  corn.  Any 
gruel  so  thick  and  slab  never  was  yet  con- 
cocted in  a  witch's  cauldron  :  a  frog  would 
be  a  ridiculous  drop  to  throw  into  such  a 
bucket ;  and  the  farm  labourers  who  "  round 
about  this  cauldron  go,"  if  they  read  Shaks- 
pere,  must  think  him  far  from  having  attained 
sublimity  in  his  ideal  of  a  filthy  mess.  This 
is  the  filth  collected  on  a  single  farm,  every 
grain  of  which  the  seed  upon  the  farm, 
fulfilling  its  appointed  office  in  the  scheme  of 


the  field. 

If  we  look  down  into  the  tank  we  shall 
perceive,  now  that  the  pool  is  stirred,  no  solid 
wheel  could  move  in  the  thick  mass  to  mix  it 
properly  ;  what  iron  could  not  manage  is 
done  by  the  impalpable  substance  of  the  air. 
Powerful  streams  of  air  are  forced  in  from 
below  by  the  adjoining  engine  ;  these  make 
their  way  upward,  and  slowly  the  huge  mass 
stirs,  the  scum  breaks  upon  its  surface,  and 
strange  shapes  of  corruption  rise  to  the  top, 
slowly  pass  aside,  and  sink  again.  Water, 
drained  from  the  farm — the  water  that  once 
puffed  the  land  up  as  a  diseased  excrescence 
— a  bog  tumour,  flows  into  the  tank,  is  mixed 
with  the  more  solid  matter,  and  having 
thinned  it  to  the  due  consistence,  passes  with 
it,  in  the  form  of  liquid  manure,  through  a 
pipe  that  lies  under  the  strong  thumb  of  a 
steam  engine.  Through  a  pipe  five  inches  in 
diameter,  the  steam  engine  forces  the  fertilising 
stream  into  a  series  of  tubes,  which  run  under 
the  brown  skin  of  the  soil  as  arteries  run 
under  our  own  skins,  charged  with  nourish- 
ment. The  blood-vessels  of  a  farm  are,  of 
course,  pipes  of  iron,  arranged  in  a  net-work 
not  particularly  close.  It  is  only  necessary 
that  they  should  run  to  supply  plugs  fixed  at 
regulated  distances,  from  which  a  stream  may 
be  poured  at  will,  as  from  a  fire-plug  in  the 
street,  through  gutta  percha  hose.  The  force 
of  the  current  at  Tiptree,  urged  by  an  engine 
of  very  moderate  horse-power,  sends  through 
a  hose  two  hundred  yards  in  length,  a  stream 
which  is  propelled  to  a  distance  of  sixty  feet 
from  its  point  of  escape  into  the  open  air.  With 
such  a  piece  of  hose,  therefore,  the  liquid 
manure  may  be  made  to  fall  in  showers  over  a 
circle  of  soil  having  the  plug  for  its  centre, 
and  a  radius  of  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet. 
Fifteen  plugs,  with  the  help  of  gutta  percha 
hose,  suffice  therefore  to  place  every  portion 
of  the  Tiptree  Farm  under  the  influence  of 
this  new  system  of  irrigation.  Of  course 
there  will  be  no  manure  heaps  on  a  farm  con- 
trived upon  this  system,  which  has  been  in 
operation  for  the  last  seven  or  eight  months 
at  Tiptree  ;  there  will  be  no  labour  required 
for  carting  and  spreading  manure  about  the 
fields  ;  above  all  there  will  be  no  loss  of  any 
particle  of  matter.  Whatever  rots  in  the 
tank  to-day  will  probably  be  growing  in  the 
field  to-morrow  ;  there  is  no  waste  of  matter 
and  there  is  no  waste  of  time.  The  manure 
heap  might  be  transformed  twice  over  into 
growing  vegetables,  and  be  back  in  the  shape 


480 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  a  double  quantity  of  manurn,  instead  of 
lying  idle  for  a  twelvemonth  as  it  does  occa- 
sionally in  the  old-fashioned  farm-yard. 
Nothing  lies  idle  at  Tiptree.  The  tank  is  the 
great  stomach  of  the  farm  into  which  all 
refuse  goes  as  food,  and  forma  the  chyle  that 
is  to  pass  as  the  farm's  blood  through  pipes 
under  the  whole  surface  of  the  land.  It 
creates  new  life,  out  of  which  there  comes  new 
death,  which  returns  to  the  great  central 
stomach  and  builds  up  new  life  again.  As 
the  boys  manage  at  leap-frog,  the  pot  here  is 
always  kept  a  boiling,  and  death  in  the  pot 
becomes  life  in  the  pasture. 

The  hose  is  of  course  managed  without 
difficulty  by  a  single  man,  who  is  able  to  irri- 
gate— that  is  to  say,  to  manure  in  the  most 
effectual  way — a  large  field  in  a  comparatively 
little  time.  The  cost  of  hose  and  piping  is 
from  three  pounds  fifteen  shillings  to  four 
pounds  an  acre,  "that  is  to  say,"  says  the 
Farmer  of  Tiptree,  "  if  you  go  to  the  best 
maiket  for  your  iron."  We  come  down  from 
the  tank  and  pass  into  a  clover-field  to  watch 
the  simple  process  of  irrigation  with  the  hose. 
Velocity  compensating  for  diminished  space, 
there  is  poured  from  the  hose  as  much  liquid 
manure  per  minute  as  would  flow  in  the 
same  time  through  a  pipe  five  inches  in 
diameter  at  the  pace  of  a  common  river 
current.  As  the  somewhat  too  balsamic 
shower  falls  before  us,  gentlemen  who  have 
not  taken  the  precaution  to  select  a  safe  point 
of  view,  put  up  the  umbrellas  that  they  had 
been  advised  to  bring  by  a  merry  shower  in 
the  morning.  Liquid  manure,  however,  forms 
the  substance  of  the  only  showers  that  will 
fall  to  day  upon  the  fields  of  Tiptree.  The 
effect  of  this  irrigation  during  past  months 
on  the  present  crops,  excited  in  the  next 
place  the  applause  of  farmers  and  the  hopes 
of  sanitary  reformers. 

Some  time  ago  there  was  formed  a  com- 
pany in  London  for  the  conveyance  of  the 
filth  of  the  metropolis  as  sewage  manure,  at  a 
small  price  for  delivery  on  farms  in  the  sur- 
rounding country.  Whether  the  hopes  of 
that  company  be  dormant  now,  whether  the 
company  exists,  we  cannot  tell ;  perhaps  it 
was  a  chicken  broken  prematurely  from  the 
shell ;  but,  as  surely  as  there  are  railways, 
and  as  surely  as  there  is  gas,  and  as  surely  as 
there  is  a  penny  post,  so  surely  will  the  day 
come  when  every  town  in  England  will  per- 
form for  the  surrounding  country  the  work 
now  done  by  the  tank  for  Tiptree  Farm  ;  and 
the  matter  that  makes  putrid  fever  for  our- 
selves shall  have  no  time  allowed  it  to  remain 
in  town  and  give  out  deadly  fumes,  but  shall 
be  carried  off  into  the  country  to  make  bread 
for  those  who  may  live  after  us. 

Little  stands  have  been  made  about  the 
farm  by  manufacturers,  who  take  advantage 
of  the  agricultural  gathering  at  Tiptree  to 
display  such  tools  and  implements  as  are 
thought  worth  displaying.  They  are  all  such 
things  as  are  designed  for  the  satisfaction  of 


farmers  who  believe  that  ploughs  and  sickles, 
nay,  even  spades,  are  things  that  did  not 
attain  their  perfection  fifty  or  a  hundred 
years  ago,  and  are  not,  perhaps,  perfect  now. 
Here,  for  example,  is  a  stand  of  spades  and 
forks,  about  which  Ave  assemble,  and  the  man 
in  charge  of  them  is  brought  at  once  into 
the  focus  of  a  hundred  eyes. 

The  stand  is  made  over  a  patch  of  the 
hardest  soil,  a  spade  is  taken,  and  it  is  found 
that  with  much  effort  it  is  simply  impossible 
to  dig  with  it  efficiently  in  soil  so  hard.  The 
man  then  takes  a  light  fork,  weighing  two 
pounds  less  than  the  agricultural  fork 
commonly  put  into  the  hands  of  labourers. 
Its  five  narrow  prongs  are  of  cast  steel,  and 
it  is  completed  of  one  solid  piece  without 
joint  or  weld.  With  this  fork  the  man 
proceeds  to  dig  with  wonderful  facility  the 
heavy  stony  soil.  The  prongs  of  such  forks 
yield  place  to  the  stones,  and  bend  round 
them,  loosening  the  soil,  springing  instantly, 
when  withdrawn,  into  their  original  form. 
A  match  was  on  one  occasion  tried  between 
two  workmen,  one  of  whom  used  the  old- 
fashioned,  rigid,  and  broad-bladed  fork,  the 
other  used  one  of  these  light  implements 
(Winton's  Parkes's  they  are  called)  with 
narrow  tines  of  elastic  steel.  The  man  with 
the  light  fork  earned  four  shillings  while  "the 
other  was  earning  two  shillings  and  three- 
pence, and  the  heavy  fork  after  the  match 
required  an  outlay  of  sixpence  for  repairs. 
The  savings  in  repairs  and  renovation  pay  for 
the  light  fork  several  times  in  the  course  of  a 
year,  and  in  labour  the  saving  is  so  great, 
that  a  man  using  this  fork  is  said  to  lift — by 
the  saving  of  two  pounds  on  each  effort — five 
tons  less  in  the  course  of  a  day's  work  than 
his  old-fashioned  neighbour.  Some  of  these 
forks  are  made  still  lighter  for  the  use  of 
children,  who  can  earn  good  day  wages  by  the 
use  of  them  at  twelve-inch  trenching.  These 
forks  were  regarded  as  playthings  by  the 
men  when  they  were  first  brought  to  Tiptree, 
but  it  was  soon  found  that  whoever  could  get 
one  of  them  to  use  was  saved  twenty  per 
cent,  of  labour,  and  was  able  to  perform  his 
work  more  thoroughly  than  it  could  other- 
wise be  done.  Thus  it  appears  that  there 
is  room  for  Young  Agriculture  to  display  its 
brains,  even  upon  a  pitchfork. 

Who  is  Young  Agriculture  ?  We  are  sorry 
to  be  told  that  while  the  Agricultural  College- 
at  Cirencester  is  indeed  prospering  at  last, 
and  has  now  fifty  pupils,  not  one  of  those 
pupils  is  a  farmer's  son.  Who,  therefore,  is 
Young  Agriculture  ]  A  tradesman  who- 
brings  brisk  habits,  sense,  and  enterprise  out 
of  the  City  is  the  representative  of  agriculture 
here  on  Tiptree  Hill.  Still  there  is  hope. 
These  earnest-looking  farmers  are  not  here 
for  nothing.  This  quick-eyed  Scotchman,  who 
has  travelled  three  or  four  hundred  miles  for 
the  express  purpose  of  seeing  Tiptree,  and  is 
now  satisfying  his  own  mind  by  comparing 
for  himself  the  digging  powers  of  the  spade 


Charles  Dickon?.] 


THE  FARMER  OF  TIPTREE  HALL. 


481 


and  fork,  has  a  model  farm  of  his  own  down 
in  the  north,  and  is  not  here  for  nothing. 
These  young  men,  who  group  round  one  of 
their  companions  lying  on  the  grass,  and 
look  so  much  at  home  among  the  wheat,  are 
first  cousins  of  Young  Agriculture  at  the 
'least.  One  of  them  has  invented  a  subsoil 
drainage  plough.  Give  him  an  order,  go  to 
bed,  and  you  will  find  drain  pipes  laid  under 
your  land  next  morning  as  cleverly  as  though 
the  fairies  had  been  working  for  you.  You 
may  detect  cautious  old  farmers  taking  this 
near  relation  of  Young  Agriculture  by  the 
button,  and  whispering  ideas  of  contracts  in 
his  ear.  Others  are  godfathers  or  parents  to 
reaping  machines.  Three  kinds  of  reaping 
machines  stand  here  ready  for  action.  The 
Farmer  of  Tiptree  gives  the  word,  the 
company  of  visitors  form  into  a  line  along  the 
path,  some  recklessly  drive  in  among  the 
grain  to  get  a  better  view,  the  word  is  given, 
and  Crosskill's  machine  charges  the  standing 
•corn.  The  horses  steadily  advance,  and  as 
they  pass  we  see  the  corn  falling  in  sheaves, 
which  a  man  forms  with  a  rake  as  they 
fall,  the  crowd  closes  in  and  follows  the 
machine  over  the  clean  stubble  ;  a  long 
:strip  of  growing  wheat  is  in  a  few  minutes 
laid  in  sheaves,  and  the  smooth  surface  of 
remaining  stubble  is  declared  by  practised 
•eyes  to  be  superior  to  anything  that  they 
had  ever  seen  upon  a  field  that  had  been 
•cut  by  sickle. 

When  thrashing  machines  were  introduced, 
the  farmers  said  that  straw  was  damaged  by 
them,  and  that  they  never  could  be  generally 
used.  Few  large  farmers  now  thrash  by  flail. 
Reaping  machines,  let  him  croak  who  will, 
must  follow.  Here  follows  one  already, 
McCormick's  upon  Crosskill's.  Form  line 
again,  and  gentlemen  who  run  into  the  corn 
be  generalled,  and  understand  that  treading 
the  wheat  down  before  the  path  of  the 
machine,  gives  a  bad  chance  to  the  inventor. 
No  matter  !  The  corn  falls,  and  a  revolving 
wheel  doing  the  work  that  was  done  by  the 
rake  just  now,  the  labour  of  the  man  is 
confined  to  the  placing  of  each  sheaf  on  one 
.side.  There  is  a  comparing  of  stubbles  :  Cross- 
kill's  machine  is  said  by  some  to  leave  the 
best  stubble,  and  McCormick's  to  deposit 
most  advantageously  the  fallen  corn.  No 
matter  !  Here  comes  Hussey's  as  improved 
by  Garrett.  Each  machine  is  to  have  two 
trials,  and  the  Farmer  of  Tiptree  Hall  is 
enthusiastically  urging  them  to  charge  into 
his  immature  crops,  caring  more  for  the 
ripening  of  agricultural  ideas  than  for  the 
ripening  of  an  acre  or  two  of  his  corn.  Which 
is  the  best  machine  we  are  unable  to  say,  the 
present  best  no  doubt  will  in  due  time  be 
bettered.  With  one  of  the  machines  as  they 
are  now  made,  two  men  and  two  horses  can 
reap  fifteen  acres  in  a  day.  For  the  comfort 
of  any  one  who  wishes  to  see  Young  Agricul- 
ture prospering,  we  are  glad  to  add  that  from 
one  maker  alone  there  have  already  issued 


six  hundred  of  these  machines,  which  will  be 
at  work  during  the  approaching  harvest,  and 
that  they  are  now  being  issued  from  the 
same  manufactory  at  the  rate  of  about  six  a 
day. 

One  of  the  reaping  machines  is  next  put  to 
the  severe  test  of  mowing  clover  in  a  field 
that  has  been  for  some  weeks  overrun  by 
sheep, — that  is  Hussey's  (Garrett's  edition)  ; 
its  cutting  edge  has  been  so  much  improved, 
that  the  machine  trots  round  the  field,  along 
or  across  deep  furrows,  in  all  manner  of 
directions,  followed  by  a  train  of  triumphing 
admirers.  We  enter  into  many  conversations, 
sitting  in  the  sun,  with  half  the  company  who 
are  now  lagging  among  these  machines  ;  but 
whether  Garrett's  Hussey,  Crosskill,  or 
McCormick  was  the  favourite  machine,  we 
are  unable  fairly  to  discover ;  each  has  its 
good  points  and  its  knot  of  true  believers. 
It  is  pleasant  work  to  do  nothing  now  that 
the  heat  of  afternoon  is  come  upon  us,  nothing 
but  sit  on  a  machine  and  see  a  line  of  active 
men,  some  using  their  umbrellas  now  as 
parasols,  trailing  off  in  the  distance  following 
the  indefatigable  Tiptree  marshal  to  review 
his  pigs.  We  are  too  lazy  to  go  to  pigs,  but 
it  pleases  our  laziness  to  see  these  people 
travelling  like  a  black  train  of  ants  by  the 
ditch  side  ;  to  hear  the  engine  puffing,  to 
watch  the  fertilising  fountains  playing  in  the 
distance  like  small  waterspouts,  such  spouts 
as  possibly  might  indicate  a  whale  at  sea.  It 
is  pleasant  to  look  at  the  old,  battered  farm 
labourer,  who  is  telling  his  experience  and 
praising  these  new  clays  which,  whatever  they 
may  do  for  the  soil,  do  much  more  for  the 
labourer.  He  tells  of  cheerful  oversight  and 
willing  labour,  of  wholesome  cottages,  and  ot 
such  matters  ;  he  envies  neither  ox  nor  pig. 
What  good  work  might  a  clever  farmer  do 
when  seconded  with  healthy,  well-instructed 
labourers,  who  have  intelligence  enough  to 
drop  the  fatness  of  a  little  sense  upon  the 
soil  ]  We  know,  however,  that  such  labourers 
belong  rather  to  Young  Agriculture  than  to 
old.  In  the  district  occupied  by  Tiptree 
Hall,  the  farmers,  we  are  told,  raise  for  the 
improvement  of  their  roads — and  they  are 
bad  enough — a  rate  of  threepence  in  the 
pound ;  but  for  the  improvement  of  their 
reason,  they  refuse  to  pay  more  than  three- 
farthings,  which  yields  on  the  whole  fifteen 
pounds  a  year,  for  the  establishment  of  schools 
and  the  providing  a  fit  education  for  the 
labourers  throughout  the  parish. 

It  is  time  now,  however,  to  shake  off  dull 
sloth  and  join  the  caravan,  which  may  be 
discei-ned  winding  in  the  distance  through  a 
field  of  mangold- wurzel. 

We  effect  a  junction  with  the  troop,  which 
represents  no  longer  the  main  body  of  the 
invaders  of  Essex,  in  a  cabbage  field  ;  here 
we  are  told  great  things  of  the  prosperous 
state  of  the  mangold-wurzel,  through  whose 
country  the  caravan  had  lately  passed.  One 
half  of' the  farm  on  Tiptree  Hill  yields  grain, 


482 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  b) 


for  one  of  the  advantages  resulting  from  the 
improved  farming  systems  is  an  abbreviation 
of  the  old  series  of  rotation  of  crops  :  the  same 
field  will  yield  wheat  every  alternate  year, 
•with  profitable  things  daring  the  interval. 
The  productive  power  of  the  country,  as 
regards  bread,  will  therefore,  be  increased  in 
every  direction  by  Young  Agriculture,  when 
its  day  shall  come.  Look  here,  for  example, 
at  this  machine,  a  drill,  which  its  inventor  is 
expounding  in  the  paddock.  It  will  so  place 
every  single  grain  in  its  right  place  upon  the 
soil,  that  when  such  machines  shall  be  used 
throughout  the  country,  thousands  of  bushels 
of  corn  that  are  now  thrown  as  waste  seed 
over  the  surface  of  the  kingdom  will  be 
reserved  for  food.  A  pint  of  corn  carefully 
put  into  the  soil  by  a  machine  like  this  is 
worth  a  bushel  scattered  as  Old  Agriculture 
scatters  it.  Use  my  drill,  says  the  inventor, 
and  you  may  feed  the  country  and  have  corn 
to  export. 

The  drill  is  rolling  quietly  along  a  garden 
walk  depositingits  grains  forpublic  inspection  ; 
it  is  nearly  three  o'clock,  and  hands  are  being 
washed,  the  outdoor  work  is  over,  and  on  a 
large  barn  floor  tables  are  spread,  at  which, 
surrounded  by  flowers  and  laurels,  the  three 
hundred  gather  about  their  host,  and  sit  down 
sociably  to  dinner.  Wine  and  speeches  end 
the  day.  Men  of  European  fame  as  labourers 
for  civilisation  urge  the  moral  of  the  day's 
experience.  They  speak  of  the  future  of 
agriculture,  the  intimate  connexion  that 
exists  between  the  necessities  of  farmers,  and 
the  measures  necessary  for  the  health  of  towns. 
Liquid  manure  sends  its  odour  from  the 
neighbouring  steam  engine  ;  and  as  the  great 
fact  of  the  day  at  Tiptree,  it  has  doubtless  a  fair 
right  to  be  represented,  and  to  address,  after 
dinner,  if  not  the  ears,  yet  in  its  own  way  the 


farmers,  prophesying  by  the  inspiration  of  Port 
wine,  loudly  request  all  men  to  hear,  hear, 
hear  the  great  want  of  education  and  good 
homes  for  labourers  ;  they  applaud  the  desire 
for  thorough  drainage  of  prejudice  out  of  the 
old  agricultural  head.  A  few  prudent  men, 
mindful  of  nine  o'clock  and  the  return  of  the 
express  train,  have,  during  the  last  half  hour, 
from  time  to  time  risen  and  left  the  room  ; 
these 

— "as  they  passed, 

(Jave  warning  of  the  lapse  of  time,  that  else 

Had  stolen  unheeded  by." 

So  the  movement  becomes  general  at  last 
towards  the  door ;  cigars  are  lighted,  horses 
saddled,  gigs  depart  ;  vans,  carts,  phaetons, 
•waggons,  and  omnibuses  fill ;  in  a  few  hours 
the  Tiptree  Farm  will  lie  asleep  under  the 
starlight,  one  of  the  drops  of  leaven  sprinkled 
here  and  there  about  the  country,  that  will 
surely  in  due  time  leaven  the  whole  lump 
of  English  farming.  The  magic  practices 
on  Tiptree  Hill  have  revealed  to  some  of 


knowledge  of  things  that  are  to  be  hereafter 
And  by  the  light  that  has  come  from  a  re- 
claimed bog  in  Essex — will-o'-the-wisp  though 
you  may  call  it — we  have  read  some  para- 
graphs out  of  a  chapter  in  the  future  history 
of  England. 


TRANSPORTED  FOR  LIFE. 

IN  TWO  PARTS, — PART  II. 

As  I  stood  upon  the  beach,  waiting  for  the 
remainder  of  the  prisoners  from  the  ship,  and 
musing  upon  the  strange  destiny  which  had 
cast  me  among  such  companions,  I  could  not 
help  comparing  my  position,  society,  and 
prospects  with  those  of  that  day  twelve 
months.  It  was  the  9th  of  November,  the 
day  of  the  great  City  festival,  and  I 
remembered  well  the  9th  of  November  pre- 
viously, a  different  kind  of  day  to  that  bright 
cloudless  morning.  I  was  then  enjoying  a 
large  income,  with  the  brightest  prospects. 
What  a  catalogue  of  ills  I  had  suffered  in 
those  twelve  months !  The  wreck  of  all  that  I 
possessed  in  the  world;  the  estrangement  01 
friends,  the  severance  from  those  I  dearly 
loved,  imprisonment  in  three  different  dun- 
geons, branded  with  all  but  a  capital  crime, 
transported  for  life  to  the  worst  of  all  penal 
settlements. 

As  the  precise  time  of  our  arrival  could 
not  of  course  be  previously  known,  no  prepa- 
rations had  been  made  to  receive  us.  The 
commissariat  issues  had  already  been  made 
for  that  day,  and  thus,  although  we  landed 
in  the  morning,  we  got  nothing  to  eat  till  the 
next  day.  We  were  compelled  to  sleep  on 
the  floor  of  a  granary ;  a  bundle  of  blankets 
were  thrown  in  to  us,  for  which  there  was  an 
immediate  struggle,  some  getting  two,  others 
none  at  all.  Next  morning  we  were  sum- 


noses  of  the  company.     The  most  incredulous   moned  by  five   o'clock,  and  taken  down  to 


bathe  in  a  bay  near  the  landing-place.  This 
done,  wehad  our  breakfast — »  dish  of  homminy, 
or  boiled  Indian  corn.  It  was  poor  and  insipid, 
but  not  disagreeable.  As  we  were  all  consider- 
ably exhausted  by  afourmonths'  voyage,  alittle 
time  was  necessary  to  make  arrangements  for 
setting  us  to  work ;  we  were  allowed  two  days' 
rest,  preparatory  to  entering  upon  our  island 
labours.  During  this  time,  we  were  permitted 
to  walk  about  the  settlement  and  make  our- 
selves acquainted  with  the  establishments. 
The  barracks  for  the  prisoners  were  imme- 
diately fronting  the  sea ;  those  of  the  military 
guard,  consisting  of  two  hundred  men  and 
officers,  being  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in 
the  rear.  On  a  pleasant  elevation,  overlooking 
the  settlement,  was  Government  House,  the 
residence  of  the  civil  commandant;  and  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  were  about  a 
dozen  villas,  the  residences  of  the  chaplain, 
the  engineer,  and  other  civil  officers.  On  the 
first  day,  we  were  all  drawn  up  in  the  barrack 
square  and  inspected  by  the  civil  commandant, 
accompanied  by  the  medical  superintendent 


the  three    hundred   who  were  there  to-day  1  who  had  charge  of  us  on  our  voyage.    The 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TEANSPOETED  FOE  LIFE. 


483 


commandant,  addressing  us,  asked,  "  Has 
any  man  any  complaint  to  make  of  the 
doctor?"  but  no  complaint  was  made.  The 
agricultural  labourers  were  sent  to  a  station 
called  Loiigridge,  about  two  miles  inland,  the 
rest  being  retained  in  the  settlement.  When 
the  commandant  and  the  medical  superin- 
tendent retired,  the  chaplain  paid  us  a  visit. 
He  was  an  intelligent,  and,  as  I  subsequently 
found,  most  benevolent  man. 

In  the  course  of  the  two  days'  rest,  I  had  an 
opportunity  of  inspecting  the  dormitories  of 
the  prisoners,  and  other  parts  of  the  estab- 
lishment. I  saw  a  body  of  men  called  the 
"  chain  gang."  These  were  incorrigible  offen- 
ders. Their  legs  were  chained  together,  so 
that  as  they  went  to  and  fro  to  their  work, 
they  could  step  but  a  fow  inches  at  a  time. 
Their  appearance  was  abject  in  the  extreme. 
The  police  were  a  smart-looking  set  of  fellows, 
selected  from  the  finest-looking  men  among 
the  prisoners,  very  clean,  and  wearing  striped 
shirts,  blue  jackets,  and  white  duck  trowsers, 
with  leathern  belts,  and  hats  made  from  the 
cabbage-tree,  which  nourished  on  the  Island, 
strips  of  which,  woven  and  plaited,  looked 
like  straw.  The  police,  however,  either  from 
negligence  or  connivance,  or  perhaps  from 
sympathy  with  the  prisoners,  being  them- 
selves convicts,  were  very  inefficient;  for 
robberies  were  constantly  committe.d  in  open 
day,  in  the  heart  of  the  settlement. 

On  my  visit  to  the  gaol,  I  had  opportunities 
of  observing  some  remarkable  features  in  the 
conduct  of  that  establishment.  I  was  surprised 
at  witnessing  a  pitched  battle  in  the  court- 
yard, under  the  eye  of  the  governor  of  the 
gaol.  Two  men  were  brought  out  of  the  same 
cell ;  their  chains  were  k  nocked  off,  and 
they  had  a  set  pugilistic  encounter,  until  one 
of  them  avowing  himself  beaten,  their  chains 
were  put  on  again,  and  they  retired  together 
into  their  cell.  I  was  much  struck  with  this 
novel  feature  in  prison  discipline,  and  ventured 
to  ask  the  gaoler  about  it.  He  said,  "  Oh  ! 
they've  been  quarrelling  for  some  time,  and 
I  thought  it  better  they  should  fight  it 
out."  Shortly  after,  the  dinners  were  taken 
round  to  the  prisoners ;  and  as  the  wards- 
man  took  the  supply  to  each  cell,  he  was  vigi- 
lantly guarded  by  two  soldiers  with  bayonets 
fixed,  and  the  food  was  hastily  and  stealthily 
thrust  in  at  the  door,  apparently  with  more 
alarm  than  the  keeper  of  Wombwell's  mena- 
gerie ever  felt  in  feeding  the  most  ferocious 
of  his  wild  beasts.  I  found,  upon  inquiry, 
that  these  precautions  were  by  no  means 
superfluous,  instances  having  occurred  of 
must  savage  assaults  upon  the  wardsmen 
by  unhappy  wretches,  who  had  been  rendered 
almost  maniacs  by  sentences  of  solitary  im- 
prisonment for  life  in  chains. 

The  sudden  change  from  the  ship  ration  to 
that  of  the  Island,  of  which  the  homminy  was 
the  chief  feature,  gave  at  least  a  third  of  our 
men,  myself  included,  an  attack  of  dysentery, 
and  I  was  thereby  introduced  to  the  medical 


superintendent  of  the  Island,  an  able  and 
humane  man.  Those  who  were  well  enough 
to  work  were  all  employed,  either  in  trade,  in 
husbandry,  or  as  writers,  according  to  their 
previous  pui'suits  and  qualifications,  although 
access  by  convicts  to  the  records  of  the  Island 
was  expressly  forbidden  by  a  regulation  of  the 
Home  Government.  I,  with  several  others, 
was  compelled  to  go  into  the  hospital,  where 
one  of  our  party,  an  athletic  Sussex  farming 
man,  died  of  the  epidemic  superinduced  by 
the  homminy.  The  illness  of  the  men  was 
attributed  by  some  to  the  change  of  climate, 
but  that  theory  was  negatived  by  the  fact 
that  not  one  of  the  free  officers,  who  landed 
with  us,  suffered  at  all.  It  is  beyond  doubt 
that  dysentery  and  death  were  in  numerous 
instances  solely  attributable  to  the  diet. 

The  hospital  was  a  low  stone  building  close 
to  the  sea.  Into  the  ward  in  which  I  lay,  ten  low 
pallets  had  been  crammed  with  difficulty,  and 
the  heat  was  excessive  ;  but  there  was  a  still- 
ness about  the  place,  and  a  gentle  manner 
with  my  sick  companions,  subdued  by  suffer- 
ing, which  were  strange  after  the  noise  and 
coarse  brutality  to  which  I  had  been  so  long 
accustomed.  At  night-time  a  cooler  air  came 
through  the  half-opened  window,  and  it  was 
a  pleasure  to  lie  awake  and  listen  to  the 
roiling  of  the  sea  upon  the  beach.  But,  as 
might  be  expected,  there  was  little  there  to 
soothe  the  sufferer  in  the  weariness  of  long 
sickness,  much  less  to  strengthen  his  soul  in 
that  last  moment  which  is  so  terrible  in  its 
mystery  even  for  the  wisest  and  the  best. 
Many  of  the  most  daring  of  the  convicts  have 
wrung  a  kind  of  respect  from  those  over 
them  by  the  terror  of  their  vengeance — some 
ruffians  indeed,  to  my  knowledge,  have  even 
struck  those  high  in  command,  and  been 
suffered  to  go  unpunished  ;  but  the  sick  and 
helpless  could  expect  little  consideration. 
Several  deaths  occurred  while  I  was  there, 
and  the  sense  of  the  suffering  around  me 
depressed  iny  spirits  and  retarded  my  con- 
valescence. How  different  was  this  from  all 
that  I  had  previously  known  and  associated 
with  the  idea  of  the  sick-bed,  the  hushed 
and  darkened  room  where  you  alone  are  ill, 
and  every  one  about  you  is  in  good  health, 
and  you  are  the  sole  object  of  their  pity  and 
attention !  Feverish  and  weary  with  long 
lying  on  my  hard  bed,  the  knowledge  that 
there  were  many  about  me  whose  suffer- 
ings were  greater  than  mine,  instead  of 
consoling  me,  seemed  to  shut  me  out  from  all 
compassion,  and  to  make  my  misery  still 
more  unendui'able.  Nothing  was  there  to 
remind  me  that  sickness  was  an  exceptional 
state,  no  token  of  health  or  cheerfulness  winch 
I  too  might  hope  one  day  to  regain  ; — the 
greatest  wretchedness  of  that  wretched  spot 
brought  together  where  I  lay,  all  life  seemed 
to  me  sickly  and  overshadowed  with  death. 
And  where  were  they  who,  the  last  time  I  had 
been  ill,  had  sought  by  a  hundred  ways  to 
make  my  sufferings  lighter  ?  Whose  cares, 


484 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


even  when  they  gave  me  no  relief,  brought 
still  a  consolation  in  the  kindly  feeling  which 
they  showed  ?  Did  they  still  believe  in  my 
innocence  in  spite  of  all  that  had  been  brought 
against  me  ?  To  some  of  those  beside  me,  well- 
nigh  worn  out  with  pain,  the  approach  of 
death,  I  thought,  must  seem  an  unaccustomed 
blessing :  but  to  me  how  terrible  was  the 
thought  of  dying  in  that  place !  There 
were  those  in  England  for  whose  sakes, 
and  on  account  of  the  sorrow  and  shame 
which  my  conviction  had  brought  upon 
them,  I  prayed  fervently  to  be  spared  for 
that  day  when  I  could  make  my  innocence 
clear.  For  although  with  my  last  breath 
1  had  asserted  the  injustice  of  my  sentence,  in 
language  so  strong  that  any  doubts  which 
they  might  hold  would  have  been  dispelled, 
who  was  there  to  communicate  the  last 
words  of  a  dying  convict  to  his  friends  the 
other  side  of  the  globe  ?  It  was  this  thought 
which  urged  me  to  obtain  ink  and  paper, 
which  I  did  with  much  difficulty,  in  order  to 
write  a  complete  history  and  explanation  of 
my  case,  in  the  hope  of  finding  means  of 
forwarding  it  to  England.  This  task,  though 
accomplished  with  great  difficulty,  was  the 
principle  which,  I  believe,  alone  sustained  me 
in  that  miserable  place.  Ill  as  I  was,  I  never 
failed  to  avail  myself  of  an  opportunity  for 
continuing  my  task,  sometimes  hurriedly  con- 
cealing my  manuscript  under  the  bed-clothes 
at  the  sound  of  a  footstep,  with  an  anxious 
fear  lest  some  one  would  deprive  me  of  my 
papers,  or  in  a  moment  destroy  the  fruit  of 
my  labours  ;  until  at  length  one  day  I  saw  it 
finished.  I  have  not  forgotten  how  joyfully 
I  wrote  the  last  sheet.  That  day  I  hid  the 
whole  of  the  manuscript  under  my  pillow, 
and  slept  a  sweeter  and  a  longer  sleep  than 
I  had  known  since  I  left  England. 

The  relief  afforded  by  the  change  of  rations, 
aided  by  proper  medicines,  enabled  me  in 
about  a  month  to  leave  that  scene  of  misery 
and  death.  I  was,  however,  still  in  a  very 
weakly  condition,  and  as  the  doctor  reported 
me  unfit  for  severe  physical  labour,  and  it 
was  customary  to  allow  the  superintendents 
of  different  divisions  of  convicts  the  services 
as  writers  of  such  of  them  as  had  been  well 
educated,  and  two  or  three  of  our  party  had 
been  so  employed,  I  rejoiced  to  find  that 
several  applications  were  now  made  for  my 
services.  For  reasons  not  then  known  to  me, 
these  applications  were  refused,  and  I  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  appointed  "  Wardsnian  ;  " 
this  was  by  far  the  most  loathsome,  perilous, 
and  unhealthy  occupation  on  the  Island.  Its 
duties  were  to  preserve  order  in  a  dormitory 
of  two  hundred  criminals,  many  of  whom,  as 
subsequent  events  showed,  would  not  scruple 
to  take  the  life  of  an  individual  who,  like 
myself,  was  at  once  their  drudge  and  their 
overseer.  Locked  in  with  these  ruffians, 
from  seven  in  the  evening  until  six  o'clock  on 
the  following  morning,  my  task  was  then  to 
cleanse  and  purify  their  dormitory  for  their 


reception  and  accommodation  the  next  night. 
The  disgusting  details  of  the  labour  thus 
selected  for  me,  I  will  not  go  into.  The 
doctor  pointed  out  various  labours  besides 
that  of  writer,  such  as  hut-keeper,  bag-mender, 
&c.,  suited  to  me,  and  protested  in  vain 
against  the  invidious  cruelty  to  which  I  was 
subjected.  The  men  being  shut  in  the  ward 
about  ten  or  twelve  hours  every  night,  they 
did  not,  of  course,  sleep  all  the  time.  To 
amuse  themselves  in  the  darkness  they  would 
form  little  groups  to  listen  to  one  of  their 
number  narrating  his  exploits.  Others  who 
had  nothing  exciting  to  tell  in  this  way  were 
driven  to  relate  little  stories,  often  of  the 
most  childish  kind.  It  was  a  strange  thing, 
and  full  of  matter  for  reflection,  to  hear  men, 
in  whose  rough  tones  I  sometimes  recognised 
some  of  the  most  stolid  and  hardened  of  the 
prisoners,  gravely  narrating  an  imperfectly 
remembered  version  of  such  childish  stories 
as  "Jack  the  Giant  Killer,"  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  their  companions,  who,  with  equal 
gravity,  would  correct  him  from  their  own 
recollections,  or  enter  into  a  ridiculous  dis- 
cussion on  some  of  the  facts.  Familiar  as 
they  were  with  crime — in  all  that  concerned 
book-lore  they  were  but  children,  and  when 
they  found  themselves  driven  to  seek  some 
amusement  for  the  mind,  the  old  nursery 
tales — the  fact  of  their  knowing  which,  I 
thought,  showed  that  in  infancy,  at  least, 
some  one  had  regarded  them  with  affection — 
were  all  that  they  could  find.  Seeing  this, 
I  tried  the  experiment  of  some  stories  from 
English  and  Roman  History,  to  which  they 
listened  with  eager  attention,  urging  me  to 
repeat  and  extend  my  narratives. 

When  I  had  been  on  the  Island  about  ten 
weeks,  a  most  desperate  attempt  at  escape 
was  made  by  a  party  of  prisoners.  The  ship 
in  which  we  performed  our  voyage  had  since 
been  to  Sydney,  and  returned  with  provisions 
and  troops.  A  gang  of  prisoners,  about 
twenty  in  number,  had  been  employed  as  a 
boat's  crew  to  assist  in  bringing  the  stores  as 
well  as  the  troops  from  the  ship.  Whilst 
engaged  in  this  labour,  a  well-organised  con- 
spiracy was  formed  to  effect  their  escape,  and 
which  nearly  succeeded.  For  this  purpose, 
provisions  and  other  requisites  had  been  got 
together — probably  spared  from  their  own 
messes,  or  contributed  by  other  convicts  to 
whom  they  had  communicated  their  inten- 
tions. Everything  was  kept  a  profound 
secret  ;  for  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that, 
although  political  conspiracies,  as  we  are 
taught  by  history,  are  almost  invariably 
brought  to  light  by  the  treachery  or  cowardice 
of  one  of  the  confederates,  plots  among 
convicts  are  rarely  divulged  even  by  those 
who,  having  no  interest  in  the  venture,  have 
been  accidentally  made  privy  to  it.  These 
provisions  they  found  opportunities  of  burying 

the  sands  of  the  sea-shore,  at  a  place  called 
Windmill  Point,  about  half-a-mile  distant. 
There  being  no  harbour,  the  vessel  lay  at 


Chartes  Dickens.] 


TRANSPORTED  FOR  LIFE. 


485 


about  a  mile  from  the  beach.  All  being  pre- 
pared, one  morning  the  boat  left  the  shore  as 
usual,  with  a  crew  consisting  of  twelve 
prisoners,  a  coxswain,  and  three  soldiers  with 
pistols  loaded.  About  half  way  to  the  ship,  the 
whole  of  the  prisoners,  upon  some  signal  from 
their  ringleader,  rose  simultaneously,  and 
flung  themselves  upon  the  coxswain  and 
guard  before  they  had  time  to  lire.  The 
coxswain  was  instantly  secured  and  bound  ; 
but  the  soldiers  were  either  thrown  into  the 
sea,  or  in  their  fright  leaped  overboard.  The 
head  of  the  gang,  Dick  Pearson,  a  daring 
fellow  who  had  been  a  seaman  and  who  aided 
the  escape  of  the  man  at  Symon's  Bay,  seized 
the  helm  and  directed  the  boat  towards  the 
headland,  called  Windmill  Point,  to  take  in 
their  supplies  and  some  of  their  confederates. 
These  latter,  however,  had  been  detained  by 
some  accidental  circumstances,  and  the  boat 
was  kept  lying  off  until  it  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  some  parties  on  the  shore  near  this 
point,  as  well  as  of  the  captain  of  the  ship. 
The  military  were  immediately  summoned  to 
the  spot.  Signs  were  made  to  them  to  ship 
their  oars  in  token  of  surrender,  but  Dick 
Pearson  was  not  the  man  to  yield,  or  to  allow 
the  others  to  give  way  to  their  fears.  They 
were  within  half  musket-shot  from  the  shore, 
but  he,  sitting  still  at  the  helm  coolly  steering 
the  boat,  ordered  them,  in  a  voice  that  could 
be  heard  from  the  shore,  to  pull  for  their 
lives.  The  soldiers  levelled,  the  word  was 
given  to  fire,  and  immediately  a  line  of 
musketry  flashed  and  cracked  along  the  beach. 
When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  however, 
the  soldiers  being  armed  with  the  good  old 
British  musket,  the  men  were  still  seen 
rowing  in  the  boat,  their  daring  leader  sitting 
still  at  the  helm  apparently  untouched ; 
and,  although  several  vollies  were  discharged 
before  they  were  completely  out  of  gunshot 
range,  not  one  of  the  party  was  struck.  The 
mutineers,  although  they  had  not  been  able 
to  secure  their  provisions,  put  out  to  sea  with 
all  speed.  It  was  well  known  among  the 
convicts  that  such  attempts  have  almost 
invariably  failed  ;  and  in  all  cases  have  been 
attended  with  privations,  in  comparison  with 
which,  what  they  endured  on  the  island  were 
insignificant.  But  the  passion  for  liberty  is 
no  mere  flourish  of  poets  and  orators.  Some- 
thing more  than  a  consideration  of  the  com- 
parative material  enjoyments  of  the  one  and 
the  other  state,  is  at  the  bottom  of  that 
longing  to  be  free,  which  will  sometimes 
induce  even  those  to  whom  every  generous 
sentiment  would  seem  to  be  unknown,  to 
incur  risks  disproportioned  to  the  utmost 
increase  of  personal  comfort  which  they  can 
expect  to  gain.  The  position  of  many  on  the 
Island,  in  comparison  with  their  previous  life, 
could  not  have  been  extremely  irksome  ;  but 
the  sense  of  restraint  is  continually  with 
them,  becoming,  at  last,  almost  insupportable. 
It  is,  indeed,  no  problem  to  me,  that  these 
men,  in  spite  of  the  preparations  for  retaking 


them,  which  they  could  see  on  shore  and 
aboard  the  vessel  and  which  made  their 
escape  hopeless,  continued  to  strain  every 
muscle  for  their  miserable  chance  of  getting 
out  on  the  wide  ocean,  without  sail,  compass, 
or  provisions.  The  captain,  observing  their 
motions  and  having  the  wind  in  his  favour, 
effectually  hemmed  them  in,  and  they  were 
compelled  to  surrender.  Knowing  the  general 
character  of  the  men,  and  the  feeling  which 
animates  them,  I  do  not  doubt  that  if  they 
had  had  any  arms  they  would  even  then  have 
made  a  desperate  resistance  ;  and  of  this  the 
records  of  attempts  to  escape  from  the  Island 
afford  abundant  instances.  A  lengthened 
investigation  subsequently  took  place.  The 
soldiers  swore  that  they  were  seized  upon 
and  violently  flung  overboard  ;  the  prisoners, 
on  the  other  hand,  protested  that  they  leaped 
into  the  sea  in  their  fright,  or  accidentally 
fell  over  in  the  struggle. 

In  favour  of  the  latter  view  there  was  a 
strong  circumstance,  and  which  showed  so 
much  humanity  as  to  create  great  doubt 
whether  they  were  fairly  chargeable  with 
the  cruelty  of  purchasing  their  own  liberty, 
with  the  sacrifice  of  the  lives  of  the  guard. 
The  men,  seeing  the  soldiers  struggling  in  the 
water,  threw  to  them  one  of  the  oars,  to  which 
they  clung  until  they  were  picked  up  by  a 
boat  from  the  shore.  It  was  of  course  a  very 
important  question,  whether  the  mutineers 
had  been  merely  guilty  of  an  attempt  to 
escape,  or  whether  to  that  was  added  the 
crime  of  an  attempt  of  murder.  The  men 
were  afterwards  tried  by  a  jury  of  five  military 
officers  ;  when  the  guard,  uncatechised,  echoed 
of  course  the  statements  in  their  depositions  ; 
and  the  accused  were  all  convicted  and  con- 
demned to  death.  This  sentence  would,  I  feel 
sure,  have  been  carried  into  effect,  but  for  the  I 
interposition  of  the  chaplain.  As  it  was,  their 
original  sentences  were  extended  to  transpor- 
tation for  life. 

It  was  during  my  detention  in  the  Island  that 
the  famous  massacre,  headed  by  Westwood, 
alias  Jacky  Jacky,  already  described  in  a  pre- 
vious number  of  Household  Words,  took  place. 
One  of  the  principal  causes  which  led  to  that 
fearful  outbreak  was  the  stoppage  of  the  daily 
allowance  of  two  pounds  of  potatoes,  which, 
from  the  saltness  of  the  beef,  were  in  that  hot 
climate  almost  absolutely  necessary.  Upon 
the  failure  of  the  potato  crop,  an  equivalent 
for  these  two  pounds  of  sweet  potatoes  was 
sought,  and  it  was  at  length  determined  by  the 
authorities  that  two  ounces  of  raw  salt  pork, 
being  exactly  similar  in  money  value,  should 
be  given  as  a  substitute.  The  official  report 
says  :  "  This  has  created  much  dissatisfaction 
among  the  men  generally,  from  the  very  small 
quantity,  which  could,  with  due  regard  to  the 
public  purse,  be  apportioned  :  and  so  difficult 
has  it  been  to  make  the  men  comprehend  the 
equity  of  such  an  equivalent,  that  a  large 
number  for  a  long  time  refused  to  receive  it, 
in  the  hope  that  some  other  substitute  would 


486 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


ultimately  be  granted  them."  The  substitu- 
tion of  two  ounces  of  pork  for  two  pounds  of 
potatoes  was  an  exasperating  mockery,  which 
the  men  bore  with  patience  until  the  sudden 
seizure  of  all  their  pots  and  cooking  utensils, 
when  an  outbreak  ensued,  resulting  in  a  fearful 
loss  of  life. 

Fourteen  men,  in  all,  were  tried  by  special 
commission  for  the  Jacky-Jacky  massacre. 
An  eye-witness  of  the  proceedings  on  the  trial 
states  that  the  majority  manifested  no  con- 
trition for  their  offence.  Some  laughed  and 
jested  ;  others  browbeat  witnesses  in  a  style 
quite  professional,  and,  T  presume,  acquired 
in  a  long  experience  of  courts  of  justice  in 
England.  One  addressed  the  Court  at  con- 
siderable length,  after  having  cleverly  ex- 
amined the  witnesses,  speaking  fluently  and 
well,  enumerating  all  the  weak  points  in  the 
evidence  against  him,  and  noting  every  dis- 
crepancy in  the  facts.  This  man  was  more 
deeply  implicated  than  any,  except  Westwood. 
Another,  an  Irish  )ad  of  scarce  twenty  years 
of  age,  began  his  defence  by  calling  a  witness, 
whom,  after  a  careful  personal  scrutiny,  he 
dismissed  without  a  question,  professing  "  not 
to  like  the  look  of  the  fellow."  Having  called 
another  witness,  who  described  himself  as  a 
"  scourger  or  flagellator,"  much  merriment 
ensued  among  the  prisoners,  and  the  Irish  lad 
finally  joked  him  out  of  the  witness-box,  and 
called  another,  with  whom  the  following 
dialogue  took  place  : — 

Prisoner.  You're  Darker,  I  believe  ? 

Witness.  I  am. 

Prisoner.  You've  an  extensive  acquaintance 
on  the  island  ? 

Witness.  I  know  the  men  on  the  settlement 
mostly. 

Prisoner.  Divil  doubt  ye !  It's  the  big 
rogues  is  best  known.  Now,  Darker,  tell  me. 
Didn't  ye  some  months  ago  say  to  a  man  on 
this  island,  that  you  had  so  much  villainy  in 
yir  head,  that  it  was  a-busting  out  at  yir  ears  ? 

Here  the  judge's  patience  was  exhausted, 
although  such  scenes  are  common  on  such 
occasions,  and  the  witness  was  ordered  to 
stand  down.  Twelve  were  found  guilty.  On 
healing  their  sentences  they  became  extremely 
violent,  cursing  the  prosecutor  and  all  con- 
nected with  the  trial.  Westwood  alone  was 
calm  and  orderly.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
sentence  he  rose,  and  in  a  calm,  unbroken 
voice  addressed  the  Court.  He  seemed  con- 
trite, but  had  lost  none  of  that  coolness  and 
air  of  resolution,  which  had  characterised 
him  throughout.  He  expressed  deep  sorrow 
for  his  share  in  the  massacre,  sensible  that  he 
could  say  but  little  in  extenuation  of  it.  He 
expected  to  suffer,  and  was  content  to  die, 
but  regretted  that  innocent  men  should  be 
involved  in  the  punishment.  It  was  observed, 
however,  that  he  did  not  mention  any  names. 
He  went  on  to  say  that  he  entered  life 
with  a  kindly  feeling  towards  his  fellow-men, 
which  had  been  changed  into  misanthropy  by 
harsh  treatment,  fraud,  and  cruelty.  "  Since 


childhood,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  have  never 
known  what  kindness  was.  I  have  struggled 
for  liberty,  and  have  robbed,  when  in  the  bush, 
to  supply  the  cravings  of  nature  but  I  never 
raised  my  hand  against  a  fellow-creature  till 
the  present  time."  He  complained  bitterly 
of  the  harsh  treatment  he  had  received,  not 
at  Norfolk  Island,  but  previously  in  Van 
Dieman's  Land.  It  was  said  by  an  officer  on 
the  Island  that,  in  his  case,  there  was  some 
ground  for  the  complaint ;  for  he  had  heard 
that  an  act  of  brutality  on  the  part  of  an 
overseer  was  the  occasion  of  Westwood's  ab- 
sconding and  taking  to  those  courses,  which 
now,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  brought  him  to 
an  ignominious  end. 

The  twelve  were  hanged,  with  five  others,  a 
few  days  afterwards  ;  the  office  of  executioner 
being  filled  by  two  convicts  who  volunteered 
their  services.  There  were  upwards  of  twenty 
candidates  for  the  appointment.  One  of  the 
two  men  selected  stated,  in  his  written 
application,  that  having  been  a  notorious 
offender  and  now  deeply  penitent  for  his  past 
misconduct,  he  "  hoped  to  be  permitted  to  re- 
trieve his  character  by  serving  the  Govern- 
ment on  the  present  occasion." 

1.  continued  at  my  disgusting  employment 
of  wardsman  for  sixteen  mouths,  only  in- 
terrupted by  the  frequent  illnesses  and  returns 
to  the  hospital  which  it  produced.  It  was  not 
until  the  good  chaplain,  who  was  at  my  pallet- 
side  every  day,  believed  me  to  be  dying,  that  the 
doctor's  recommendation  was  partially  com- 
plied with.  I  was  removed  to  the  Cascades 
— a  more  salubrious  part  of  the  Island  ; 
though  even  there  I  was  ordered  to  perform 
the  very  duties  which  had  so  repeatedly 
brought  me  to  the  brink  of  the  grave.  The 
change  of  air,  however,  had  a  beneficial  effect, 
but,  I  had  no  sooner  recovered  ray  strength, 
than  I  was  ordered  back,  and  sent  to  field 
labour  in  a  heavy  gang,  with  a  doubly  con- 
victed felon,  for  my  overseer — notorious  for  his 
severity,  and  for  the  irritating  and  frivolous 
accusations  he  constantly  made  against  the 
twenty-four  men  committed  to  his  control  ; 
either  of  whom  he  could  at  any  moment  get 
flogged  or  imprisoned  upon  his  unsupported 
testimony.  Fortunately  I  did  not  incur  his 
displeasure. 

Covered  with  dirt,  weakened  from  insuffi- 
cient food  ;  sometimes  drenched  with  rain,  at 
others,  standing  up  to  my  knees  in  slush,  and 
under  a  broiling  sun  that  made  the  mud  steam 
around  me,  I  continued  at  this  horrible  labour 
for  three  months,  when  a  vacancy  occurred  in 
a  writership,  which  it  was  found  difficult  to 
fill  up,  and  the  commandant  was  at  length 
compelled  to  yield  to  a  pressing  application 
for  my  services.  I  was,  therefore,  at  length 
permitted  to  lay  aside  the  hoe  for  the  pen  ; 
but  even  in  this  improved  condition,  I  had  the 
same  rations,  and  was  at  the  desk  from  five 
in  the  morning  until  nine  at  night  ;  and 
when  my  appetite  for  the  coarse  food  which  I 
had  been  able  to  eat  while  toiling  in  the  open 


Cliprlcs  Dickens.] 


TEANSPOETED  TOE  LIFE. 


487 


air  was  destroyed  by  the  close  sedentaiy  con- 
finement, and  my  superintendent  asked  for 
me  the  indulgence  of  a  little  milk  daily,  in 
lieu  of  the  salt  meat  which  I  could  not  eat,  it 
was  refused. 

Among  the  many  remarkable  prisoners  in 
tlie  island,  by  no  means  the  least  so  was  my 
predecessor  in  this  writership.  He  was  a 
native  of  Bengal,  where  he  had  received  an 
excellent  education  ;  was  a  fine  classic,  and 
spoke  several  modern  languages  fluently.  He 
had  acquired  considerable  distinction  in  the 
British  legion  in  Spain.  Upon  his  return  to 
England  he  fell  into  dissipated  and  extrava- 
gant habits,  to  support  which  he  forged  bills 
of  exchange  on  a  British  nobleman,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  made.  He  was  a 
good-looking  but  delicate  man,  and  fond  of 
comparing  himself  with  Abd-el-Kader,  to 
whose  portraits  he  bore  a  strong  resem- 
blance. 

We  had  prisoners  from  every  part  of  the 
British  dominions,  and,  indeed,  from  almost 
every  pai^t  of  the  world.  Besides  English,  Irish, 
Scotch,  Frenchmen,  Italians,  and  Germans, 
there  were  Chinamen  from  Hong  Kong,  Abo- 
rigines from  New  Holland,  West  Indian 
Blacks,  Greeks,  Czvffres,  and  Malays.  Among 
these  were  soldiers,  for  desertion,  idiots,  mad- 
men, boys  of  seventeen,  and  old  men  of 
eighty.  All  these  were  indiscriminately 
herded  together,  without  reference  to  age, 
crime,  nation,  or  any  other  distinction. 

Upon  the  whole,  the  conduct  of  the  prisoners 
to  me  was  extremely  kind.  Thus,  when  it 
was  my  turn  to  carry  a  bundle  of  heavy  hoes 
to  the  field,  they  would  frequently  insist  upon 
relieving  me  of  the  load.  Upon  one  occasion, 
whilst  drawing  water  from  a  deep  well,  my 
straw  hat  (which  had  been  ordered  by  the 
doctor)  fell  to  the  bottom;  upon  which,  one 
of  the  men,  whom  I  scarcely  knew,  imme- 
diately caught  hold  of  the  chain,  and  insisted 
upon  descending  to  fetch  it.  It  was  in  vain  I 
entreated  him  not  to  incur  such  a  risk  merely 
for  a  hat,  and  pointed  out  the  insecurity  of 
the  chain.  He  went  down,  and  I  stood 
watching  with  trembling  anxiety  at  the  top. 
At  length,  to  my  unspeakable  relief,  he  was 
wound  up  again;  when  he  handed  me  the 
hat,  saying,  "One  good  turn  deserves  another." 
What  the  good  turn  may  have  been  that 
I  had  done  him,  I  never  had  the  slightest 
idea. 

Nothing,  however,  could  induce  them  to 
resist  the  temptation  of  thieving.  They  soon 
stole  my  shoes  while  I  was  asleep.  When  a 
humane  officer  observed  me  working  at  the 
water-cart  barefoot,  in  a  heavy  rain,  he  sent 
me  a  pair  of  his  own  boots.  The  untiring 
kindness  of  the  young  man  convicted  of 
forgery,  whose  despair  and  sufferings  on  board 
ship  I  have  already  described,  I  shall  ever 
remember  with  the  deepest  gratitude.  Fre- 
quently, when  he  found  me  sinking  under  my 
heavy  trials,  he  would  insist  upon  sharing 
my  task.  It  was  the  happiest  moment  of 


my  life  upon  the  Island,  when  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  of  making  him  some  return. 
Ue  had  from  the  first  been  employed  as  chief 
writer  in  an  office,  and  discharged  his  duties 
in  a  most  exemplary  manner  for  eighteen 
months,  when  a  few  sticks  of  tobacco  were 
found  concealed  in  the  clothes  of  a  fellow 
clerk ;  and  my  friend  was  suspected  of  being 
a  party  to  its  introduction  into  the  office. 
Dishonesty  was  not  imputed  to  either  of 
them;  but  the  use  of  tobacco,  or  the  traffic 
in  it,  was  a  grave  offence.  They  were,  accord- 
ingly, for  the  first  time,  both  sent  into  the 
field  to  work  in  a  broiling  sun  in  the  gullies. 
After  a  few  days  I  successfully  employed 
some  influence  which  I  had  now  acquired, 
and  got  my  friend  again  placed  in  an  office, 
where  he  remained. 

Wretched  as  my  condition  was  here,  it  was 
not  without  its  agreeable,  and  even  happy 
moments.  As  soon  as  my  case  had  become 
better  known  by  the  investigations  which  took 
place,  a  sympathy  was  expressed  towards  me, 
not  only  by  the  worthy  chaplain,  but  by  the 
civil  and  military  officers  generally.  They 
entered  into  conversation  with  me  in  the 
course  of  their  walks  and  rides,  whether  they 
found  me  in  the  ward,  at  the  stone-heap,  iu 
the  plough-field,  or  at  the  desk.  Anxious  to 
be  as  useful  as  possible,  I  every  evening  in 
the  week,  as  well  as  morning  and  afternoon 
on  Sundays,  taught  in  the  schools  and  dis- 
tributed books  among  the  men.  These  duties 
brought  me  into  frequent  communication 
with  the  chaplain,  who  would  sometimes 
detain  me  a  whole  evening.  In  the  charm  of 
his  refined  society  and  instructive  conversa- 
tion, I  have,  for  the  time,  forgotten  my 
sad  condition.  Often,  when  the  last  bell 
announced  the  moment  for  locking  up  for  the 
night,  I  seemed  to  be  rudely  awakened  from 
some  pleasant  dream.  What  a  change  of 
scene  and  of  company,  from  the  chaplain  and 
his  library,  to  the  convicts  and  their  loath- 
some hut  ! 

My  duties  now  frequently  took  me  to 
various  parts  of  the  Island,  affording  me 
opportunities  of  remarking  its  beauties.  Its 
entire  length  is  about  ten  miles  ;  its  breadth 
about  seven.  It  is  evidently  of  recent  volcanic 
origin.  It  is  beautifully  diversified  by  hills 
and  valleys,  and  the  sea  is  in  sight  from 
almost  every  part.  For  the  free  inhabitants 
who  do  not  have  to  labour  in  the  heat  of  _the 
day,  the  climate  is  luxurious — a  delicious 
sea-breeze  playing  constantly  over  the  Island. 
Peaches,  guavas,  grapes,  bananas,  and  other 
fruits  grow  everywhere.  In  the  gardens  of 
the  officers,  pomegranates,  loquots,  and  other 
delicious  fruits  were  in  great  perfection. 
In  winter,  peas,  cabbages,  and  other  European 
vegetables  are  produced  in  a,bundance. 

The  coast  is  everywhere  indented  with  bays 
and  inlets.  In  one  of  these  retired  nooks  I 
have  sometimes  enjoyed  a  bath  which  a  prince 
might  have  envied.  The  woods  were  filled 
with  parrots  and  ether  birds  of  magnificent 


488 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


plumage  ;  but  their  notes  were  most  mono- 
tonous. The  birds  of  the  Pacific  isles  have 
no  song.  The  nights  in  Norfolk  Island  are 
more  beautiful  than  a  European  can  imagine. 
The  moon  gives  a  light  by  which  a  newspaper 
may  be  read  with  ease.  The  air  is  generally 
clear  ;  and  during  the  writerahip,  when  1 
had  a  hut  to  myself  in  the  midst  of  a  large 
garden,  I  have  frequently  at  dead  of  night 
left  my  hammock  and  walked  about  the 
garden,  with  no  other  clothing  than  my  night- 
dress, without  experiencing  the  slightest  ill 
effect. 

We  had  but  one  storm  during  my  stay 
there,  but  that  was  terrific.  Such  rain !  it 
came  down  rather  in  sheets  than  in  drops  ; 
and  the  thunder  seemed  to  shake  the  very 
island.  Snow  had  not  been  seen  for  many 
years.  None  of  the  trees  are  deciduous,  and 
the  pasture-lands  there  present  the  appear- 
ance of  a  rich  green  velvet.  Mount  Pitt,  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is 
crowned  with  trees  of  the  richest  foliage  and 
every  variety  of  tint.  Conspicuous  amongst 
them  rises  the  graceful  Norfolk  Island  pine. 
The  lanes  in  many  parts  of  the  Island  are 
lined  on  each  side  by  lemon  trees,  meeting 
overhead,  and  hung  with  the  golden  fruit, 
forming  a  fragrant  bower  miles  in  length. 
The  harbour  of  Sydney  is  highly  picturesque  ; 
Ceylon  is  magnificent  in  scenery ;  and  there 
are  parts  of  Van  Dieman's  Land  of  great 
beauty  ;  but  Norfolk  Island  is  the  loveliest 
spot  I  ever  beheld.  How  strange,  I  have 
often  thought,  that  such  a  Paradise  should 
be  the  chosen  abode  of  the  refuse  of  criminals, 
doubly  and  trebly  sifted. 

I  had  passed  two  years  and  six  months  on 
the  Island  when  news  arrived,  that,  in  con- 
sequence of  representations  made  to  the  home 
authorities  of  the  abominations  and  mis- 
government  in  that  settlement,  the  establish- 
ment was  to  be  broken  up ;  and  I  was 
removed  with  three  hundred  other  prisoners 
to  Van  Dieman's  Land. 

For  more  than  three  years  I  had  now  been 
deprived  of  my  liberty.  "Hope  deferred" 
had,  long  since,  made  my  heart  sick.  Letters 
and  statements,  which  I  had  myself  written 
and  despatched  to  England  under  the  greatest 
difficulties,  while  labouring  in  the  fields,  and 
while  sick  in  the  hospital,  had  served  to  keep 
alive  my  hopes  ;  and  it  was  well  for  me, 
perhaps,  when  after  fixing  the  time  that  must 
elapse  before  a  reply  could  be  returned,  and 
marking  anxiously  the  months  as  they  rolled 
away,  I  eagerly  watched  for  the  arrival  of  a 
vessel  in  the  harbour,  that  I  was  ignorant  of 
the  fact  that  scarcely  one  of  these  appeals 
ever  reached  its  destination,  and  that  one 
upon  which  I  had  most  relied,  addressed  by 
the  chaplain  of  the  Island  to  the  first  Minister 
of  the  Crown,  had  got  no  further  than  Hobart 
Town.  At  length,  however,  the  noble  exer- 
tions of  a  gentleman  who  had  been  unceasing 
in  his  inquiries  into  every  fact  connected 
with  my  case  were  successful.  About  a 


week  after  my  removal  to  Van  Dieman's 
Land,  I  received  the  intelligence  that  a 
conditional  "  pardon "  had  arrived,  giving 
me  liberty,  though  without  permission  to 
land  in  England. 

The  superintendent,  who  communicated 
to  me  this  news,  said,  "  You  must  give 
me  your  prison  clothing,  and  proceed  to 
Hobart  Town,  where  you  will  receive  the 
necessary  document."  Having  no  clothes 
of  my  own,  or  any  money  or  friends  to 
assist  me  in  that  part,  I  asked  what  clothes 
would  be  given  or  lent  me  to  travel  in.  To 
this  he  merely  replied,  "  I  have  no  orders 
about  that."  The  principal  communication 
with  Hobart  Town  was  by  water,  but  as  the 
pardon  was  unaccompanied  by  any  authority 
for  a  free  passage,  I  was  unable  to  obtain 
one.  By  land  it  was  about  ninety  miles, 
through  an  almost  untrodden  region — a  gum 
tree  wilderness — without  for  the  greater  part 
any  roads,  except  a  slight  kind  of  sheep  track, 
at  many  places  quite  effaced  by  heavy  rains  ; 
but  I  was  compelled  to  go,  and  for  aught 
that  the  Government  provided  me,  under  such 
extraordinary  circumstances,  I  might  have 
wandered  to  Hobart  Town  naked  and  with- 
out food.  My  miserable  fellow  prisoners 
however  had  more  compassion,  and  clubbed 
together  such  few  odd  articles  of  wearing 
apparel  as  they  happened  to  possess  ;  and  the 
superintendent  and  the  religious  instructor 
kindly  eked  out  the  charity  of  those  whose 
fellow  captive  I  had  so  long  been,  to  enable 
me  to  set  out  upon  my  journey — a  wander- 
ing mendicant  round  the  earth  —  having 
the  fixed  resolve  to  proceed  to  Paris,  a 
distance  of  twenty  thousand  miles,  there  to 
renew  my  struggle  for  that  justice  which  I 
knew  must  be  the  result  of  a  re-examination 
of  the  facts  of  my  case.  I  sometimes  travelled 
thirty  miles  of  that  weary,  though  welcome 
journey,  without  seeing  a  human  being  from 
whom  to  inquire  my  way.  Knowing,  how- 
ever, the  position  of  Hobart  Town,  the  sun 
served  as  my  compass  by  day,  and  the  stars 
by  night.  My  course  sometimes  lay  along  the 
sea-coast ;  but  oftener  deep  in  the  woods,  on 
emerging  from  which,  the  scenery  was  often 
extremely  beautiful.  After  crossing  moun- 
tains and  fording  streams,  and  sleeping  occa- 
sionally in  the  shade  of  a  tree,  in  three  days 
and  three  nights  I  reached  my  destination. 
Had  a  stage  harlequin  suddenly  made  his 
appearance,  he  could  scarcely  have  attracted 
more  attention  than  I  did,  in  my  motley,  ill- 
fitting  suit.  I  was,  however,  soon  metamor- 
phosed, being  most  kindly  received  by  the 
chaplain  and  the  Judge  of  Assize  who  had 
known  me  in  my  captivity. 

After  a  brief  stay  at  Hobart  Town,  aided  by 
subscriptions  from  the  Lieutenant-Governor 
and  other  principal  inhabitants,  I  took  ship 
for  Sydney.  Here  my  case  was  fully  reviewed 
and  investigated,  and  I  received  farther  and 
very  liberal  assistance  to  prosecute  my 
journey.  In  fifty  days  I  reached  Canton, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


DINING  WITH  THE  MILLION 


489 


and  in  thirty  more,  Madras.  Having  letters 
of  introduction  to  the  judges  and  other 
persons  of  distinction  there,  I  was  received 
and  entertained  with  munificent  hospitality. 
For  three  weeks,  while  I  waited  for  the 
steamer  to  convey  me  to  Suez,  I  became  the 
guest  of  one  of  the  chief  officers  of  the 
Presidency,  who  appropriated  a  suite  of  apart- 
ments, bath-room,  library,  carriage,  and  two 
servants,  to  my  especial  use.  What  a  charm- 
ing scene  is  a  dinner-party  in  India !  The 
very  heat  is  made  a  source  of  delight.  A 
feeling  of  deep  repose  is  in  the  dusty  saloon. 
The  floor,  paved  with  smooth  stone,  without 
carpet ;  the  air  rendered  deliciously  cool  by 
passing  through  wet  matting  ;  the  eye  re- 
freshed by  the  choicest  flowers  encircling  the 
doorway  and  drooping  in  through  the  open 
windows  ;  the  guests  attired  in  snow-white 
dresses  of  Chinese  grass-cloth,  more  cool  and 
delicate  than  the  finest  muslin  ;  the  bare- 
footed native  servants,  in  their  white  robes 
and  red  turbans,  gliding  noiselessly  about  ; 
everything  reminds  you  of  those  Oriental 
stories  which  we  are  earliest  taught,  and 
whose  scenes,  long  after  floating  in  the  mind, 
become  the  elements  of  dreams.  From  above 
the  punka  kept  up  an  artificial  breeze,  while 
ice  appeared  as  plentiful  as  if  we  had  been 
regaling  ourselves  on  the  Grands  Mulcts. 
What  Eastern  story  could  be  more  strange 
than  those  vicissitudes  which  had  finally 
brought  me  amid  such  scenes. 

I  reached  Paris  by  the  overland  route  via, 
Trieste,  passing  through  Southern  Germany, 
and  down  the  Danube  and  the  Rhine,  having 
letters  of  introduction  to  eminent  persons 
there.  Through  them  I  succeeded  in  securing 
the  attention  of  Her  Majesty's  ambassador  to 
my  case  ;  and,  after  the  lapse  of  six  months, 
I  received  a  free  pardon,  with  a  letter  from 
the  Secretary  of  State  acknowledging  my 
innocence. 


THE  CITIES  OF  TIME. 


IN  a  deep  and  death-like  forest 

Where  the  midnight  ever  broodetl), 
And  within  whose  solemn  silence 

Man  nor  beast  nor  bird  obtrudeth, — 
Wrecks  and  ruins  of  great  cities, 

Crowded  once  with  countless  mimbers, 
Shroud  them  in  the  massive  brandies, 

Blackening  in  their  moulder'd  slumbers. 

Spacious  were  these  regal  structures, 

As  their  Titan  sprawl  evinces, 
Peopled  once  by  kings  with  harems, 

Priests  and  soldiers,  chiefs  and  princes; 
All  the  rest  were  slaves  more  lowly, 

And  their  fragile  habitations 
Perished,  with  the  stalls  and  stables 

Of  their  quadruped  relations. 

Palace,  pyramid,  and  column, 
Temples,  idols,  and  traditions, 

Arts  and  skill,  and  pomp  of  tyrants — 
Scorning  human  recognitions : 


Such  their  grandeur  of  past  ftges, 
Such  the  end  of  all  their  glory, 

In  barbaric  height  of  power 

Darkness  hath  devour'd  their  story. 

Turn  thine  eye  upon  the  present, 

Where  the  northland  swims  in  rivers, 
Itaska  and  the  Eocky  Mountains 

Are  their  spring-head's  glorious  givers. 
On  they  flow  to  ocean,  southward, 

Shining,  leaping,  and  expanding  ; 
In  a  vision  I  behold  them — 

'Midst  these  despot  ruins  standing. 

Leaping  rush  the  foaming  rapids 

Towards  the  cataract,  eddying,  spooming, 
O'er  the  precipice  of  granite, 

Down  the  gorge  with  hollow  booming  ! 
Thence  advance  the  mighty  rivers 

Through  vast  tracts  and  rolling  prairies, 
Fields  of  maize,  and  rice,  and  cotton, 

Meads  and  mines  for  gnomes  and  fairies. 

On  the  banks  are  scatter'd  sparely 

Village,  log-hut,  lone  location, 
But  upon  the  river's  bosom, 

Floating  towns  attest  a  Nation  ! 
Life  and  labour,  commerce,  progress, 

Seeds  of  men  and  riches  sowing, 
O'er  five  thousand  miles  now  witness 

Fertile  borders — cities  growing. 

While  in  Yucatan  I  ponder 

O'er  oblivion's  crushing  paces ; 
Mississippi,  arid  Missouri, 

Oh,  love  freedom  in  all  races  ! 
In  the  future  I  behold  ye, 

Clad  with  cities  and  with  glory, 
Nobly  hold  your  courss — take  warning 

By  these  wrecks  and  rains  hoary. 

Last  great  strong-hold  left  for  Freedom, 

Patriots  seek  thee  o'er  the  ocean, 
Since  the  world's  be-soldier'd  pngods 

League  once  more,  and  claim  devotion. 
But  thou  wilt  not,  ever  passive, 

See  man  for  his  birth-right  struggle  ; 
Ten  years — and  thy  star-lit  banner 

Shall  o'ertop  the  blood-stain'd  juggle. 

Farewell,  self-entombing  ruins ! 

Void,  mnjestical,  and  nameless  ; 
Type  of  splendours,  now  so  mournful, 

Would  thine  origin  were  blameless. 
Forests  clasp'd  thee  in  embraces, 

Now  the  earth  shall  fold  thee  rotten, 
Scorning  man — to  God  a  stranger — 

Pass  to  dust — and  be  forgotten  ! 


DINING  WITH  THE  MILLION. 


THE  French  journals,  debarred  from  the 
discussion  of  prohibited  politics,  have  been; 
lately  discovering  several  heroes  in  humble 
life.  Modest  merit  is  very  apt  thus  to  turn 
up  in  the  newspapers  at  dead  seasons,  like  the 
Shower  of  Frogs,  and  Tremendous  Turnips, 
which,  in  England,  are  among  the  most  im- 
portant results  of  the  close  of  the  par- 
liamentary session.  It  happens  occasionally 
that  we  read  in  the  obituary  of  some  very 


490 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


distinguished  person,au  honourto  his  country  ; 
whose  like,  the  journalist  informs  us,  we 
ne'er  shall  look  upon  again,  and  whose  name 
we  thus  hear  mentioned  lor  the  first  time. 
We  have  never  suspected  the  great  man's 
existence  until  he  has  ceased  to  exist.  We 
have  never  known  of  the  honour  we  enjoyed 
until  we  have  ceased  to  enjoy  it. 

Thus  it  is  that  a  large  portion  of  the 
Parisian  public  were  perhaps  utterly  unable 
to  do  honour  to  the  PeYe  Nicolet,  until  they 
were  all  of  a  sudden  deprived  of  him.  Death, 
however,  unlocks  the  biographical  treasures 
of  the  French  journals,  and  they  have  cele- 
brated the  memory  of  Ptire  Nicolet  with  that 
nicely-modulated  inournfuluess,  that  neatly- 
balanced  regret,  that  well-punctuated  pity, 
and  that  enlarged  sympathy  which  a  feuille- 
tonist (who  is  paid  by  the  line)  can  never 
coldly  repress. 

"  Who  is,  or  rather,  who  was  Pere 
Nicolet  ? "  may  especially  be  asked  in  our 
own  country,  where  ignorance — so  that  it  be 
the  result  of  choice — is  so  distinguished  and 
respectable. 

Few  can  answer  the  question  better 
than  I  can.  The  Pdre  Nicolet !  how  well  I 
remember  that  great  and  magnificent  man. 
The  remembrance  carries  me  back  (with  a 
swiftness  comparable  to  nothing  but  Prince 
Hussein's  carpet,  or  an  Excursion  at  two 
and  two-pence,)  to  old  familiar  Paris — to 

"  Other  lips  and  other  hearts," 

not  to  mention  other  cookery  and  other  cartes 
— Paris  with  its  narrow  Seine,  that  divides, 
but  does  not  separate  its  shores  ;  its  terraces, 
fountains,  and  statues ;  its  sauntering  and 
sun;  its  immaculate  toilettes,  and  morals 
(occasionally)  to  correspond  ;  its  balls  where 
people  actually  dance,  and  its  conversaziones 
where  talking  is  not  unknown — Paris,  where 
people  go  to  the  Opera  merely  because  they 
like  music,  and  yawn  not,  though  a  play  be  in 
nine  acts  ;  where  gloves  are  carried  to  per- 
fection ;  where  it  is  not  customary  to  consider 
any  man  a  snob  or  a  swindler  until  you  have 
been  introduced  to  him  ;  where  nobody  is  so 
ill-bred  as  to  blush,  although  many,  perhaps, 
have  reason  to  do  so  ;  where  everybody  is  a 
great  deal  more  polite  to  everybody  else  than 
anybody  deserves  ;  where  all  the  children  are 
men,  and  all  the  men  are  children,  and  where 
all  the  ladies  are  more  important  than  the 
two  put  together  ;  for  the  politest  nation  in 
Europe  fully  recognises  the  Eights  of  Woman 
to  govern — and  to  work. 

The  Pore  Nicolet !  The  mention  of  his 
name  recalls  an  eventful  evening.  Everybody 
who  has  been  accustomed  to  sun  himself 
occasionally  in  Paris  has  experienced  the 
difficulty  of  dining.  Not  difficulty  in  a  vulgar 
sense.  That  may  be  experienced  elsewhere, 
even  in  our  own  happy  land,  where  great 
men  have  been  reduced  to  feed  their  horses 
upon  eheese-cukes.  I  allude  to  the  more 
painful  embarrassment  of  prandial  riches. 


In  England,  according  to  Ude,  a  man  is 
troubled  in  the  choice  of  a  religious  sect, 
because  there  are  fifty  of  them  ;  but  he  has 
no  hesitation  as  to  his  fish  sauce,  because  there 
is,  or  was,  but  one.  In  France  the  case  Ls 
reversed.  The  example  of  the  English  philo- 
sopher Hobson — proverbial  for  the  ready 
adaptation  of  his  inclination  to  his  alternative- 
less  condition — is  readily  followed  in  matters 
of  faith ;  it  is  in  feeding  (can  alliteration 
excuse  a  coarse  expression  ?)  that  the  French- 
man finds  himself  at  fault.  Thus  it  is  that 
in  Paris,  I  have  found  what.  I  may  call  a  carte- 
lo.-ul  of  five  hundred  dishes  an  insuperable 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  a  dinner,  compared  to 
which  the  English  embarrassment  between  a 
steak  and  a  chop,  or  a  chop  and  a  steak,  is 
felicity  itself.  What  monotony  in  variety  it 
is  to  go  the  round  of  the  restaurants  !  How 
soon  the  gilding  is  taken  off  the  Maison  Dor6e ; 
how  quickly  the  Cafe  de  Paris  ceases  to  be 
distinguished  from  any  other  caf6 — de  Paris, 
or  elsewhere  ;  what  a  disagreeable  family  the 
Trois  Freres  speedily  become.  Then  Vachette, 
Very,  and  Vefour  —  Vefour,  Very,  and 
Vachette  ! — are  ringing  the  changes  in  vain. 
The  dinner  which  was  probably  prepared  for 
the  Sleeping  Beauty  previously  to  her  siesta, 
and  kept  waiting  a  hundred  years,  may  have 
been  found  somewhat  behind  the  age  when  it 
came  to  be  eaten  ;  but  it  could  not  have 
been  more  changeless  and  unchangeable  than 
those  great  conservative  cuisines. 

Be  it  observed,  however,  that  I  am  not 
assuming  to  myself  any  particular  claims  to 
epicurean  honours.  I  am  not  going  to  set  up 
an  ideal  on  so  very  material  a  subject,  to  talk 
about  the  spiritual  and  divine  side  of  gastro- 
nomy ;  to  fall  into  affected  raptures  at  the 
traditions  of  Vatel  or  the  treatise  of  Savarin  ; 
to  talk  of  the  rare  repasts  I  used  not  to  revel 
in  before  the  old  Eocher  was  ruined,  and  the 
wonderful  old  vintages  which  I  must  confess 
had  not  then  come  under  my  notice.  Nobody 
raves  in  this  manner  but  antiquated  dogs, 
who  have  not  only  had  their  day,  but  who 
have  been  making  a  night  of  it  ever  since 
— except  perhaps  the  comic  Ion  vivant  of 
some  Irish  magazine,  who  has  probably  drawn 
his  inspiration  from  a  restaurant  in  the  Palais 
Eoyal,  at  two  francs,  prix  fixe.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  subject  upon  which  more  nonsense 
has  been  written  (inclusive  of  the  lucubrations 
of  the  comic  Irishman)  on  both  sides  of  the 
question  than  upon  French  cookery.  For  my 
part,  I  am  perfectly  aware  that  the  best 
dinners  in  the  world  are  to  be  had  in  Paris, 
if  you  go  to  the  right  places.  But  the  vaunted 
variety  is  all  nonsense  as  far  as  the  ac- 
cidental diner  is  concerned.  Deduct  from 
the  ten  thousand  plats,  or  whatever  number 
the  carte  may  profess  to  contain,  the  dishps 
that  do  not  happen  to  be  in  season  (always  a 
large  proportion)  ;  those  that  never  are,  and 
never  will  be  in  season  (a  still  larger  number)  ; 
those  of  which,  at  whatever  time  you  dine, 
the  last_ptai  has  just  been  served  (an  equally 


Charles  Dickens.] 


DINING  WITH  THE  MILLION. 


491 


large  number)  ;  those  which  require  to  be 
specially  ordered  in  the  morning  (not  a 
few)  ;  and  you  will  find  that  as  to  selection 
the  remainder  is  not  very  bewildering — 
especially  when  it  is  remembered  that  two 
different  names  very  often  refer  to  one  dish 
or  to  two,  with  a  difference  so  slight  as  to  be 
scarcely  distinguishable. 

Having  thus,  I  hope,  justified  myself  for 
finding  promiscuous  dining  in  Paris  mono- 
tonous after  a  few  months  of  it,  I  need  not 
farther  explain  how  I  came  to  test  the 
resources  of  the  Barriers  in  this  respect, 
and  how,  in  the  course  of  not  finding  what 
I  was  looking  for,  I  met  with  the  Pere 
Nicolet. 

The  Barriers,  I  may  premise,  are  a  grand 
resort,  not  only  of  dancers  (to  whom  I  have 
already  alluded  in  this  journal)  but  of  diners 
and  drinkers  of  all  descriptions  and  degrees. 
It  is  owing  to  their  happy  attraction  that  so 
few  drunken  persons  are  seen  about  the 
streets  of  the  city ;  and  not,  as  has  been 
sagaciously  inferred,  because  drunken  persons 
are  by  any  means  rare  phenomena  among 
a  Parisian  population.  The  octroi  duty 
xipon  viands  and  wine  entering  Paris,  was 
diminished  a  few  months  ago  by  a  popular 
act  of  the  President,  but  not  sufficiently  so 
to  injure  the  interests  of  the  restaurants  out- 
side. It  is  when  the  neighbourhood  around 
becomes  so  thickly  populated  that  the  Govern- 
ment find  it  desirable  to  extend  the  boundary 
and  bring  it  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  city 
authorities — which  has  happened  now  and 
then — that  these  establishments  suffer. 
Placed  under  the  ban  of  the  octroi,  their  wines 
and  viands  are  no  longer  cheaper  than  in  the 
heart  of  the  city  ;  and  their  customers  forsake 
them  for  new  establishments  set  up  on  the 
outside  of  the  new  Barriers — destined  perhaps 
some  day  to  be  themselves  subjected  to  a 
similar  proceeding. 

Meantime,  on  every  day  of  the  year — but 
on  Sundays  more  especially — thousands  upon 
thousands,  attracted  perhaps  as  much  by  the 
excursion  as  by  other  considerations,  flock  to 
these  restaurants  to  transact  the  mighty  affair 
of  dinner.  Let  us  plant  ourselves — that  is 
to  say,  myself  and  two  or  three  congenial 
associates,  at  one  of  the  largest  and  most 
respectable.  The  place  is  the  Barritire 
Chchy,  and  the  time,  Sunday,  at  six  o'clock. 
The  principal  dining  room,  on  the  first  floor, 
is  spacious  and  lofty,  with  all  the  windows 
open  to  the  air.  Nearly  all  the  long  narrow 
tables— which  look  very  white  and  well 
appointed — are  occupied  by  satisfied  or  ex- 
pectant guests.  Yonder  is  a  respectable  shop- 
keeper at  the  head  of  his  very  respectable 
family.  See  with  what  well-bred  politeness 
he  places  chairs  for  his  wife  and  the  elder 
girls  ;  who  hang  up  their  bonnets,  and  adjust 
their  already  nicely  adjusted  hair  in  the 
mirror  with  perfect  composure — not  at  all 
embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  a  couple  of 
hundred  persons  whom  they  have  never  seen 


before.  At  the  next  table  is  a  grisette  dining 
with  a  young  gentleman  of  rustic  appearance, 
with  red  ears,  who  does  not  seem  quite  at 
his  ease.  Never  mind,  she  does,  that's  very 
plain.  They  are  waiting  to  order  their 
dinner.  The  young  lady  stamps  impatiently 
with  her  little  foot  upon  the  floor,  and  strikes 
a  glass  with  a  fork  to  attract  the  attention  of 
a  waiter — a  practice  that  is  considered  under- 
bred by  fastidious  persons ;  and  which,  to 
be  sure,  one  does  not  observe  at  the  Trois 
Freres.  The  gar  f  on  at  length  arrives,  and 
the  young  lady  pours  into  his  ear  a  voluble 
order  ; — a  flood  of  Juttienne  soup  and  a  bottle 
of  anything  but  ordinaire  wine,  corking  it 
down  with  a  long  array  of  solid  matters  to 
correspond.  The  young  gentleman  with  the 
red  ears,  meantime,  grins  nervously ;  and 
indeed  does  little  else  during  a  very  long 
dinner,  making  up,  however,  for  the  sub- 
ordinate part  he  has  hitherto  played,  by 
paying  the  bill.  Hound  the  room  are  scattered 
similar  parties,  arranged  variously.  Now  a 
lady  and  gentleman — then  a  gentleman  alone 
— then  a  lady  alone  (who  partakes  of  every- 
thing with  great  gravity  and  decorum)  ;  then 
two  ladies  together,  who  exchange  confidences 
with  mysterious  gestures,  show  one  another 
little  letters,  and  are  a  little  lavish  in  the 
article  of  curagoa ;  then  two  gentlemen, 
together,  who  are  talking  about  the  two 
ladies,  exchange  a  glance  with  one  of  them, 
and  depart. 

Such  is  a  specimen  of  the  society  usually  to 
be  met  with  at  a  dinner  outside  the  Barriers. 
If  you  wish  to  exchange  a  little  for  the  worse, 
you  will  not  find  the  process  very  difficult. 
In  the  restaurants  of  a  lower  class,  there  is  a 
greater  preponderance  of  cold  veal  and  fried 
potatoes  among  the  viands,  and  of  blouses 
among  the  guests.  The  wine,  too,  is  rougher, 
and  what  Englishmen  call  fruity.  You  will  be 
amused,  too,  during  dinner,  by  musical  per- 
formers (who  walk  in  promiscuously  from  the 
street),  conjurors,  and  other  ingenious  persons 
— some  of  whom  whistle  duets  with  imaginary 
birds,  which  they  are  supposed  to  carry  in 
their  pockets,  and  imitate  the  noises  of 
various  animals  with  a  fidelity  which  I  have 
seldom  known  equalled. 

The  sun  is  setting  as  I  stroll  forth  with  my 
friends  along  the  exterior  Boulevards,  rather 
dull,  as  becomes  inhabitants  of  our  beloved 
island,  and  anxious  for  "  something  to  turn 
up  "  to  amuse  us.  One  proposes  a  visit  to  a 
suburban  ball ;  another,  an  irruption  into  a 
select  wedding  party,  which  is  making  a  great 
noise  in  a  large  house  adjacent,  where  dancing 
may  be  seen  through  the  open  windows.  The 
last  proposition  is  negatived  on  the  ground 
that  we  are  not  friends  of  the  family,  and 
might  possibly  be  ejected  with  ignominy.  I 
had  myself,  by  the  way,  assisted  at  one  of  these 
entertainments  a  few  days  previously.  It 
had  been  given  by  my  laundress,  on  the  oc- 
casion of  the  marriage  of  one  of  her  "  young 
ladies  "  with  a  youth  belonging  to  my  hotel 


492 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


On  that  occasion  I  had  been  bored,  I  must 
say ;  and,  moreover,  had  found  myself 
compelled  to  contribute,  in  the  style  of  a 
milord,  towards  setting  up  the  young  pair 
in  life — for  which  purpose  a  soup-plate  was 
sent  round  among  the  guests.  It  was  next 
proposed  to  inspect  the  manners  of  the 
lower  orders.  With  great  pleasure  ; — but 
how,  and  where  1  Somebody  had  heard  of  a 
great  establishment,  which  could  not  be  far 
off,  where  "  the  million  "  were  in  the  habit  of 
congregating  to  an  unlimited  extent  —  on 
Sundays  especially.  We  would  stop  the  first 
intelligent  plebeian  we  came  across,  and 
inquire  for  such  a  place.  Here  is  a  man  in  a 
blouse,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  :  a  circle  is 
formed  round  him,  and  six  questions  are  ad- 
dressed to  him  at  once.  He  is  a  plebeian, 
but  not  intelligent — so  we  let  him  pass.  The 
next  is  our  man  :  he  looks  contemptuously 
at  us  for  our  ignorance,  and  directs  us  to  the 
Barriere  de  Rochechouart —  le  Petit  Ram- 
ponneau,  kept  by  the  Pe~re  Nicolet,  whom 
everybody  (sarcastic  emphasis  on  everybody) 
knows. 

The  Barriere  de  Rochechouart  is  not  far  off ; 
and  the  Barrier  once  gained,  the  Petit  Ram- 
ponneau  is  not  difficult  to  find.  A  long 
passage,  bordered  by  trees,  leads  into  a 
spacious  court  -  yard,  bounded  by  gardens. 
Round  the  court-yard,  taking  the  air  plea- 
santly, hang  the  carcases  of  sheep  and  oxen 
in  great — in  astonishing — in  overwhelming 
numbers.  Not  a  pleasant  spectacle,  truly,  to 
a  person  of  taste  ;  but,  viewed  with  an  utili- 
tarian eye,  magnificent  indeed.  Mr.  Pelham 
would  find  it  simply  disgusting :  Mr.M'Culloch 
would  probably  describe  it  as  a  grand  and 
gratifying  sight.  Making  our  way  across  the 
court-yard,  rather  inclined  to  agree  with  Mr. 
Pelham,  we  pass  through  the  most  conspicuous 
door  fronting  us,  and  find  ourselves  at  once  in 
the  kitchen — an  immense  hall,  crowded  with 
company,  well  lighted  up,  and  redolent  of 


"  the  stenm 


Of  thirty  thousand  dinners." 

On  the  right  hand,  on  entering,  there  is  a 
bar — a  pewter  counter  crowded  with  wooden 
wine  measures — in  the  regular  public-house 
style  ;  but  with  something  more  of  adorn- 
ment in  the  way  of  flowers  and  mirrors.  On 
the  left,  the  actual  batter ie  de  cuisine  is  railed 
off,  like  the  sacred  portion  of  a  banking- 
house.  On  the  sacred  side  of  the  railing 
the  prominent  object  is  a  copper  of  por- 
tentous dimensions  ; — seething  and  hissing 
and  sending  forth  a  fragrant  steam,  which, 
night  and  day,  I  believe,  is  never  known 
to  stop.  Cooks,  light  and  active,  white- 
capped  and  jacketed,  are  flitting  about,  and 
receiving  directions  from  the  proprietor — the 
great  and  solemn  Nicolet  himself.  To  say 
that  the  PeYe  was  stout,  would  be,  simply,  to 
convey  the  idea  of  a  man  who  has  more  than 
the  ordinary  amount  of  flesh  upon  his  bones. 
To  say  that  he  was  solemn  and  grand,  would 


not  be  distinguishing  him  from  the  general 
notion  of  solemnity  and  grandeur,  as  associated 
with  any  heavy  and  stupid  persons.  Let  it 
be  understood  then  that  he  united  all  these 
qualities  in  their  very  best  sense,  and  had, 
besides,  a  bonhommie  and  good -humour 
that  is  not  always  found  reconciled  with 
them.  As  he  stood  there  distributing  his 
orders,  and  himself  assisting  continually  in 
their  execution,  he  looked  like  a  monarch  ; 
and,  probably,  felt  himself  to  be  every  inch 
a  king. 

Meantime,  a  crowd  through  which  we  had 
elbowed  our  way,  are  choking  up  the  space 
between  the  counter  and  the  sacred  railing, 
all  intent  upon  winning  their  way  to  a  little 
aperture,  through  which  dishes  of  smoking  and 
savoury  ragout,  or  whatever  the  compound 
may  be  called,  are  being  distributed  to  each 
comer  in  succession,  as  he  thrusts  in  his  arm. 
This  great  object  gained,  he  passes  on  and 
finds  a  table  where  it  pleases  him.  This,  it 
should  be  observed,  is  no  difficult  matter.  In 
this  principal  room  itself  long  tables  and 
benches  are  arranged  on  all  sides ;  in  the 
garden,  in  every  direction,  similar  accommo- 
dation ;  up  stairs,  in  several  large  rooms, 
extensive  preparations  are  spread.  Every- 
where— up  stairs,  down  stairs,  throughout 
the  garden — groups  are  engaged  in  the  one 
great  occupation.  Conversation, — here  in 
whispers,  there  buzzing;  now  boisterous, 
anon,  roaring  and  unrestrained— on  every 
side.  Heartiness  and  hilarity  predominant, 
and  everybody  at  his  ease.  As  we  stroll 
through  the  place,  our  foreign — and,  shall  I 
add,  distinguished — appearance,  so  unusual 
at  the  Petit'  Ramponneau,  attracts  attention. 
I  hear  somebody  stigmatize  us  as  spies, 
but  somebody  else  re-assures  the  suspector 
by  a  description  a  little  nearer  the  mark — • 
that  we  are  only  English — a  little  eccentric. 
It  should  not  be  forgotten  by  philosophic 
persons  who  like  to  intrude  into  strange 
scenes,  that  a  good-humoured  word  to  the 
roughest  and  most  quarrelsome-looking  fellow 
has  always  a  good  effect ;  and  that  nothing 
stops  the  democratic  mouth  so  effectually  as 
wine. 

Having  "  inspected,"  as  the  newspapers  call 
it,  the  resources  of  the  place,  we  planted  our- 
selves down  stairs  to  see  what  it  could  afford 
us  by  way  of  refreshment.  Here  the  proprietor 
himself  was  at  hand,  all  bows  and  blandish- 
ments and  expressions  of  "  distinguished 
consideration,"  and,  through  him,  we  duly 
made  the  acquaintance  of  some  of  the  other 
people  of  the  house,  who  were  taking  their 
own  dinner — or  supper,  now  that  the  labours 
of  the  day  were  at  an  end.  One  of  these 
— a  lively,  bright-eyed  young  lady,  who 
went  about  like  a  benevolent  countess,  a 
youthful  Lady  Bountiful,  great  in  ministering 
charities — I  understood  to  be  the  daughter  of 
the  proprietor.  We  had  succeeded  in  accom- 
plishing a  very  satisfactory  fraternisation  in 
that  quarter  by  the  time  our  wine  arrived. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


BEKRINGTON'S  KNAPSACK. 


493 


The  wine,  I  may  observe,  was  some  of  the  best 
Burgundy — at  the  price —  I  ever  drank,  and  we 
gave  it  due  honour  accordingly,  to  the  delight 
of  the  Pdre,  who  prided  himself  especially 
upon  his  cellar.  We  invited  him  to  pirtake, 
and  he  immediately  sat  down  and  grew  com- 
municative. The  conversation  turned  na- 
turally upon  himself  ;  then  upon  his  house. 
He  had  commenced  on  his  present  system,  he 
told  us,  a  poor  man,  without  a  penny  to  bless 
himself  with.  By  the  exercise  of  industry 
and  economy,  which — I  have  since  learned — 
approached  to  something  like  heroism,  he 
became  what  I  saw  him.  As  I  saw  him, 
he  was  simply  a  cook  in  a  white  cap  and 
apron.  But  he  was,  in  reality,  something 
very  different.  His  wealth,  I  have  since 
learned,  was  immense — indeed,  he  had  the  re- 
putation of  being  a  millionaire.  Yet,  with  all 
his  prosperity,  he  never  changed  his  old  habits, 
nor  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  set  himself 
up  higher  in  the  social  scale,  which  men  of  a 
tenth  part  of  his  means  are  accomplishing 
successfully  every  day.  He  might  have 
married  his  daughters  to  bankers  even  ;  but  he 
gave  them  to  men  of  his  own  rank,  and  was 
satisfied  so  that  they  were  happy.  As  for  the 
business,  it  had  increased  by  degrees  to  its 
present  extent ;  and  even  now  it  augmented 
day  by  day.  Nor  did  he  gain  his  wealth  by 
any  undue  contribution  upon  the  poor:  on 
the  contrary,  the  Petit  Ramponneau  was  the 
greatest  blessing  that  they  could  enjoy.  A 
dinner  there,  he  assured  me  to  my  surprise,  cost 
the  visitor  but  five  sous,  exclusive  of  wine, 
which,  however,  could  be  enjoyed  at  a  propor- 
tionately economical  rate.  If  any  testimonial 
was  wanting  to  the  excellence  of  the  system, 
it  could  be  found  in  the  number  of  persons 
who  availed  themselves  of  it — sometimes 
from  three  to  four  and  five  thousand  in  the 
course  of  the  day.  Of  these,  the  majority 
were  of  the  very  poorest  class,  as  I  could  see 
for  myself ;  but  among  them  were  many  of 
an  apparent  respectability  that  made  their 
presence  there  a  matter  of  surprise.  The 
number  of  persons  of  the  better  classes  who 
were  reduced  by  "  circumstances  "  to  dine 
there,  was  by  no  means  inconsiderable.  He 
himself,  the  Pesre,  had  often  recognised  faces 
that  had  been  familiar  to  him  in  far  different 
scenes.  And  he  was  convinced  that  the  esta- 
blishment which,  by  good  management,  was 
so  large  a  source  of  profit  to  himself,  was  an 
inestimable  benefit  to  the  poorer  classes  of 
Paris.  . 

I  thought  of  the  many  thousands  in  London 
who  starve  more  expensively  than  they  could 
dine  at  the  Petit  Ramponneau,  and  entirety 
agreed  with  the  worthy  Pdre. 

While  we  were  talking,  the  guests  had 
been  gradually  moving  off ;  plates  and  dishes 
were  being  carried  away  in  huge  piles  ;  the 
tables  and  benches  were  being  cleared  and 
re-arranged  ;  the  copper  had  ceased  to  hiss, 
and  the  furnace  to  roar.  Everything  denoted 
preparations  for  closing. 


Presently  half-a-dozen  men  began  to  roll 
some  huge  tubs — nearly  as  high  as  themselves 
— into  the  court-yard.  I  asked  the  meaning 
of  this  arrangement.  "They  are  the  wine- 
barrels  that  have  supplied  the  consumption 
of  to-day,"  was  the  reply. 

I  was  fairly  astonished,  and  by  a  matter 
of  the  merest  detail.  It  gave  me  the  best 
idea  I  could  have  formed  of  the  large  number 
of  the  frequenters  of  the  Petit  Ramponneau. 
But  so  it  always  is.  Statistics  tell  us  very 
astonishing  things  in  calculations  and  total 
results  ;  but  they  suggest  nothing  definite  to 
ordinary  minds  ;  but  the  sight  of  these  huge 
empty  wine-barrels  gave  me  a  more  distinct 
idea  of  the  enormous  consumption  of  wine  in 
one  day,  than  the  most  skilful  grouping  or 
tabulating  of  figures  could  possibly  have 
done. 

Here  we  took  our  leave  of  our  new  ac- 
quaintances, and  made  the  best  of  our  way 
into  Paris.  As  for  the  Petit  Ramponneau,  it 
flourishes  still,  I  believe  ;  but  I  regret  to 
learn  that  the  worthy  proprietor  is  among 
the  things  that  were.  Poor  fellow  !  he  died, 
I  am  told,  true  to  the  last  to  his  simple  un- 
ostentatious system ;  in  his  white  cap  and 
apron  by  the  side  of  the  great  copper  and  the 
roaring  furnace. 


CHIPS. 


BERPaNGTON'S  KNAPSACK. 

*  IN  a  corner  of  a  newspaper  we  met,  the 
other  day,  with  a  neat  little  story  of  a  san- 
guine man.  It  bore  the  heading  "  Privy 
Council,"  and  took  the  form  of  an  application 
for  the  renewal  of  a  patent. 

The  hero  of  the  tale  is  a  gentleman  named 
Berrington,  who,  some  time  ago — certainly 
more  than  fourteen  years  ago — invented  an 
improved  knapsack.  The  knapsacks  then 
used  in  the  army  were  notoriously  cumbi'ous, 
artfully  contrived  to  press  the  belt  over  the 
lungs  in  walking,  and  to  impede  the  free 
movements  of  the  soldier.  Mr.  Angelo,  who 
instructs  the  army  in  sword  exercise,  stated 
that  chiefly,  or  entirely,  owing  to  the  weight 
and  bad  adjustment  of  the  belt  and  knapsack 
employed  in  the  army  fifteen  years  ago, 
nine  out  of  ten  of  the  infantry  became  flat- 
chested. 

Mr.  Berrington,  impressed  with  this  fact, 
exercised  his  wits  in  the  invention  of  a  knap- 
sack that  should  be  light,  that  should  be  so 
hung  as  to  remove  the  pressure  from  the  sur- 
face of  the  chest,  and  that  should  in  itself  be 
more  convenient  than  the  old  knapsack  for  the 
purposes  to  which  a  knapsack  is  applied.  Mr. 
Berrington  succeeded  in  his  intention ;  at 
any  rate,  he  said  that  he  did,  and  no  man 
contradicted  him.  His  improved  knapsack 
had  the  further  claim  on  patronage  that  it 
was  a  float,  and  would  act  as  a  life-preserver 
in  case  of  shipwreck.  So  that,  in  case  of  the 
wreck  of  a  transport-ship — and  the  recent 


494 


HOUSEHOLD  WOUDS. 


[Conducted  by 


fate  of  the  Birkenhead  reminds  us  that  sucl 
terrible    events  do    now    and    then    occur — 
the  lives  of  soldiers  provided   with    the   ini 
proved  knapsack  would  not  very  readily  b< 
lost. 

Mr.  Berrington  having  invented  his  knap 
sack — an  affair,  the  merits  of  which  could  be 
proved  or  disproved  in  ten  minutes  by  any 
impartial  man — took  out  a  patent.  It  was 
so  obvious  to  him  that  the  substitution  of  hi 
knapsack  for  that  which  was  in  use  fifteen 
years  ago,  would  increase  the  health,  comfort 
and  efficiency  of  troops,,  that  he  was  quite 
sure  it  would  be  adopted  after  due  inquiry 
by  the  Government,  and  substituted  gradually 
for  the  old  machines.  He  took  out  a  patent 
for — fourteen  years  !  The  sanguine  man  ! 
Is  there  another  man  in  England  who  believes 
that  either  military  or  naval  authorities  in 
this  country  are  able,  in  so  short  a  time  as 
fourteen  years,  to  grasp  a  new  idea.  The 
revolutionary  notion !  Knapsacks  now  are 
precisely  what  they  were  fifteen  years  ago, 
and  soldiers  become  flat- chested  in  the  old 
proportion.  Mr.  Berrington  took  out  his 
patent  in  the  year  1838,  and  his  fourteen 
years  of  hope  and  effort  having  now  expired, 
he  applied  the  other  day  for  a  renewal  of  his 
patent  for  seven  years  more.  The  sanguine 
inventor  believed  that,  if  the  authorities  could 
not  adopt  his  improvement  of  the  soldier's 
knapsack  in  fourteen  years,  they  certainly 
would  do  something  in  twenty-one. 

The  seven  more  years  were  granted,  the 
bench  going  through  the  form  of  expressing 
some  surprise  at  the  neglect  of  the  invention, 
which  would  almost  throw  discredit  on  the 
truth  of  its  pretensions.  Since,  however,  all 
evidence  was  in  favour  of  the  new  knapsack, 
and  the  renewal  of  the  patent  was  not  op- 
posed on  any  ground  of  demerit,  the 
patent  was  renewed  for  seven  years.  Seven 
years  hence,  however,  we  very  much  fear 
that  soldiers'  knapsacks  will  be  what  they 
now  are,  and  what  they  were  fifteen  or  fifty 
years  ago.  The  whole  dress  and  equipment 
of  our  infantry  requires  reform.  Ten  minutes 
would  suffice  to  demonstrate  some  ten 
blunders  therein,  easily  removed.  Neverthe- 
less, we  should  not  like  to  risk  the  value  of  a 
patent  on  the  chance  of  one  amendment  in- 
troduced, of  their  own  accord,  by  the 
authorities  during  the  next  ten  years. 


WRECK  AND  EUIN. 


IN  October  1848,  I  went  over  to  the  Island 
of  Capri,  some  twenty  miles  from  Naples,  to 
enjoy  a  rustic  festival.  Our  party  consisted 
of  some  Englishmen  and  some  Italians;  the 
latter,  being  in  the  service  of  the  Government, 
had  a  fixed  limit  to  their  leave  of  absence. 
When  the  morning  arrived  that  was  appointed 
for  the  departure  of  our  Italian  friends,  we 
accompanied  them  to  the  shore,  where  they 
made  their  arrangements  for  the  passage  back 


to  the  mainland.  There  was  a  strong  west- 
and-by-south  wind  roaring  round  the  island 
and  the  sea  looked  dangerous,  but  in  Naples, 
where  there  is  no  career  for  a  young  man 
out  of  Government  employ,  an  official  09 
not  trifle  with  his  post.  The  preparations, 
therefore,  for  the  launching  of  the  boat 
went  on. 

It  was  one  of  those  wide-bottomed  boats, 
commonly  used  in  the  Port  of  Naples,  upon 
which  the  stranger  starts  out  for  a  moonlight 
row  to  Posilippo,  or  betakes  himself  with  his 
portmanteau  and  his  carpet-bag,  or  with  his 
wife  and  her  pill-box-full  of  a  few  things  to 
the  steamer.  Such  boats  are  not  made  for 
riding  on  a  stormy  sea.  The  men  preparing 
to  put  out  that  morning  were  our  two  friends 
the  officials,  and  two  boatmen.  One  of  the 
passengers  was  hailed  by  the  captain  of  a  good 
strong  bark  upon  the  point  of  starting. 
"  Corne  with  us,  Raffaelluccio,  it  will  be  mad- 
ness to  sail  out  in  that  cockleshell  through 
such  a  sea  !  "  llaffaelluccio,  a  delicate  youth, 
replied  that  he  was  no  coward.  He  had  come 
in  the  boat  and  might  go  back  in  the  boat, 
with  the  Madonna's  blessing.  The  other 
passenger  was  a  stout  black-bearded  man.  rurl 
the  two  boatmen  were  a  youth  and  a  weather- 
beaten  sailor  from  the  port  of  Naples. 

The  little  harbour  at  Capri  is  so  sheltered 
from  certain  winds  that  there  is  often  a  de- 
ceptive smoothness  in  its  waters.  It  was  only 
by  looking  out  to  sea  that  one  detected,  on 
that  wild  October  morning,  how  the  wn< 
writhed  under  the  torture  of  the  wind.  Far 
as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  sea  was  covered 
with  those  smaller  storm  waves,  called  in  the 
phrase  of  the  country  pecore  ;  these,  as  the 
day  advanced,  swelled  into  great  billows, 
cavalloni,  which  came  rolling  on  upon  our 
little  island,  and  dashed  violently  against  the 
oast  of  Massa  and  Sorrento. 

The  boat  had  been  shoved  off,  and  had 
returned  for  some  article,  left  accidentally 
oehind.  A  group  of  weatherwise  old  sailors 
thronged  about  the  fool-hardy  crew,  in  vain 
urging  them  to  wait  for  fairer  weather.  T 
rnit  out  to  sea  again,  and  made  straight  for 
;he  cape  under  the  summer  palace  of  Tiberius. 
This  is  a  well-known  point  which  boatmen 
often  seek  when  they  desire  to  catch  a  direct 
wind  for  their  passage  to  the  mainland.  The 
ale  that  had  been  blowing  round  the  island 
ipjicared  to  pour  out  from  this  point  its  un- 
livided  force,  and  beat  the  sea  with  a  strength 
almost  irresistible.  We  saw  the  mast  of  the 
ittle  boat  snapped  the  moment  it  had 
reached  the  cape,  and  the  crew  put  back,  not 
;o  await  calmer  weather,  but  to  seek  another 
emporary  mast,  and  start  again.  No  threat 
or  persuasion  could  detain  the  Italians,  who 
eared  to  exceed  their  term  of  leave.  A  rude 
nast  was  set  up,  and  again  the  boat  started, 
eaping  across  wave  after  wave.  We  saw  no 
nore  of  it.  "  I  watched  it  for  some  distance,"' 
the  captain  of  the  barque,  which  had 
started  at  the  same  time.  "  Their  mast  bent 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


495 


as  though  it  would  break  with  every  puff  of 
wind,  and  the  little  sail  fluttered  like  a  hand- 
kerchief upon  the  waves.  In  a  moment  it 
disappeared,  and  we  knew  that  our  fore- 
boding had  proved  true."  The  rest  of  the  tale 
I  had  from  the  lips  of  the  black-bearded  official, 
the  sole  survivor  ;  and  a  wilder  tale  of  human 
passion  does  not  often  fall  within  the  bounds 
of  sober  truth. 

The  old  mariner  at  starting  had  been  placed 
at  the  helm,  as  the  most  competent  man  of  the 
party  ;  but  there  was  an  alarming  difference 
between  the  eddies,  currents,  and  billows  at 
the  cape,  and  the  smooth  waters  of  the  Bay 
of  Naples.  A  monstrous  cavallone  appeared 
in  the  distance ;  leaping,  roaring,  foaming, 
it  was  close  upon  their  quarter  ;  its  crest 
overhung  them ;  in  an  instant,  said  my 
informant,  they  were  swallowed  up.  The 
boat  was  overturned,  but  the  crew — struggling 
desperately  for  life — rose  with  it  once  more  to 
the  surface,  clinging  to  its  bottom.  In  their 
last  agony  they  glared  upon  each  other,  face 
to  face  among  the  beating  waves,  and  the 
loud  execrations  of  his  companions  were 
poured  passionately  on  the  ancient  mariner, 
whose  want  of  skill  was  cursed  as  the  fatal 
cause  of  their  despair.  The  hold  of  the  poor 
old  fellow,  weak  with  age  and  faint  with 
emotion,  had  not  strength  to  bear  him  up 
amid  the  tossing  of  the  waters,  and  as  his 
grasp  relaxed,  the  others  watched  his  weak- 
ness with  a  fiendish  satisfaction.  "  It  is  some 
consolation,"  exclaimed  one,  "  to  see  you  die 
first,  fool  as  you  are."  He  did  not  hear  the 
latest  maledictions,  but  went  down  in  the 
deep  sea.  The  next  who  died  was  Raffael- 
luccio,  upon  whose  daily  work  the  daily 
bread  of  a  mother  and  three  sisters  de- 
pended ;  "  I  am  stiff  with  cold  and  can  hang 
on  no  longer,"  he  said  to  his  companion. 
"  Get  on  my  shoulders,"  was  the  answer  of 
the  stronger  man.  And  so  he  did,  and  so  he 
died,  the  living  man  with  the  dead  weight 
upon  him  grappling  still  for  life  and  drifting 
before  the  storm.  The  young  boatman,  the 
other  survjvor,  trembling  himself  upon  the 
brink  of  eternity,  crept  round  to  the  dead 
body,  and  having  robbed  it  of  a  watch  and 
chain  and  other  valuables,  pushed  it  from  the 
shoulders  of  his  friend  into  the  sea.  So  there 
remained  these  two  men,  clinging  to  the  boat 
and  gazing  on  each  other  anxiously. 

The  thought  had  crossed  the  mind  of  the 
young  man  that  if  they  lived  until  they  should 
be  thrown  ashore,  the  surviving  passenger 
would  require  that  he  should  deliver  up  the 
watch  and  other  valuables  to  the  family  of 
Ralt'aelluccio.  He  may  not  have  taken  them 
with  a  design  of  theft.  He  probably  saw  that 
the  dead  body  cumbered  his  companion,  and 
committed  it  from  a  good  human  motive  to 
the  sea,  having  removed  the  jewellery.  But 
to  retain  possession  of  the  property,  his 
conscience  did  not  bid  him  shrink  from 
murder  of  which  no  eye  of  man  would  ever 
see  the  stain.  An  unexpected  blow  would 


silence  his  companion,  and  leave  him  on  the 
boat  to  drift  to  land,  a  sole  survivor,  quietly 
made  richer  by  the  wreck.  "  I  read  it  in  his 
eyes,"  said  my  informant.  "  The  devil  was  in 
them,  and  I  watched  him  well,  but  a  heavy 
sea  raised  his  side  of  the  boat — that  was  his 
opportunity  ;  and  immediately  he  struck  a 
heavy  blow  upon  my  head.  If  he  was  the 
younger  I  was  the  stronger,  and  he  summoned 
me  to  struggle  for  my  life,  or  for  that  chance 
of  life  which  either  of  us  had  upon  the  gulf  of 
waters.  There  was  a  horrible  wrestling.  I 
am  the  only  survivor. 

"  All  that  day,  and  through  a  stormy,  pitch- 
dark  night,  I  lay  tossed  about,  almost  sense- 
less, in  the  Bay  of  Naples.  But,  before  dawn 
on  the  second  day  my  boat  was  cast  ashore  at 
Torre  dell'  Annunziata,  and  there  locked  be- 
tween two  rocks.  I  had  just  strength  to 
crawl  to  the  Coast  Guard-house,  in  which  I 
perceived  that  lights  were  twinkling.  I  was 
spurned.  My  papers  were  demanded. 

"  Faint  as  I  was,  in  time  I  found  it  possible 
to  make  the  good  officials  understand  my 
case,  and  excuse  the  production  of  credentials 
from  the  fishes.  They  took  me  in  and  treated 
me  with  Christian  kindness.  My  looks  had 
frightened  them  ;  my  face  was  bloated,  and  my 
eyes  protruded  like  those  of  a  lobster." 

The  mother  of  Raffaelluccio  was  living  in 
Capri,  and  I  was  there  when  the  news  came 
back  of  her  son's  fate.  In  the  darkness  of  an 
October  night,  the  ruined  family  —  the  be- 
reaved mother  and  her  daughters — mounted 
to  their  house-top,  and  turning  towards  the 
sea,  shrieked  wildly  for  the  son  and  brother 
whom  it  held  from  them. 

The  voice  of  woe  that  then  thrilled  in  my 
ears  will  never  be  forgotten.  I  never  knew 
till  then  what  agony  could  be,  not  expressed 
only,  but  communicated  by  the  wail  of 
women. 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY   OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER   XX. 

THAT  proud  and  wicked  French  nobility 
who  dragged  their  country  to  destruction, 
and  who  were  every  day  and  every  year  re- 
garded with  deeper  hatred  and  detestation  in 
the  hearts  of  the  French  people,  learnt  no- 
thing, even  from  the  defeat  of  Agincourt.  So 
far  from  uniting  against  the  common  enemy, 
they  became,  among  themselves,  more  violent, 
more  bloody,  and  more  false — if  that  were 
possible — than  they  had  been  before.  The 
Count  of  Armagnac  persuaded  the  French 
king  to  plunder  of  her  treasures  Queen  Isa- 
bella of  Bavaria,  and  to  make  her  a  prisoner. 
She,  who  had  hitherto  been  the  bitter  enemy 
of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  proposed  to  join 
him,  in  revenge.  He  attacked  her  guards  and 
carried  her  off  to  Troyes,  where  she  proclaimed 
herself  Regent  of  France,  and  made  him  her 
lieutenant.  The  Armagnac  party  were  at 
that  time  possessed  of  Paris  ;  but,  one  of  the 
gates  of  the  city  being  secretly  opened  on  a 


496 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


certain  night  to  a  party  of  the  duke's  men, 
they  got  into  Paris,  threw  into  the  prisons  all 
the  Armagnacs  upon  whom  they  could  lay  their 
hands,  and,  a  few  nights  afterwards,  with  the 
aid  of  a  furious  mob  of  sixty  thousand  people, 
broke  the  prisons  open,  and  killed  them  all. 
The  former  Dauphin  was  now  dead,  and  the 
king's  third  son  bore  the  title.  Him,  in  the 
height  of  this  murderous  scene,  a  French 
knight  hurried  out  of  bed,  wrapt  in  a  sheet, 
and  bore  away  to  Poitiers.  So,  when  the 
revengeful  Isabella  and  the  Duke  of  Bur- 
gundy entered  Paris  in  triumph  after  the 
slaughter  of  their  enemies,  the  Dauphin  was 
proclaimed  at  Poitiers  as  the  real  Regent. 

King  Henry  had  not  been  idle  since  his 
victory  of  Agincourt,  but  had  repulsed  a  brave 
attempt  of  the  French  to  recover  Harfleur  ; 
had  gradually  conquered  a  great  part  of 
Normandy  ;  and,  at  this  crisis  of  affairs,  took 
the  important,  town  of  Rouen,  after  a  siege  of 
half  a  year.  This  great  loss  so  alarmed  the 
French,  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  proposed 
that  a  meeting  to  treat  of  peace  should  be 
held  between  the  French  and  the  English 
kings  in  a  plain  by  the  river  Seine.  On  the 
appointed  day,  King  Henry  appeared  there, 
•with  his  two  brothers,  Clarence  and  Glou- 
cester, and  a  thousand  men.  The  unfortunate 
French  King,  being  more  mad  than  usual  that 
day,  could  not  come  ;  but,  the  Queen  came, 
and  with  her  the  Princess  Catherine :  who 
•was  a  very  lovely  creature,  and  who  made  a 
real  impression  on  King  Henry,  now  that  he 
saw  her  for  the  first  time.  This  was  the  most 
important  circumstance  that  arose  out  of  the 
meeting.  As  if  it  were  impossible  for  a 
French  nobleman  of  that  time  to  be  true  to 
bis  word  of  honor  in  anything,  Henry  dis- 
covered that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was,  at 
that  very  moment,  in  secret  treaty  with  the 
Dauphin  ;  and  he  therefore  abandoned  the 
negociation.  The  Duke  of  Burgundy  and  the 
Dauphin,  each  of  whom  with  the  best  reason 
•distrusted  the  other  as  a  noble  ruffian  sur- 
rounded by  a  party  of  noble  rufh'ans,  were 
rather  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed  after  this  ; 
but,  at  length  they  agreed  to  meet,  on  a 
bridge  over  the  river  Yonne,  where  it  was 
arranged  that  there  should  be  two  strong 
gates  put  up,  with  an  empty  space  between 
them  ;  and  that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  should 
come  into  that  space  by  one  gate,  with  ten 
men  only ;  and  that  the  Dauphin  should 
•come  into  that  space  by  the  other  gate,  also 
with  ten  men,  and  no  more.  So  far  the 
Dauphin  kept  his  word,  but  no  farther.  When 
the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  on  his  knee  before 
him  in  the  act  of  speaking,  one  of  the  Dau- 
phin's noble  ruffians  cut  the  said  duke  down 
with  a  small  axe,  and  othei'S  speedily  finished 
him.  It  was  in  vain  for  the  Dauphin  to 
pretend  that  this  base  imirder  was  not  done 
with  his  consent  ;  it  was  too  bad,  even  for 
France,  and  caused  a  general  horror.  The 
duke's  heir  hastened  to  make  a  treaty  with 
King  Henry,  and  the  French  Queen  engaged 


that  her  husband  should  consent  to  it,  what- 
ever it  was.  Henry  made  peace,  on  condition 
of  receiving  the  Princess  Catherine  in  mar- 
riage, and  being  made  Regent  of  France 
during  the  rest  of  the  King's  life-time,  and 
succeeding  to  the  French  crown  at  his  death. 
He  was  soon  married  to  the  beautiful  Princess, 
and  took  her  proudly  home  to  England, 
where  she  was  crowned  with  great  honor  and 
glory. 

This  peace  was  called  the  Perpetual  Peace  ; 
we  shall  soon  see  how  long  it  lasted.  It 
gave  great  satisfaction  to  the  French  people, 
although  they  were  so  poor  and  miserable, 
that,  at  the  time  of  the  celebration  of  the 
Royal  marriage,  numbers  of  them  were  dying 
with  starvation,  on  the  dunghills  in  the 
streets  of  Paris.  There  was  some  resist- 
ance, on  the  part  of  the  Dauphin  in  some 
few  parts  of  France,  but  King  Henry  beat 
it  all  down. 

And  now,  with  his  great  possessions  in 
France  secured,  and  his  beautiful  wife  to 
cheer  him,  and  a  son  born  to  give  him  greater 
happiness,  all  appeared  bright  before  him. 
But,  in  the  fulness  of  his  triumph  and  the 
height  of  his  power,  Death  came  upon  him, 
and  his  day  was  done.  When  he  fell  ill  at 
Vincennes,  and  found  that  he  could  not  re- 
cover, he  was  very  calm  and  quiet,  and  spoke 
serenely  to  those  who  wept  around  his  bed. 
His  wife  and  child,  he  said,  he  left  to  the  loving 
care  of  his  brother  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and 
his  other  faithful  nobles.  He  gave  them  his 
advice  that  England  should  establish  a  friend- 
ship with  the  new  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and 
offer  him  the  regency  of  France  ;  that  it  should 
not  set  free  the  royal  princes  who  had  been 
taken  at  Agincourt  ;  and  that,  whatever 
quarrel  might  arise  with  France,  England 
should  never  make  peace  without  holding 
Normandy.  Then,  he  laid  down  his  head,  and 
asked  the  attendant  priests  to  chant  the  peni- 
tential psalms.  Amid  which  solemn  sounds, 
on  the  thirty-first  of  August,  one  thousand 
four  hundred  and  twenty-two,  in  only  the 
thirty-fourth  year  of  his  age  and  the  tenth  of 
his  reign,  King  Henry  the  Fifth  passed  away. 

Slowly  and  mournfully  they  carried  his 
embalmed  body  in  a  procession  of  great  state 
to  Paris,  and  thence  to  Rouen  where  his 
Queen  was  :  from  whom  the  sad  intelligence  of 
his  death  was  concealed  until  he  had  been 
dead  some  days.  Thence,  lying  on  a  bed  of 
crimson  and  gold,  with  a  golden  crown  upon 
the  head,  and  a  golden  ball  and  sceptre  lying 
in  the  nerveless  hands,  they  carried  it  to 
Calais,  witli  such  a  great  retinue  as  seemed  to 
dye  the  roads  black  for  miles.  The  King  of 
Scotland  acted  as  chief  mourner,  all  the  Royal 
Household  followed,  the  knights  wore  black 
armour  and  black  plumes  of  feathers,  crowds 
of  men  bore  torches,  making  the  night  as 
light  as  day ;  and  the  widowed  Princess 
followed  last  of  all.  At  Calais  there  was  a 
fleet  of  ships  to  bring  the  funeral  host  to 
Dover,  and  so,  by  way  of  London  Bridge, 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


497 


where  the  service  for  the  dead  was  chanted 
as  it  passed  along,  they  brought  the  body  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  there  buried  it  with 
great  respect  and  reverence. 

It  had  been  the  wish  of  the  late  King,  that 
while  his  infant  son  KING  HENRY  THE  SIXTH, 
at  this  time  only  nine  months  old,  was  under 
age,  the  Duke  of  Gloucester  should  be 
appointed  Regent.  The  English  Parliament, 
however,  preferred  to  appoint  a  Council  of 
Regency,  with  the  Duke  of  Bedford  at  its 
head  :  to  be  represented,  in  his  absence  only, 
by  the  Duke  of  Gloucester.  The  Parliament 
would  seem  to  have  been  wise  in  this,  for 
Gloucester  soon  showed  himself  to  be  ambi- 
tious and  troublesome,  and,  in  the  gratification 
of  his  own  personal  schemes,  gave  dangerous 
offence  to  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  which  was 
with  difficulty  adjusted. 

As  that  duke  declined  the  Regency  of 
France,  it  was  bestowed  by  the  poor  French 
King  upon  the  Duke  of  Bedford.  But,  the 
French  King  dying  within  two  months,  the 
Dauphin  instantly  asserted  his  claim  to  the 
French  throne,  and  was  actually  crowned 
under  the  title  of  CHARLES  THE  SEVENTH.  The 
Duke  of  Bedford,  to  be  a  match  for  him, 
entered  into  a  friendly  league  with  the  Dukes 
of  Burgundy  and  Brittany,  and  gave  them  his 
two  sisters  in  marriage.  War  with  France 
was  immediately  renewed,  and  the  Perpetual 
Peace  came  to  an  untimely  end. 

In  the  first  campaign,  the  English,  aided  by 
this  alliance,  were  speedily  successful.  As 
Scotland,  however,  had  sent  the  French  five 
thousand  men,  and  might  send  more,  or 
attack  the  North  of  England  while  England 
was  busy  with  France,  it  was  considered 
that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  offer  the 
Scottish  King,  James,  who  had  been  so 
long  imprisoned,  his  liberty,  on  his  paying 
forty  thousand  pounds  for  his  board  and 
lodging  during  nineteen  years,  and  engaging 
to  forbid  his  subjects  from  serving  under  the 
flag  of  France.  It  is  pleasant  to  know,  not 
only  that  the  amiable  captive  at  last  regained 
his  freedom  upon  these  terms,  but,  that  he 
married  a  noble  English  lady  with  whom  he 
had  been  long  in  love,  and  became  an  excellent 
King.  I  am  afraid  we  have  met  with  some 
Kings  in  this  history,  and  shall  meet  with 
some  more,  who  would  have  been  very  much 
the  better,  and  would  have  left  the  world 
much  happier,  if  they  had  been  imprisoned 
nineteen  years  too. 

In  the  second  campaign,  the  English  gained 
a  considerable  victory  at  Verneuil,  in  a  battle 
which  was  chiefly  remarkable,  otherwise,  for 
their  resorting  to  the  odd  expedient  of  tying 
their  baggage-horses  together  by  the  heads 
and  tails,  and  jumbling  them  up  with  the 
baggage,  so  as  to  convert  them  into  a  sort  of 
live  fortification — which  was  found  useful  to 
the  troops,  but  which  I  should  think  was  not 
agreeable  to  the  horses.  For  three  years 
afterwards  very  little  was  done,  owing  to  both 


sides  being  too  poor  for  war,  which  is  a  very 
expensive  entertainment  ;  but,  a  council  was 
then  held  in  Paris,  in  which  it  was  decided  to 
lay  siege  to  the  town  of  Orleans,  which  was  a 
place  of  great  importance  to  the  Dauphin's 
cause.  An  English  army  of  ten  thousand 
men  was  dispatched  on  this  service,  under  the 
command  of  the  Earl  of  Salisbury,  a  general 
of  fame.  He  being  unfortunately  killed  early 
in  the  siege,  the  Earl  of  Suffolk  took  his 
place  ;  under  whom  (reinforced  by  SIR  JOHN 
FALSTAFF,  who  brought  up  four  hundred 
waggons  laden  with  salt  herrings  and  other 
provisions  for  the  troops,  and,  beating  off  the 
French  who  tried  to  intercept  him,  came 
victoi'ious  out  of  a  hot  skirmish,  which  was 
afterwards  called  in  jest  the  Battle  of  the 
Herrings),  the  town  of  Orleans  was  so  com- 
pletely hemmed  in,  that  the  besieged  proposed 
to  yield  it  up  to  their  countryman  the  Duke 
of  Burgundy.  The  English  general,  however, 
replied  that  his  English  men  had  won  it,  so 
far,  by  their  blood  and  valor,  and  that  his 
English  men  must  have  it.  There  seemed  to 
be  no  hope  for  the  town,  or  for  the  Dauphin, 
who  was  so  dismayed  that  he  even  thought 
of  flying  to  Scotland  or  to  Spain — when  a 
peasant  girl  rose  up  and  changed  the  whole 
state  of  affairs. 

The  story  of  this  peasant  girl  I  have  now 
to  tell 

CHAPTER   XXI. 

IN  a  remote  village  among  some  wild  hills- 
in  the  province  of  Lorraine,  there  lived  a 
countryman  whose  name  was  JACQUES  D'ARC. 
He  had  a  daughter,  JOAN  OF  ARC,  who  was  at 
this  time  in  her  twentieth  year.  She  had  been 
a  solitary  girl  from  her  childhood  ;  she  had 
often  tended  sheep  and  cattle  for  whole  days 
where  no  human  figure  was  seen  or  human 
voice  heard ;  and  she  had  often  knelt,  for  hours 
together,  in  the  gloomy  empty  little  village 
chapel,  looking  up  at  the  altar  and  at  the 
dim  lamp  burning  before  it,  until  she  fancied 
that  she  saw  shadowy  figures  standing  there, 
and  even  that  she  heard  them  speak  to  her. 
The  people  in  that,  part  of  France  were  very 
ignorant  and  very  superstitious,  and  they  had 
many  ghostly  tales  to  tell  about  what  they 
dreamed,  and  what  they  saw  among  the  lonely 
hills  when  the  clouds  and  the  mists  were 
resting  on  them.  So,  they  easily  believed  that 
Joan  saw  strange  sights,  and  they  whispered 
among  themselves  that  angels  and  spirits 
talked  to  her. 

At  last,  Joan  told  her  father  that  she  had 
one  day  been  surprised  by  a  great  unearthly 
light,  and  had  afterwards  heard  a  solemn 
voice,  which  said  it  was  Saint  Michael's  voice, 
telling  her  that  she  was  to  go  and  help  the 
Dauphin.  Soon  after  this  (she  said),  Saint 
Catherine  and  Saint  Mai'garet  had  appeared 
to  her,  with  sparkling  crowns  upon  their 
heads,  and  had  encouraged  her  to  be  virtuous 
and  resolute.  These  visions  had  returned 
sometimes  ;  but  the  Voices  very  often  ;  and 


498 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the    voices    always    said,   "Joan,    thou    art  |  Baudricourt  began  to  think  there  might  be 
appointed   by   Heaven   to   go   and   help  the   something  in  it.     At  all  events,  he  thought  it 


Dauphin  !"     Slie  almost  always  heard  them 
while  the  chapel  bells  were  ringing. 

There  is  no  doubt,  now,  that  Joan  believed 
she  saw  and  heard  these  things.  It  is  very 
well  known  that  such  delusions  are  a  disease 
which  is  not  by  any  means  uncommon.  It  is 
probable  enough  that  there  were  figures  of 
Saint  Michael,  and  Saint  Catherine,  and 
Saint  Margaret,  in  the  little  chapel  (where 
they  would  be  very  likely  to  have  shining 
crowns  upon  their  heads),  and  that  they  first 

fave  Joan  the  idea  of  those  three  personages, 
he  had  long  been   a  moping,  fanciful  girl, 
and,  though    she    was   a   very  good   girl,    I 
dare  say  she  was  a  little  vain,  and  wishful  for 


notoriety. 
Her    father, 


something    wiser    than    his 


neighbours,  said,  "  I  tell  thee,  Joan,  it  is  thy 
fancy.  Thou  hadst  better  have  a  kind  hus- 
band to  take  care  of  thee,  girl,  and  work  to 
employ  thy  mind  !"  But  Joan  told  him  in 
reply,  that  she  had  taken  a  vow  never  to 
have  a  husband,  and  that  she  must  go  as 
Heaven  directed  her,  to  help  the  Dauphin, 
It  happened,  unfortunately  for  her  father's 
persuasions,  and  most  unfortunately  for  the 
poor  girl,  too,  that  a  party  of  the  Dauphin's 
enemies  found  their  way  into  the  village 
while  Joan's  disorder  was  at  this  point, 
and  burnt  the  chapel,  and  drove  out  the 
inhabitants.  The  cruelties  she  saw  com- 
mitted, touched  Joan's  heart  and  made  her 
worse.  She  said  that  the  voices  and  the 
figures  were  now  continually  with  her  ;  that 
they  told  her  she  was  the  girl  who,  according 
to  an  old  prophecy,  was  to  deliver  France  ; 


worth  while  to  send  her  on  to  the  town  of 
Chinon,  where  the  Dauphin  was.  So,  he 
bought  her  a  horse,  and  a  sword,  and  gave 
her  two  squires  to  conduct  her.  As  the 
Voices  had  told  Joan  that  she  was  to  wear  a 
man's  dress,  now,  she  put  one  on,  and  girded 
h«r  sword  to  her  side,  and  bound  spurs  to 


that  she  must  go  and  help  the  Dauphin,  and  digiously  long  debates  about,  in  the  course  of 

which  several  learned   men  fell  fast  asleep 
and  snored  loudly.     At  last,  when  one  gruif 


must  remain  with  him  until  he  should  be 
crowned  at  Hheims  ;  and  that  she  must  travel 
a  long  way  to  a  certain  lord  named  BAUDRI- 
COURT, who  could  and  would,  bring  her  into 
the  Dauphin's  presence.  As  her  father  still 
said,  "  I  tell  thee  Joan,  it  is  thy  fancy,"  she 
set  oiF  to  find  out  this  lord,  accompanied  by 
an  uncle,  a  poor  village  wheelwright  and 
cart-maker,  who  believed  in  the  reality  of  her 
visions.  They  travelled  a  long  way  and  went 
on  and  on,  over  a  rough  country,  full  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy's  men,  and  of  all  kinds  of 
robbers  and  marauders,  until  they  came  to 
where  this  lord  was. 

When  his  servants  told  him  that  there  was 
a  poor  peasant  girl  named  Joan  of  Arc, 
accompanied  by  nobody  but  an  old  village 
wheelwright  and  cart-maker,  who  wished  to 
see  him,  because  she  was  commanded  to  help 
the  Dauphin  and  save  France,  Baudricourt 
burst  out  a  laughing  and  bade  them  send 
the  girl  away.  But,  he  soon  heard  so  much 
about  her  lingering  in  the  town,  and  praying 
in  the  churches,  and  seeing  visions,  and 
doing  harm  to  no  one,  that  he  sent  for  her,  and 
questioned  her.  As  she  said  the  same  things 
after  she  had  been  well  sprinkled  with  holy 
water  as  she  had  said  before  the  sprinkling, 


away  with  her  two  squires.  As  to  her 
uncle  the  wheelwright,  he  stood  staring  at  his 
niece  in  wonder  until  she  was  out  of  sight — 
as  well  he  might — and  then  went  home  again. 
The  best  place,  too. 

Joan  and  her  two  squires  rode  on  and  on, 
until  they  came  to  Chinon,  where  she  was, 
after  some  doubt,  admitted  into  the  Dauphin's 
presence.  Picking  him  out  immediately 
from  all  his  court,  she  told  him  that  she  came 
commanded  by  Heaven  to  subdue  his  enemies 
and  conduct  him  to  his  coronation  at  Rheims. 
She  also  told  him  (or  he  pretended  so  after- 
wards to  make  the  greater  impression  upon 
his  soldiers)  a  number  of  his  secrets  known 
only  to  himself,  and,  furthermore,  she  said 
there  was  an  old,  old  sword  in  the  cathedral  of 
Saint  Catherine  at  Fierbois,  marked  with  five 
old  crosses  on  the  blade,  which  Saint  Catherine 
had  ordered  her  to  wear.  Now,  nobody 
knew  anything  about  this  old,  old  sword,  but 
when  the  cathedral  came  to  be  examined — 
which  was  immediately  done — there,  sure 
enough,  the  sword  was  found  !  The  Dauphin 
then  required  a  number  of  grave  priests  and 
bishops  to  give  him  their  opinion  whether 
the  girl  derived  her  power  from  good  spirits 
or  from  evil  spirits,  which  they  held  pro- 


old  gentleman  had  said  to  Joan,  "What 
language  do  your  Voices  speak  ? "  and  when 
Joan  had  replied  to  the  gruff  old  gentleman 
"  A  pleasanter  language  than  yours,"  they 
agreed  that  it  was  all  correct,  and  that  Joan 
of  Arc  was  inspired  from  Heaven.  This 
wonderful  circumstance  put  new  heart  into 
the  Dauphin's  soldiers  when  they  heard  of  it, 
and  dispirited  the  English  army,  who  took 
Joan  for  a  witch. 

So  Joan  mounted  horse  again,  and  again 
rode  on  and  on,  until  she  came  to  Orleans. 
But,  she  rode  now,  as  never  peasant  girl  had 
ridden  yet.  She  rode  upon  a  white  war-horse, 
in  a  suit  of  glittering  armour ;  with  the  old,  old 
sword  from  the  cathedral,  newly  burnished,  in 
her  belt  ;  with  a  white  flag  carried  before  her, 
upon  which  were  a  picture  of  God,  and  the 
words  JESUS  MARIA.  In  this  splendid  state, 
at  the  head  of  a  great  body  of  troops  escort- 
ing provisions  of  all  kinds  for  the  starving 
inhabitants  of  Orleans,  she  appeared  before 
that  beleaguered  city.  When  the  people  on 
the  walls  beheld  her,  they  cried  out  "  The 
Maid  is  come  !  The  Maid  of  the  Prophecy  is 
come  to  deliver  us  ! "  And  this,  and  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


499 


siglit  of  the  Maid  fighting  at  the  head  of 
their  men,  made  the  French  so  bold,  and 
made  the  English  so  fearful,  that  the  English 
line  of  forts  was  soon  broken,  the  troops  and 
provisions  were  got  into  the  town,  and 
Orleans  was  saved. 

Joan,  henceforth  called  THE  MAID  or 
ORLEANS,  remained  within  the  walls  for  a  few 
days,  and  caused  letters  to  be  thrown  over, 
ordering  Lord  Suffolk  and  his  Englishmen  to 
depart  from  before  the  town  according  to  the 
will  of  Heaven.  As  the  English  general  very 
positively  declined  to  believe  that  Joan  knew 
anything  about  the  will  of  Heaven  (which 
did  not  mend  the  matter  with  his  soldiers, 
for  they  stupidly  said  if  she  were  not 
inspired,  she  was  a  witch,  and  it  was  of  no 
use  to  fight  against  a  witch),  she  mounted  her 
white  war-horse  again,  and  ordered  her  white 
banner  to  advance.  The  besiegers  held  the 
bridge,  and  some  strong  towers  upon  the 
bridge  ;  and  here  the  Maid  of  Orleans 
attacked  them.  The  fight  was  fourteen  hours 
long.  She  planted  a  scaling  ladder  with  her 
own  hands,  and  mounted  a  tower  wall,  but 
was  struck  by  an  English  arrow  in  the  neck, 
and  fell  into  the  trench.  She  was  carried 
away  and  the  arrow  was  taken  out,  during 
which  operation  she  screamed  and  cried  with 
the  pain,  as  any  other  girl  might  have  done  ; 
but  presently  she  said  that  the  Voices  were 
speaking  to  her  and  soothing  her  to  rest. 
After  a  while,  she  got  up,  and  was  again  fore- 
most in  the  fight.  When  the  English,  who 
had  seen  her  fall  and  supposed  her  to  be 
dead,  saw  this,  they  were  troubled  with  the 
strangest  fears,  and  some  of  them  cried  out  that 
they  beheld  Saint  Michael  on  a  white  horse 
(probably  Joan  herself)  fighting  for  the 
French.  They  lost  the  bridge,  and  lost  the 
towers,  and  next  day  set  their  chain  of  forts 
on  fire,  and  left  the  place. 

But,  as  Lord  Suffolk  himself  retired  no 
farther  than  the  town  of  Jargeau,  which  was 
only  a  few  miles  off,  the  Maid  of  Orleans  be- 
sieged him  there,  and  he  was  taken  prisoner. 
As  the  white  banner  scaled  the  wall,  she  was 
struck  upon  the  head  with  a  stone,  and  was 
again  tumbled  down  into  the  ditch  ;  but,  she 
only  cried  all  the  more,  as  she  lay  there,  "  On, 
on,  my  countrymen  !  And  fear  nothing,  for 
the  Lord  hath  delivered  them  into  our  hands ! " 
After  this  new  success  of  the  Maid's,  several 
other  fortresses  and  places  which  had  previously 
held  out  against  the  Dauphin  were  delivered 
up  without  a  battle  ;  and  at  Patay  she  de- 
feated the  remainder  of  the  English  army, 
and  set  up  her  victorious  white  banner  on  a 
field  where  twelve  hundred  Englishmen  lay 
dead. 

She  now  urged  the  Dauphin  (who  al- 
ways kept  out  of  the  way  when  there  was 
any  fighting)  to  proceed  to  Rheims,  as  the  first 
part  of  her  mission  was  accomplished  ;  and  to 
complete  the  whole  by  being  crowned  there. 
The  Dauphin  was  in  no  particular  hurry  to 
do  this,  as  Rheinis  was  a  long  way  off,  and 


the  English  and  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  were 
still  strong  in  the  country  through  which 
the  road  lay.  However,  they  set  forth,  with 
ten  thousand  men,  and  again  the  Maid  of 
Orleans  rode  on  and  on,  upon  her  white  war- 
horse,  and  in  her  shining  armour.  Whenever 
they  came  to  a  town  which  yielded  readily, 
the  soldiers  believed  in  her  ;  but,  whenever 
they  came  to  a  town  which  gave  them  any 
trouble,  they  began  to  murmur  that  she  was 
an  impostor.  The  latter  was  particularly  the 
case  at  Troyes,  which  finally  yielded,  however, 
through  the  persuasion  of  one  Richard,  a  friar 
of  the  place.  Friar  Richard  was  in  the  old 
doubt  about  the  Maid  of  Orleans,  until  he  had 
sprinkled  her  well  with  holy  water,  and  had 
also  well  sprinkled  the  threshold  of  the  gate 
by  which  she  came  into  the  city.  Finding 
that  it  made  no  change  in  her,  he  said,  as  the 
other  grave  old  gentlemen  had  said,  that  it 
was  all  correct,  and  became  her  great  ally. 

So,  at  last,  by  dint  of  riding  on  and  on, 
the  Maid  of  Orleans,  and  the  Dauphin,  and 
the  ten  thousand  sometimes  believing  and 
sometimes  unbelieving  men,  came  to  Rheims. 
And  in  the  great  cathedral  of  Rheims,  the 
Dauphin  actually  was  crowned  Charles  the 
Seventh  in  agreat  assembly  of  the  people.  Then, 
the  Maid,  who  with  her  white  banner  stood 
beside  the  King  in  that  hour  of  his  triumph, 
kneeled  down  upon  the  pavement  at  his  feet, 
and  said,  with  tears,  that  what  she  had  been 
inspired  to  do,  was  done,  and  the  only  recom- 
pense she  asked  for,  was,  that  she  should  now 
have  leave  to  go  back  to  her  distant  home, 
and  her  sturdily  incredulous  father,  and  her 
first  simple  escort  the  village  wheelwright  and 
cart-maker.  But  the  King  said,  "  No  !  "  and 
made  her  and  her  family  as  noble  as  a  King 
could,  and  settled  upon  her  the  income  of  a 
Count.  Ah !  happy  had  it  been  for  the 
Maid  of  Orleans,  if  she  had  resumed  her  rustic 
dress  that  day,  and  had  gone  home  to  the 
little  chapel  and  the  wild  hills,  and  had  for- 
gotten all  these  things,  and  had  been  a  good 
man's  wife,  and  heard  no  stranger  voices  than 
the  voices  of  little  children  ! 

It  was  not  to  be,  and  she  continued  helping 
the  King  (she  did  a  world  for  him,  in 
alliance  with  Friar  Richard),  and  trying  to 
improve  the  lives  of  the  coarse  soldiers,  and 
leading  a  religious,  an  unselfish,  and  a  modest 
life,  herself,  beyond  any  doubt.  Still,  many 
times  she  prayed  the  King  to  let  her  go 
home  ;  and  once  she  even  took  off  her  bright 
armoxir  and  hung  it  up  in  a  church,  meaning 
never  to  wear  it  more.  But,  the  King  always 
won  her  back  again — while  she  was  of  use  to 
him — and  so  she  went  on  and  on  and  on,  to 
her  doom. 

When  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  who  was  a 
very  able  man,  began  to  be  active  for  England, 
and,  by  bringing  the  war  back  into  France  and 
by  holding  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  to  his 
faith,  to  distress  and  disturb  Charles  very 
much,  Charles  sometimes  asked  the  Maid  of 
Orleans  what  the  Voices  said  about  it  1  But, 


500 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


the  Voices  had  become  (very  like  ordinary 
voices  in  perplexed  times,)  contradictory  and 
confused,  so  that  now  they  said  one  thing, 
and  now  said  another,  and  the  Maid  lost 
credit  every  day.  Charles  marched  On  Paris, 
which  was  opposed  to  him,  and  attacked  the 
suburb  of  Saint  Honore.  In  this  fight,  being 
again  struck  down  into  the  ditch,  she  was 
abandoned  by  the  whole  army.  She  lay  un- 
aided among  a  heap  of  dead,  and  crawled  out 
how  she  could.  Then,  some  of  her  believers 
went  over  to  an  opposition  Maid,  Catherine 
of  La  Rochelle,  who  said  she  was  inspired  to 
tell  where  there  were  treasures  of  buried 
money — though  she  never  did — and  then  Joan 
accidentally  broke  the  old,  old  sword,  and 
others  said  that  her  power  was  broken  with 
it.  Finally,  at  the  siege  of  Compiegue,  held 
by  the  Duke  of  Burgundy,  where  she  did 
valiant  service,  she  was  basely  left  alone  in 
a  retreat,  though  facing  about  and  fighting 
to  the  last ;  and  an  archer  pulled  her  off  her 
horse. 

0  the  uproar    that  was    made,  and  the 
thanksgivings    that    were    sung,  about    the 
capture  of  this  one  poor  country-girl !    O  the 
way  in  which  she  was  demanded  to  be  tried 
for  sorcery  and  heresy,  and  anything  else 
you  like,  by  the  Inquisitor-General  of  France, 
and   by  this  great  man,  and  by  that  great 
man,  until  it  is  wearisome  to  think  of !     She 
was  bought  at  last  by  the  Bishop  of  Beauvais 
for  ten  thousand  francs,  and  was  shut  up  in 
her  narrow  prison  :  plain  Joan  of  Arc  again, 
and  Maid  ot  Orleans  no  more. 

1  should  never  have  done  if  I  were  to  tell 
.you    how    they  had  Joan   out  to   examine 
her,  and  cross-examine  her,  and  re-examine 
her,  and  worry  her  into  saying  anything  and 
everything  ;  and  how  all  sorts  of  scholars  and 
doctors   bestowed    their   utmost   tediousness 
upon  her.     Sixteen  times  she  was  brought  out 
and   shut   up   again,   and   worried,   and   en- 
trapped,  and    argued    with,  until    she  was 
heart-sick  of  the   dreary   business.     On  the 
last  occasion  of  this  kind  she  was  brought 
into   a  burial-place   at   Rouen,  dismally  de- 
corated  with   a   scaffold,   and    a   stake   and 
faggots,   and  the   executioner,  and  a  pulpit 
with   a   friar  therein,  and  an  awful  sermon 
ready.      It   is   very   affecting   to   know  that 
even  at  that  pass  the  poor  girl  honored  the 
mean  vermin  of  a  King,  who  had  so  used  her 
for  his  purposes  and  so  abandoned  her  ;  and, 
that  while  she  had  been  regardless   of  re- 
proaches heaped  upon  herself,  she  spoke  out 
courageously  for  him. 

It  was  natural  in  one  so  young,  to  hold  to 
life.  To  save  her  life,  she  signed  a  declara- 
tion prepared  for  her — signed  it  with  a  cross, 
for  she  couldn't  write — that  all  her  visions 
and  Voices  had  come  from  the  Devil.  Upon 
her  recanting  the  past,  and  protesting  that 
she  woiild  never  wear  a  man's  dress  in  future, 
she  was  condemned  to  imprisonment  for  life, 
"  on  the  bread  of  sorrow  and  the  water  of 
affliction." 


But,  on  the  bread  of  sorrow  and  the  water 
of  affliction,  the  visions  and  the  Voices  soon 
returned.  It  was  quite  natural  that  they 
should  do  so,  for  that  kind  of  disease  is  much 
aggravated  by  fasting,  loneliness,  and  anxiety 
of  mind.  It  was  not  only  got  out  of  Joan  that 
she  considered  herself  inspired  again,  but,  she 
was  taken  in  a  man's  dress,  which  had  been 
left — to  entrap  her — in  her  prison,  and  which 
she  put  on,  in  her  solitude ;  perhaps,  in  remem- 
brance of  her  past  glories  ;  perhaps,  because 
the  imaginary  Voices  told  her.  For  this 
relapse  into  the  sorcery  and  heresy  and  any- 
thing else  you  like,  she  was  sentenced  to  be 
burnt  to  death.  And,  in  the  market-place  01 
Rouen,  in  the  hideous  dress  which  the  monks 
had  invented  for  such  spectacles,  with  priests 
and  bishops  sitting  in  a  gallery  looking  on, 
though  some  had  the  Christian  grace  to  go 
away,  unable  to  endure  the  infamous  scene ; 
this  shrieking  girl — last  seen  amidst  the  smoke 
and  fire,  holding  a  crucifix  between  her  hands ; 
last  heard,  calling  upon  Christ — was  burnt  to 
ashes.  They  threw  her  ashes  in  the  river 
Seine  ;  but,  they  will  rise  against  her  mur- 
derers on  the  last  day. 

From  the  moment  of  her  capture,  neither 
the  French  King  nor  one  single  man  in  all 
his  court  raised  a  finger  to  save  her.  It  is 
no  defence  of  them  that  they  may  have  never 
really  believed  in  her,  or  that  they  may  have 
won  her  victories  by  their  skill  and  bravery. 
The  more  they  pretended  to  believe  in  her, 
the  more  they  had  caused  her  to  believe  in 
herself ;  and  she  had  ever  been  true  to  them, 
ever  brave,  ever  nobly  devoted.  But,  it  is  no 
wonder,  that  they,  who  were  in  all  things  false 
to  themselves,  false  to  one  another,  false  to 
their  country,  false  to  Heaven,  and  false  to 
Earth,  should  be  monsters  of  ingratitude  and 
treachery  to  a  helpless  peasant  girl. 

In  the  picturesque  old  town  of  Rouen,  where 
weeds  and  grass  grow  high  on  the  cathedral 
towers,  and  venerable  Norman  streets  are 
still  warm  in  the  blessed  sunlight  though  the 
monkish  fires  that  once  gleamed  horribly  upon 
them  have  long  grown  cold,  there  is  a  statue 
of  Joan  of  Arc,  in  the  scene  of  her  last 
agony,  the  square  to  which  she  has  given 
its  present  name.  I  know  some  statues  of 
modern  times  — even  in  the  World's  metro- 
polis, I  think  —  which  commemorate  less 
constancy,  less  earnestness,  smaller  claims 
upon  the  world's  attention,  and  much  greater 
impostors. 

Now  Eeady,  Price  3s.  &/., 
THE  FIRST  VOLUME  OF 

A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 

BY  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

To  be  completed  in  three  Volumes,  of  the  same  size  and  pi-ice. 

Collected  and  revised  from  "  Household  Words," 
With  a  Table  of  Dates. 


BRADBURY   AND   EVAXS,    11,   BOUVEKIE   STREET. 


Published  at  the  Office,  No  16,  WellinpoE  Street  North,  Stracd.    Printed  by  Bu*u»u«n  *  ET&KI,  Wbltelriar*.  Londoo 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"—  SHAKESPEARE 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


125.] 


SATURDAY,  AUGUST  14,  1852. 


[PuiCE  Id. 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 

IN   TWO   CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER   I. 

I  AM  fifty-four  or  thereabouts  in  age  ;  weigh 
fourteen  stone  and  a  half;  am  five  feet  ten 
inches  in  height,  and  never  had  a  day's  illness 
in  my  life.  Yet  no  man,  perhaps,  has  travelled 
more  for  the  recovery  of  his  health.  The 
junior  partners  would  sulk  uncommonly  if  it 
was  mere  pleasure  that  took  me  from  London 
just  as  the  heat  began  ;  they  would  grudge 
every  week  T  spent  at  Brighton,  Dover,  East- 
bourne, Worthing,  Bonchurch,  or  Torquay,  if 
they  knew  what  a  jolly  life  I  led  at  all  those 
places ;  but,  when  they  hear  my  cough  as  I 
walk  into  the  counting-room  about  the  end 
of  May,  when  they  see  the  large  vials 
of  brandy  and  water,  marked  "  Sedative 
Draught,"  which  I  drink  with  rueful  face 
any  time  after  .two  o'clock  (I  lunch  on  a  roast 
fowl  at  half-past  one)  ;  when  they  see,  in 
short,  what  a  determined  valetudinarian  I 
am,  it  is  amazing  how  anxiously  they  advise 
me  to  be  gone :  "  Poor  old  fellow  ! "  I  hear 
them  saying ;  "  he  can't  stand  this  long." 
''  Governor's  going,  Snooks," — I  heard  the 
book-keeper  say  to  one  of  the  clerks.  "Where 
to  i  "  inquired  Snooks  ;  "  to  Paris  again,  or 
Scotland  ?  "  "  Don't  be  a  fool !  "  was  the 
book-keeper's  reply,  "  you're  an  unfeeling 
beast.  The  poor  old  gent's  a  going  to  slip  his 
wind.  Nobody  can  stand  all  them  cough 
mixtures  and  doctor's  stuff ;  hear  hoAv  he 
blows  on  the  stair — puff,  puff,  puff!  " 

So,  with  the  universal  good-will  of  the 
whole  establishment,  I  pack  up  my  trunks, 
give  my  housekeeper  injunctions  of  secresy, 
creep  weakly  into  a  cab,  which  picks  me  up 
at  the  office  door,  and  spring  radiant  with 
health  and  happiness  into  a  railway  coach. 
But  whither  ?  Here  is  the  merry  month  of 
June  ;  I  have  arranged  for  an  absence  till 
the  end  of  July,  with  ingenious  preparations 
for  a  relapse  till  the  beginning  of  September  ; 
about  that  time  a  sprained  ancle  will  give  me 
three  weeks  more,  and  the  cool  first  week  of 
October  will  tempt  me  back  to  moderate 
work  in  the  mornings,  and  a  quiet  club  dinner 
at  night.  Three  or  four  months  are  to  be  dis- 
posed of,  and  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Egypt  is 
vulgar,  and  the  continent  unsafe.  I  have 
visited  every  scene  "  consecrated  by  antiquity 
or  adventure,"  from  Stonehenge  and  llunny- 


mede  to  Jack  Straw's  Castle  and  the  Love 
colleges  of  Dorset.  I  thought  at  one  time  of 
enrolling  myself  as  an  inmate  in  those  sweet 
abodes,  and  afterwards  publishing  the  results 
of  my  experience  as  "  Nights  in  the 
Agapemone  ;  "  but  this  is  a  fastidious  age, 
and  Afra  Belm  and  the  Queen  of  Navarre 
have  fallen  into  disuse.  Mountains  and 
rivers,  towns  and  villages,  Scotch  lochs  and 
Welsh  coombs,  have  neither  novelty  nor  at- 
traction ;  and  yet  a  pilgrimage  without  an 
object  is  a  very  dull  affair,  and  an  object, 
therefore,  I  must  find.  "  I  shall  think  of  it  on 
the  way,"  I  said,  as  I  took  out  my  ticket  and 
paid  the  whole  fare ;  and,  with  a  railway 
guide  in  my  hand,  I  racked  my  brains  to  dis- 
cover some  end  and  aim  for  a  journey  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles.  Better  get  out  and 
chase  butterflies  than  have  no  purpose  in  life. 
Last  year  I  travelled  from  Dan  to  Beersheba 
in  search  of  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty 
Port,  small  binns  of  which  are  still  to  be  met 
with  in  old-established  way-side  inns,  where 
its  charms  have  the  additional  advantage  of 
being  utterly  unappreciated  and  inadequately 
charged  for  by  the  unconscious  possessor  ;  you 
sometimes  also  find  a  remnant  in  quiet 
country  houses,  where  it  is  brought  forth  on 
great  occasions,  and  treated  with  the  venera- 
tion it  deserves.  But  a  man  can't  always 
travel  in  search  of  bees'-wing  and  cobwebs. 
Two  years  ago  I  determined  to  see  fat  cattle, 
and  frequented  agricultural  shows  and  pro- 
vincial aldermen's  dinners,  till  the  production 
of  tallow  appeared  to  be  the  chief  end  of  man. 
Science,  also,  has  had  its  attractions,  and  I 
followed  the  progresses  of  the  savants,  wit- 
nessed their  experiments  and  attended  their 
conversaziones,  and  heard  the  wonders  of 
nature  displayed  by  naturalists  and  geologists 
till  I  became  persuaded  of  the  reality  of  red 
lions  and  sea-serpents,  and  was  ready  to 
swear  I  had  seen  enormous  specimens  of  both 
kinds  of  animals  with  my  own  eyes. 

"  It's  of  no  use,"  I  exclaimed  in  despair, 
when  I  had  reached  about  forty  miles  from 
St.  Paul's,  and  shut  up  Bradshaw  with  a 
force  that  alarmed  imy  fellow  passenger  who 
was  sitting  opposite.  It  was  a  little  prim 
old  maid — there  was  no  mistaking  that — 
who  had  been  gazing  every  now  and  then 
with  an  astonished  look  at  the  devotion  of 
my  whole  time  to  the'  study  of  the  times 


VOL.   v. 


502 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


of  starting  and  arriving  ;  very  light  eyes 
she  had.  and  eyebrows  to  match — so  light 
that  they  were  almost  undistinguishable, 
a  thin  nose  so  evidently  formed  for  the  re- 
ception of  spectacles,  that  I  couldn't  help 
thinking  there  must  be  a  pair  bestriding  it 
at  that  very  moment,  though,  by  some  super- 
natural means  rendered  imperceptible  by  the 
naked  eye.  In  fact,  over  the  whole  of  her 
appearance  there  was  spread  such  a  film  of 
invisibility  from  the  colourlessness  of  counte- 
nance and  dress,  that  I  sometimes  expected  to 
see  her  evaporate  altogether  like  the  appari- 
tions in  a  German  story.  However,  she  did 
not ;  but  came  forth  in  speech. 

"  Are  you  going  far,  sir  1  beautiful  country  ! 
very  fine  day." 

Now  it  was  impossible  to  answer  all  these 
observations  at  once,  unless  by  a  bow  ;  so  I 
bowed. 

"  Very  far,  sir  ?  a  delightful  railway  this — so 
comfortable  the  carriages." 

"Yes." 

"  To  the  very  end  of  the  Hue,  sir  ?  Are  you 
afraid  of  accidents  in  a  railway  ?  Do  you  think 
they're  likely  to  happen  here  1 " 

"No." 

"  Not  to  the  end  of  the  line  ?  Perhaps  to  an 
intermediate  station?  Business,  sir  1 " 

"  Madam,  you  manage  to  ask  always  three 
questions  in  a  breath,  and  I  can't  answer 
them  at  once.  As  to  how  far  I  am  going, 
I  have  not  made  up  my  mind.  The  object  of 
my  journey  is  not  business.  This  is  a  good 
railway,  and  I  am  not  much  afraid  of  an 
accident." 

"  You  remind  me,  sir,  excuse  me  for  saying 
so,  of  the  great  Mr.  Pinker,  of  the  Butts ";  he 
never  gives  me  a  straight  answer  to  my 
separate  questions,  but  waits  till  they  have 
accumulated  to  a  good  number,  and  then 
touches  on  them  in  their  exact  order." 

"  The  great  Mr.  Pinker  1 "  I  inquired. 

"  You've  heard  of  him,  surely  ?  the 
childrens'  book  Mr.  Pinker — he  is  such  a 
charming  man,  and  edited  the  last  edition  of 
Goody  Twoshoes." 

"  And  the  Butts  1 "  I  farther  inquired. 

"  My  village  ;  six  miles  from  the  next 
station — were  you  never  at  the  Butts  ?  There's 
a  chalybeate  there  ;  are  you  fond  of  chaly- 
beates 1 " 

"No." 

"  That's  odd.  You  put  me  so  in  mind  of 
the  great  Miss  Wormer.  You  don't  say 
you've  never  seen  her  1  nor  heard  of  her  ?  " 

"  Never." 

"  Wonderful  !  why,  she's  Biddy  Budd,  the 
greatest  woman  in  England  :  such  a  soul — 
such  a  genius." 

"Biddy  Budd,  who  is  Biddy  Budd  ?" 

"  Miss  Wormer,  I  tell  you.  How  surprised 
the  great  Mr.  Bangles  will  be  when  he  hears 
that  the  name  of  Biddy  Budd  is  unknown 
to  a  single  European — you're  European,  of 
course." 

"  I  never  heard  of  such  a  quantity  of  great 


people,"  I  said;  "do  they  all  live  at  the 
Butts  1 " 

"  All  ?  yes,  and  a  great  many  more,  all  great 
and  distinguished.  Mr.  Bangles  is  a  great 
mathematician,  and  has  invented  a  gig — come, 
sir,  you  don't  pretend  not  to  know  the 
Bangles  three-wheel  1  " 

"  Not  I,  madam,  but  if  the  Butts  is  only 
six  miles  from  the  station,  I  shall  certainly 
make  a  pilgrimage  to  the  residence  of  so 
many  celebrities.  Is  there  an  inn  at  the 
Butts?" 

"  The  best  inn  in  England.  The  great 
Mr.  Smith  keeps  it." 

"  Is  he  great,  too  ? " 

"He  gained  the  tulip  prize  two  years 
running — a  very  great  man.  You  will  be 
delighted  with  the  Queeker  Arms — the  sign 
is  the  family  coat  of  the  great  Queeker  family. 
Mr.  Q.  talks  of  standing  for  the  county, 
and  studies  politics  night  and  day — a  great 
man.  He  doesn't  like  Sir  Kobert  Peel ;  do 
you,  sir  '( " 

I  saw  no  use  in  making  the  lady  my  con- 
fidante, and  gave  no  answer,  but  resolved 
that,  in  lack  of  a  better  object  for  a  journey, 
a  visit  to  the  Temple  of  Fame,  described  in 
such  glowing  colours  by  my  companion,  would 
be  a  very  good  one.  I  am  fond  of  seeing 
great  men — I  saw  Napoleon  on  board  the 
Northumberland,  and  Thistlewood  hanged. 
I  have  also  seen  the  Swiss  giantess,  and  Tom 
Thumb. 

On  coming  to  the  station  I  helped  my  new 
acquaintance  to  descend,  and  afterwards 
took  charge  of  an  infinite  variety  of  trunks 
and  boxes.  The  train  speedily  passed  on, 
and  I  found  myself  standing  on  the  platform, 
keeping  guard  like  a  sentry  over  the  luggage, 
while  the  lady  kept  her  eye  fixed  on  me  as 
if  she  had  been  inspecting  officer. 

"  Do  you  stop  here,  sir  1  a  very  dull  place, 
and  quite  new.  We  don't  like  it." 

"No,  madam  ;  I  am  going  on  to  the  Butts. 
Your  description  has  so  interested  me  that 
I  can't  resist  the  inclination  to  visit  it." 

The  lady  pulled  her  veil  down  a  little 
farther,  and  gave  a  short  little  cough,  and 
then  went  sidling  about  among  her  traps, 
counting  them  two  or  three  times  over,  and 
looking  at  them  as  if  calculating  their  size 
and  weight.  At  last  she  nodded  her  head  in 
a  very  satisfied  manner,  and  said,  "  It  will 
just  do.  Your  fly  can  carry  us  all,  and  I  can 
show  the  way.  Mamma  will  say  I  am  a  very 
forward  girl  in  making  such  an  offer,  but 
I  know  the  world,  and  you  won't  think  worse 
of  me  for  being  frank  and  open."  I  looked 
again  at  her  face  as  she  talked  of  her  mamma, 
and  called  herself  a  girl.  She  was  fifty  years 
old  if  she  was  a  day,  or,  in  fact,  might  have 
passed  for  any  age  from  fifty  upwards,  for  her 
locks  were  so  light  coloured  that  they  might 
have  done  duty  as  grey  hairs  in  a  rapid  state 
of  descent  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  ;  and  her 
features  so  indistinct  that  they  seemed  to 
have  worn  away  in  the  course  of  years.  Her 


Chavles  Diciirns.l 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 


503 


mamma  must  be  a  rum  one — I  thought — 
but  they're  all  wonderful  people  at  the  Butts  ; 
and  I  would  rather  explore  that  undiscovered 
region  than  the  sources  of  the  Nile.  But  I 
had  no  time  for  these  meditations,  for  I  soon 
found  sufficient  occupation  in  fitting  her  and 
her  possessions  into  the  one-horse  fly,  which, 
on  a,  signal  from  her,  had  drawn  up  beside  us. 
There  were  two  or  three  trunks,  two  or  three 
bandboxes,  a  great  number  of  baskets,  great 
and  small,  a  birdcage,  and  an  uncountable 
variety  of  paper  parcels,  so  that  when,  after 
much  slmking  and  shifting,  she  was  fairly 
seated,  I  looked  in  vain  for  any  room  in  or 
about  the  vehicle  for  myself.  However  her 
lynx  eye  discovered  a  small  unoccupied  space 
beside  the  driver,  which,  by  dint  of  sitting 
sideways,  with  my  legs  dangling  over  the 
wheel,  she  thought  might  be  available,  but 
even  her  ingenuity  could  discover  no  process 
by  which  any  room  could  be  made  for  my 
portmanteau.  She  therefore  gave  positive 
orders  to  the  innkeeper  to  forward  my  luggage 
at  once  in  a  light  cart  to  the  Queeker  Arms, 
and  professing  great  fear  that  her  mamma 
would  be  alarmed  if  she  did  not  arrive  soon, 
she  begged  the  man  to  drive  as  hard  as  he 
could,  and  off  we  went.  The  woman's  voice 
was  extraordinary  ;  it  was  so  shrill  and  clear, 
that,  sitting  quietly  among  her  baggage,  and 
in  spite  of  the  rumbling  and  creaking  of  our 
fly  over  a  not  very  well-made  road,  and  the 
jumbling  of  the  miscellaneous  articles  tied  on 
the  roof,  she  made  every  syllable  as  distinct 
to  me  on  the  driving-seat  as  if  we  had  been 
close  together  in  a  silent  room. 

"  Do  you  see  that  thorn  bush  on  the  right 
hand,  and  the  elm  tree  a  little  way  down  the 
lane  1  That 's  the  scene  of  Biddy  Budd's 
Fable  of  the  Donkey  and  the  Crow.  The 
donkey  stood  under  the  thorn  and  wished  for 
wings,  and  the  crow  sat  on  the  elm  and  wished 
for  long  ears.  Pretty  idea,  isn't  it  ?  and 
what  do  you  think  is  the  moral  of  the  story  ? 
That  people  should  be  contented  with  their 
positions  and  not  wish  to  change  with  their 
neighbours  1  O  dear,  not  at  all.  It  alludes  to 
the  Reverend  Stephen  Budge,  of  Gaperton 
Vicarage,  who  thinks  himself  a  poet,  and 
says  his  Pegasus  can  fly.  But,  you  see,  Biddy 
Budd  makes  great  fun  of  him,  for  she  puts  a 
crow's  wings  on  a  donkey,  and  calls  it  '  The 
Winged  Pegasus  of  a  certain  reverend  would- 
be  poet,  who  resides  not  a  hundred  miles  from 
Gaperton  Vicarage.'  Isn't  that  witty  and 
severe  1  She's  immensely  religious,  is  Miss 
Wormer,  and  says  the  most  biting  tilings  you 
ever  heard.  Drive  on,  coachman,  mamma  will 
be  greatly  alarmed — " 

Here  there  was  a  pause  for  a  moment  in 
the  stream  of  sound  that  went  whistling  into 
my  ear  like  a  heated  wire. 

"  You  had  better  get  threepence  ready,'' 
it  began  again.  "  There's  a  'pike  round  the 
corner.  Mr.  Slockum  —  a  great  wit,  Mr. 
Slockum  ;  they  say  his  writings,  when  they 
come  out,  will  be  very  like  Joseph  Miller's — 


worked  for  one  or  two  years  at  an  epigram 
on  that  'pike.  It  was  kept  then  by  a  man  of 
the  name  of  Salmon,  and  he  had  come  to  the 
second  line  where  he  talked  of  the  "net" 
produce,  but  before  he  got  any  farther  Salmon 
left  the  'pike,  and  now  William  Jones  keeps 
it.  There  he  is — you  had  better  pay  him  the 
threepence.  Very  hard  on  Mr.  Slockum, 
wasn't  it  ?  Mr.  Slockum  kept  three  pupils — • 
but  at  present  they've  all  gone  away — and  he 
advertises  to  take  half-a-dozen,  at  five  pounds 
a  year  less  than  his  printed  terms,  provided 
they  are  the  sons  of  gentlemen.  So  when 
they  come,  they  will  be  a  delightful  accession 
to  our  society." 

By  dint  of  great  exertion,  I  managed  to  ask 
her  how  many  families  there  were  iu  the 
Butts  altogether,  and  the  question  seemed  to 
make  her  amazingly  happy. 

"  Let  me  see,"  she  said,  laying  a  long  thin 
unsubstantial  fore-finger  of  one  hand  on  the 
fore-finger  of  the  other — "  let  me  see.  There's 
the  Grove — where  the  Wormers  live  ;  there 
were  once  three  elm  trees,  they  say,  on  the 
ground,  so  they  call  it  the  Grove — that's  one. 
The  Wilderness — Mr.  Pinker's,  a  very  large 
place,  more  than  an  acre,  and  an  excellent 
house,  coach-house  and  stable,  entrance  lodge 
and  iron  gates,  quite  a  show  place — that's 
two.  Then  there's  Belvidere  Castle,  mamma's 
— a  large  house  on  the  right  with  Venetian 
blinds  to  the  upper  windows  and  a  green 
verandah  ;  the  porch  is  round,  with  turrets  on 
the  top,  so  we  call  it  the  Castle — that's  three. 
Then,  there's  the  Bangles's — he  calls  it 
Niagara  Villa  because  there's  a  spring  that 
falls  into  a  shell — that's  four.  The  Dingle — 
the  Cave — the  Den — the  Hollow — the  Mount 
— the  Vale — the  Levels — the  Hermitage — 
Oporto  Hall—" 

"  Ha  !  "  I  said  or  rather  roared,  "that's  a 
nice  name  for  a  house  ;  who  lives  there  ?  " 

"  The  great  Mr.  Mudd,  and  his  charming 
nieces  the  Miss  Boltons — " 

"  And  what  is  Mr.  Mudd  great  in  1 " 

"  Decanters.  He  won  the  prize  at  the 
Fine  Art  Exhibition  for  a  decanter  that  holds 
three  bottles,  and  doesn't  look  much  bigger 
than  a  pint." 

I  determined,  if  possible,  to  make  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Mudd,  who  struck  me  to 
be  the  most  usefully  ingenious  of  all  the  dis- 
tinguished characters  I  had  heard  described. 

"  Then  there's  the  parsonage — it  isn't  the 
parsonage,  but  only  the  house  where  the 
curate  lives — Mr.  Platterwipe,  who  is  a 
wonderful  musician  and  plays  on  the  flute 
delightfully,  and  also  on  the  bass  fiddle.  He 
is  a  great  genius,  and  reads  the  prayers 
through  his  nose,  with  a  twist  up  at  the  end 
of  them  like  the  chorus  to  a  ballad.  It's  quite 
charming,  and  as  he  says  he  has  a  vocation  for 
celibacy,  we  young  ladies  just  consider  him 
one  of  ourselves,  and  Mr.  Slockum  calls  us 
the  Nunpareils.  See,  there's  Mr.  Bangles's — • 
there's  the  Grove — that's  the  Hermitage — 
and  this  is  Mamma's." 


504 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


I  saw  before  me — at  the  foot  of  a  moderate 
elevation,  but  which  I  afterwards  found  was 
called  the  mountain — a  scattered  hamlet  of 
twenty  or  thirty  houses  built  irregularly  along 
the  course  of  a  little  stream.  There  were 
hedge-rows  and  apple-trees  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach  ;  a  glorious  sun  was  shining  upon 
the  scene,  and  glanced  from  the  windows  of 
the  different  villas,  and  basked  upon  their 
roofs,  and  turned  the  thin  wreaths  of  smoke 
that  went  upward  from  the  kitchen  chimneys 
into  many-coloured  ribbons  losing  themselves 
in  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky.  And  I  confessed 
at  once  that  it  was  a  beautiful  prospect,  and 
a  very  fitting  residence  for  the  saints  and 
sages  who  had  here  set  up  theii  rest.  But 
what  could  be  the  reason  of  so  many  of  the 
&,ite  of  the  earth  establishing  themselves 
here  1  or  was  it  the  fact  of  coming  here  that 
gave  them  all  their  wonderful  abilities  ?  Could 
Mr.  Bangles  have  invented  a  gig  if  he  had 
lived^  in  London  ?  Could  Mr.  Mudd  have 
produced  a  three-quart  bottle  looking  like  a 
pint,  if  his  lines  had  been  cast  in  Yorkshire  ? 
"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  voice,  in  the  midst 
of  these  reflections  ;  "the  luggage  is  off  now, 
and  it's  all  right.  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you 
for  bringing  me  in  your  fly.  Drive  on  to 
the  Queeker  Arms.  1  have  recommended  the 
house  to  the  gentleman.  The  gentleman  will 
pay."  And  before  I  had  time  to  turn  myself 
fairly  round  on  the  driving-seat,  my  com- 
municative companion  had  disappeared  within 
the  porch  of  the  Castle,  and  left  me  to  pursue 
my  way  to  the  hotel. 

"  What  is  that  lady's  name  ? "  I  inquired  of 
the  driver. 

"  Gawker,  sir.  Her  and  her  mother  carries 
on  their  trade  in  that  'ere  house." 

"What  trade?     What  do  they  do  ?" 

"  They  skins  flints,"  replied  the  driver,  in  a 
very  bitter  tone  ;  "  and  sweats  spoons  when 
they  can  catch  'em." 

I  didn't  carry  on  any  further  conversation 
with  the  man,  who  had  accompanied  his  last 
observation  with  a  look  of  disdain  at  me,  and 
the  thumb  of  his  right  hand  applied  to  the 
point  of  his  nose,  the  usual  place  of  the  pro- 
jected little  finger  being  supplied  by  the  whip. 
I  silently  paid  him  his  demand,  and  stood 
expectant  on  the  step  of  the  Queeker  Arms. 

"  House,  ho  !  "  I  cried,  looking  in  vain 
for  a  waiter,  or  a  bell  to  summon  one. 
"  House,  ho  !  Are  you  all  asleep  ? " 

No  answer  caine  for  a  long  time.  At  last  a 
sort  of  chambermaid,  a  stout  woman  with  a 
slop-pail,  crossed  the  hall,  and  I  renewed  my 
thumpings  and  hallooings.  The  glass  door  at 
the  top  of  the  stair  continued  closed  ;  and  the 
woman  putting  her  hand  to  her  lips,  as  if  to 
enjoin  silence,  passed  on  in  chambermaiden 
meditation,  fancy  free.  I  at  last  got  angry, 
and  became  very  emphatic  in  my  kicks  and 
bumps  against  the  inhospitable  door.  "  Such  a 
place  pretending  to  be  the  chosen  habitation 
of  the  wise  and  good  !  and  such  a  miserable 
locked  up  old  barrack  pretending  to  be  an 


inn  !  I'll  try  if  I  can't  force  my  way  in,  in  spite 
of  bolts  and  bars."  But  I  had  not  succeeded 
in  more  than  damaging  one  of  the  panels  and 
twisting  off  the  handle  of  the  lock,  when  a 
voice  from  the  area  commanded  me  to  desist 
and  go  my  ways  for  a  housebreaker,  or  they 
would  let  loose  the  dog.  And  on  looking 
through  the  rails,  I  saw  a  tatterdemallion 
stableboy  seated  on  an  empty  barrel,  where 
he  had  perched  himself  to  enjoy  the  sun  and 
had  evidently  fallen  asleep. 

"  You  insolent  ragamuffin,"  I  exclaimed  ; 
"  if  you"  don't  tell  some  one  to  open  the  door 
instantly,  I'll  have  the  landlord  before  a 
magistrate  for  refusing  accommodation  to  a 
traveller  on  his  lawful  occasions." 

"  We  don't  care  for  bagmen  here,"  rejoined 
the  strapper  on  the  barrel,  "  nor  about  their 
aweful  occasions  either.  The  gentlefolks  are 
busy  and  won't  be  disturbed." 

"  Won't  they  ?  "  I  cried,  again  applying  a 
thundering  kick  to  the  door,  that  shook  one 
of  the  panes  into  the  passage  with  a  crash 
that  echoed  through  the  house  like  an  ava- 
lanche of  glass.  "  We  shall  see  that :  house, 
ho !  "  A  door  at  the  farther  end  of  the 
hall  was  cautiously  opened,  and  four  or  five 
heads  were  pushed  inquiringly  forth  ;  after 
looking  at  me  for  a  minute  or  two,  the  pos- 
sessors of  the  aforesaid  heads  put  their  fingers 
to  their  lips  like  the  witches  in  Macbeth,  and 
in  the  same  careful  manner  as  they  had 
opened  the  door,  closed  it  again. 

"  Oh,  that's  your  plan,  is  it  ? "  I  vocifei'ated, 
now  fairly  in  a  rage.  "  You  have  no  right  to 
keep  me  out  of  a  house  of  public  entertain- 
ment, so  here  goes." 

And  stepping  back  a  yard  or  two  to 
gain  impetus  for  the  blow,  I  rushed  at  the 
door  with  all  my  might—hands,  feet,  and 
shoulders — and  in  an  instant  I  found  myself 
lying  in  the  passage  among  the  fragments  of 
wood  and  glass,  like  the  picture  of  Samson 
among  the  ruins  of  Dagon's  Temple.  The 
resemblance  was  immediately  made  more 
complete  by  the  rushing  forward  of  all  the 
Philistines,  male  and  female,  who  were 
within  hearing  of  the  noise.  They  clustered 
round  me  with  terror  depicted  on  their  faces, 
and  exclamations  of  surprise  and  horror 
escaping  from  their  lips.  "Housebreaker — 
Irishman  —  madman"  —  were  among  the 
gentlest  of  the  names  by  which  they  saluted 
my  appearance  among  them. 

"  Where  is  the  landlord  ? "  I  said,  endea- 
vouring to  restrain  my  wrath  ;  "  I'll  punish 
him  severely  for  his  behaviour." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing,  sir  1 "  inquired 
a  vei'y  tall  and  very  gentleman-like  man.  "  If 
you  come  here  to  revenge  yourself  for  some 
real  or  imagined  wrong,  allow  me  to  tell  you 
that  personal  violence  is  not  the  way  to 
attain  your  object.  The  tribunals  of  this  great 
and  happy  country  are  open  to  the  meanest 
as  well  as  to  the  loftiest  of  its  sons.  Can't 
you  apply  to  an  attorney  1 " 

A  murmur  of   applause   ran    round    the 


Charles  Dickens,] 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 


505 


crowd,  and  from  the  exclamations  I  overheard 
1  perceived  I  had  before  me  the  great 
Mr.  Slockum. 

"  I  may,  perhaps,  have  recourse  to  the  law 
afterwards,"  I  said  ;  "  but  in  the  meantime 
I'll  show  that  inhospitable  fool,  Mr.  Smith, 
that  he  has  no  light  to  shut  his  door  in  the 
face  of  a  respectable  man,  who  can  pay  for 
his  entertainment.  Where  is  the  landlord  ?  " 
A  very  small,  dark-haired  individual,  dressed 
in  black,  and  rejoicing  in  a  stiff  white  neck- 
cloth, here  stepped  timidly  forward,  and  said, 
"  I  am  Mr.  Smith."  To  look  at  the  man,  you 
would  have  thought  him  a  curate  after  Dr. 
Pewsey's  own  heart,  for  his  collar  was  very  low, 
and  his  neck  very  strongly  enveloped  in  white 
cambric ;  his  hair  also  was  demurely  parted  on 
the  top  of  his  left  temple,  projecting  a  long 
deciduous  lock  over  his  right  eye  ;  altogether 
it  was  difficult  to  make  out  whether  he  was 
one  of  the  Neo- Anglican  clergy,  or  a  waiter 
dressed  for  duty  at  the  London  Tavern. 

"  Oh,  you're  Mr.  Smith,"  I  said  ;  "  and 
what  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  pretending  to  keep 
an  hotel  and  refusing  admittance  to  any  one 
who  chooses  to  come  in  1 "  Before  Mr.  Smith 
had  time  to  answer,  a  fat,  strong-looking  man 
laid  his  hand  on  the  landlord's  shoulder. 

"  Let  me  answer  him,  Smith,"  he  said. 
"I'm  sure,  sir,"  he  continued,  addressing 
me,  "  you  will  at  once  pardon  poor  Smith's 
oversight  in  having  locked  his  door,  if  you 
take  any  interest  in  the  progress  of  know- 
ledge or  the  triumph  of  eloquence  and  wisdom. 
Our  learned  friend,  Mr.  Slockum,  was  in  the 
middle  of  a  fascinating  lecture  at  the  time 
you  made  your  appearance  ;  and  I  confess  we 
were  all  so  carried  away  by  his  oratory  that 
we  were  very  ill-pleased  at  the  interruption. 
If  you  will  kindly  forgive  the  rudeness  of 
your  first  reception,  I  feel  sure  you  will 
be  highly  gratified  if  we  can  prevail  on 
Mr.  Slockum  to  resume  his  discourse.  He  is 
great — immensely  great" — added  the  gentle- 
man in  a  lower  key — "  and  you  will  be 
delighted,  I  am  sure." 

"I  had  heard  Mr.  Slockum's  name  before," 
I  answered,  "from  my  friend,  Miss  Gawker." 

"  A  friend  of  Miss  Gawker " — cried  the 
assemblage  unanimously  — "  of  the  great 
Arabella.  Do  pray  come  into  the  Hall  of 
Eloquence."  And  in  the  friendliest  manner 
possible  I  was  admitted  to  the  lecture  ;  and 
iny  new  friend,  the  stout  man,  who  had  acted 
as  champion  for  Mr.  Smith,  conducted  me  to 
a  chair  in  the  front  rank  of  the  audience. 

"  I  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  prosperity  of 
the  hotel,"  he  continued,  while  Mr.  Slockum 
mounted  the  rostrum,  "and,  indeed,  of  the 
whole  estate.  I  am  proprietor  of  it.  Ignatius 
Queeker." 

This,  then,  was  the  chief  of  the  family — of 
the  great  family  of  the  Queekers,  furnishing 
the  heraldic  emblems  to  the  sign-board  oi 
the  Queeker  Arms  !  I  sat  silently  down,  and 
the  lecture  recommenced.  I  was  rather 
curious  to  hear  how  the  author  would  proceed, 


for  I  remembered  that  he  had  taken  several 
years  to  write  two  lines  of  an  epigram,  and  of 
ourse  I  gave  him  credit  for  having  devoted 
a  long  time  to  the  composition  of  his  present 
essay.  In  this  I  was  not  far  mistaken,  for 
before  he  had  proceeded  a  page,  I  discovered 
lie  was  lectiiring  in  the  future  tense  on  the 
probable  effect  of  a  Reform  in  Parliament,  as 
proposed  by  Lord  Grey  and  Lord  John 
Russell.  The  picture  he  drew  of  the  results 
of  that  measure  made  my  hair  stand  on  end. 
Five  years  would  not  elapse  before  the 
uillotine  would  be  in  full  play  in  the  middle 
of  Fleet  Street.  He  gave  a  description  of  the 
heroic  death  of  an  imaginaiy  Lord  Mayor, 
which  made  several  of  us  burst  into  tears. 
Then  the  description  he  gave  of  the  degra- 
dation of  the  Commons  was  most  appalling. 
Instead  of  the  honourable  ambition  which  now 
prompted  the  pure  and  lofty  to  bestow  their 
hundreds  and  thousands  in  support  of  poor 
voters,  in  order,  by  their  disinterested  assist- 
ance, to  obtain  a  seat  in  the  great  council  of 
the  nation,  he  foresaw  a  time  when  election 
contests  would  be  at  an  end  ;  when  the  only 
struggle  would  be  to  avoid  being  chosen  as 
representative  of  county  or  borough ;  when  the 
only  expense  entailed  on  the  elected  would  be 
— as  in  the  ever  estimable  militia  ballot — the 
ayment  of  a  substitute.  "  Gatton  and 
iarum,"  he  said,  "are  still  the  twin  stars 
that  guide  the  weary  mariners  on  their  voyage 
of  patriotism  and  honour.  Extinguish  Castor, 
extinguish  Pollux,  what  will  be  left  to  direct 
the  steersman's  way  ?  The  smoke  of  a  thou- 
sand factories  in  Manchester  and  Birmingham 
will  blacken  with  pestiferous  pall  the  heaven 
in  which  Pitt  read  the  signs  of  the  times. 
Life  and  dignity  will  equally  expire.  A  head- 
less monarch  will  sit  on  a  legless  throne  ;  and 
the  monster  Reform  will  insultingly  blow  the 
trumpet — or,  like  Nero,  play  the  fiddle — 
among  the  ruins  which  it  made." 

This  peroration  was  nearly  drowned  in 
the  shout  with  which  it  was  received.  When 
the  raptures  that  filled  us  had  subsided,  he 
announced  that  in  a  few  years  he  hoped  to 
deliver  a  lecture  on  the  proofs,  from  internal 
evidences,  that  Walter  Scott  wrote  the 
Waverly  Novels.  We  were  all  enchanted 
with  the  prospect  of  future  enjoyment  ;  and 
I  began  to  think  I  had  got  embarked  by  some 
means  on  what  Alfred  Tennyson  Avould  call 
"the  backward  flowing  flood  of  time,"  and 
that  the  Butts  was  a  quiet  village  still  situated 
on  the  shores  of  1820 — but  the  audience  were 
all  in  the  dress  of  1852,  and  the  railway  was 
within  six  miles. 

Sitting  within  two  or  three  of  me  were  two 
remarkably  pretty  girls,  the  only  faces,  indeed, 
in  the  room  that  did  not  seem  of  the  same 
pre-Adamite  date  with  the  lecture.  They 
laughed  behind  their  handkerchiefs  till  I 
thought  they  would  offend  the  dignity  of  the 
assemblage,  but,  somehow,  when  they  caught 
my  eye,  their  mirth  was  greatly  increased. 
Whether  it  was  from  sympathy  with  my 


506 


HOUSEHOLD  WOUDS. 


feelings,  or  from  the  absurd  appearance  I 
must  have  made  in  listening  to  the  astound- 
ing revelations  of  the  prophetic  lecturer,  I 
cannot  say.  It  is  delightful  to  see  girls  laugh, 
expecially  when  they  are  young  and  have 
good  teeth,  so  I  encouraged  them  in  their 
mirth  by  seeming  intensely  interested  in  the 
whole  affair.  This  behaviour  apparently 
pleased  the  assembly,  especially  Mr.  Slockuin. 
He  came  up  to  me  as  the  company  began  to 
disperse,  and  invited  me  in  the  warmest  and 
friendliest  manner  to  spend  the  evening  at 
Mr.  Mudd's,  for  I  found  that  hospitality  in 
this  astonishing  district  was  almost  as 
vicarious  as  the  information  was  antediluvian. 
I  accepted  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and 
shook  hands  with  a  great  number  of  people 
as  they  were  going  out,  who  all  expressed  the 
greatest  happiness  in  the  prospect  of  seeing 
me  again.  From  this  I  gathered  that  the 
whole  parish  was  about  to  honour  Mr.  Mudd 
with  its  presence  ;  And  in  order  to  do  justice 
to  the  brilliant  assemblage,  and  get  myself 
into  perfectly  good  humour,  I  ordered  the 
best  dinner  Mr.  Smith  could  furnish,  and  a 
bottle  of  old  Port  that  should  do  honour  to 
the  Queeker  Arms. 


MONSTEES  OF  FAITH. 


WE  people  in  this  western  world  have,  in 
our  time,  not  less  than  those  who  went  before 
us,  been  witnesses  of  many  acts  of  eccentric 
and  exaggerated  faith.  We  have  seen 
this  virtue  dressed  in  many  a  guise,  tricked 
out  in  many  a  hue.  We  have  seen  it  in 
the  meanest  and  the  highest.  Johanna 
Southcote,  and  Thorn,  and  several  others  in 
their  time  put  the  old  Saxon  faith  of  this 
country  to  a  pretty  severe  test ;  in  the  present 
day  Mr.  Price  passes  it  through  a  comfortable 
Oriental  ordeal  at  his  Agapemoue.  In  the 
countries  of  southern  Europe  for  ages  past, 
we  know  how  Catholic  faith  has  been  ex- 
perimented \ipon  by  means  of  old  bones, 
old  coats,  pieces  of  decayed  timber,  and 
weeping  images ;  whilst  Protestant  faith 
has  been  staked,  and  burnt,  and  hanged,  and 
cut  into  very  small  pieces.  I  will  say  nothing 
of  secular  faith — of  faith  in  Cock  Lane 
ghosts,  in  the  Volunteer  Apostles  described 
in  a  recent  number  of  Household  Words, 
and  of  the  Mysterious  Rappings  which  have 
lately  so  wondrously  thriven  in  the  United 
States. 

What  is  cold,  dwarfed,  European  faith, 
when  compared  with  the  huge  monstrous 
faith  of  the  barbarous  land  of  the  sun  1  The 
two  will  no  more  bear  comparison  than 
will  the  Surrey  Hills  compare  with  the 
Himalayas,  or  the  Thames  and  the  Garonne 
bear  being  mentioned  beside  the  Ganges  and 
the  Burrumpootra.  The  scenes  I  am  about 
to  relate  are  not  selected  for  their  rarity 
or  for  any  peculiarity  about  them  ;  they  may 
be  met  with  at  any  of  the  many  festivals,  or 
Poojahs,  throughout  India  proper. 


The  village  at  which  the  Poojah  I  witnessed 
was  held,  was  not  very  far  distant  from  one 
of  the  leading  cities  of  Bengal,  a  city  number- 
ing possibly  half  a  million  of  inhabitants, 
with  a  highly  populous  country  round  about 
it  for  many  a  league.  The  reader  will,  there- 
fore, readily  imagine  the  crowding  and  rush- 
ing which  took  place  from  all  sides,  to  witness 
the  festival  of  a  deity  in  whom  all  believed, 
for,  away  from  the  south,  there  are  com- 
paratively but  few  of  any  other  faith  than 
Hindooism. 

It  was  high  noon  when  I  arrived  on  the 
ground  in  my  palanquin  ;  and  by  favour  of 
the  friendship  of  the  British  collector  of  How- 
dahpore  I  was  admitted  within  the  most  privi- 
leged circle,  and  took  up  my  stand  beneath  the 
pleasant  shade  of  a  wide-spreading  Jambo  tree. 
I  had  time  and  opportunity  to  note  the  place 
and  the  people ;  for  the  sacred  operations  had 
not  as  yet  commenced.  The  spot  we  were 
assembled  in  was  in  an  extensive  valley 
lightly  wooded  at  intervals,  and  commanding 
a  picturesque  view  of  a  rather  wide  river 
which  flowed  on  to  Howdahpore,  and  was 
now  busy  with  many  boats  loaded  with  pas- 
sengers. On  the  river  bank  nearest  to  us,  a 
number  of  bamboo  and  leaf  sheds  had  been 
hastily  erected,  in  which  carousals  and  amuse- 
ments of  various  kinds  were  in  progress  or 
preparation.  Flowers  decorated  the  ample 
doorways,  and  hung  festooned  from  many  a 
roof;  while  high  above,  wooing  in  vain  a 
passing  breeze  and  brightly  glaring  in  the 
noon-day  tropic  sun,  gay  streamers  drooped 
in  burning  listlessness.  From  the  topmost 
summits  of  some  of  the  loftiest  trees — and 
they  are  lofty  here  —  long  tapering  poles 
extended  other  flags  and  strips  of  coloured 
cloth.  In  cool,  shady  nooks,  where  clumps 
of  spreading  jungle  kindly  grew,  at  other 
times  the  haunts  of  fiercest  tigers,  or  worse, 
of  cruel  Thugs,  small  knots  of  Hindoo  families 
of  rank  were  grouped  in  silent  watchfulness. 
The  lordly  Zemindar  of  the  district  ;  the 
exacting  Tulukdhar,  the  terror  of  village 
ryots  ;  the  grinding  Putindhar :  all  these 
were  there  in  eastern  feudal  pomp. 

Far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  the  rich  green 
valley  teemed  with  human  life.  Thousands 
on  thousands  flocked  from  many  a  point,  and 
pressed  to  where  the  gaudy  flags  and  beating 
drums  told  of  the  approaching  Poojah.  The 
steady  hum  of  the  vast  multitude  seemed 
like  the  ocean's  fall  on  some  far  distant  shore. 
Grief,  joy,  pain,  pleasure,  prayers  and  songs, 
blended  with  howling  madness,  or  cries  of 
devotees,  in  one  strange,  stormy  discord  ;  the 
heat  and  glare,  the  many  new  and  striking 
garbs,  the  sea  of  dusky  visages  and  brightly 
glaring  eyes,  mixed  with  the  varied  gorgeous 
foliage,  and  flinging  into  contrast  the  lovely 
gentleness  of  distant  hills  and  woods,  made 
up  a  whole  not  easy  to  forget,  yet  difficult  to 
paint. 

But  my  attention  was  before  long  directed 
to  some  preparations  iu  progress  not  far  from 


Charles  Dickens.] 


MONSTERS  OF  FAITH. 


507 


where  I  stood.  I  had  observed  several  huge 
poles  standing  at  a  great  height,  with  ropes 
and  some  apparatus  attached  to  them,  the 
use  of  which  I  knew  from  report  alone. 
Here  I  now  remarked  a  great  deal  of  bustling 
activity  ;  a  number  of  attendants  were  beat- 
ing back  the  crowd  in  order  to  clear  a  space 
around  one  of  the  loftiest  of  the  poles  I  have 
mentioned.  This  was  a  work  of  much 
difficulty,  for  the  mob  was  both  excited  and 
dense.  At  length,  however,  they  succeeded 
in  the  task,  and  finding  the  ground  before  me 
pretty  clear,  I  advanced  close  to  the  scene  of 
action.  Round  about  the  pole  were  a  number 
of  Fakirs  or  Ascetics,  a  sort  of  self-mutilated 
hermits,  who  hope  and  firmly  believe  that, 
by  distorting  their  limbs  into  all  sorts  of 
impossible  positions  and  shapes,  they  have 
ensured  the  favour  of  some  unpronounceable 
divinity,  and  with  that  a  ready  and  certain 
passport  to  some  future  state  about  which 
they  have  not  the  most  remote  idea,  which 
renders  their  devotion  the  more  praiseworthy. 

There  was  one  miserable  object,  with  his 
long  matted  locks  of  dirty  red  streaming 
over  his  shoulders,  and  one  withered  arm  and 
hand  held  blighted  high  above  his  head,  im- 
moveable.  It  had  been  forced  into  that  un- 
natural position  years  ago,  and  what  was 
then  an  act  of  free  will,  was  now  a  matter  of 
necessity  ;  the  arm  would  no  longer  return,  to 
its  true  position,  but  pointed  in  its  thin  and 
bony  haggardness  to  heaven,  Another  dark- 
eyed,  dark-haired  ascetic  had  held  his  hands 
for  years  so  firmly  clasped  together,  that  the 
long  talon-like  nails  were  to  be  seen  growing 
through  the  palms  of  his  hands  and  appear- 
ing at  the  back.  Some  I  saw  with  thick 
rope  actually  threaded  through  their  flesh 
quite  round  their  bodies,  many  times,  in 
bleeding  coils  ;  more  than  one  young  woman 
was  there  with  her  neck  and  shoulders  thickly 
studded  over  with  sharp  short  needles  stuck 
firmly  in  the  flesh.  One  man,  a  young  man 
too,  had  forced  a  sort  of  spear  right  through 
the  fleshy  part  of  his  foot,  with  the  thick 
wooden  handle  downwards,  on  which  he 
walked,  quite  indifferent  to  any  sort  of  incon- 
venience. There  was  no  lack  of  others,  all  self- 
tortured,  maimed,  and  trussed,  and  skewered, 
as  though  about  to  be  spitted  and  put  down 
to  the  fire. 

The  object  which  all  by  one  consent  agreed 
to  gaze  at,  was  a  young  and  pretty-looking 
girl,  almost  a  child  in  manner,  who  sat  upon 
the  ground  so  sadly,  yet  so  calm  and  almost 
happy,  that  I  could  not  persuade  myself  one 
so  young  and  gentle  was  about  to  be  bar- 
barously tortured.  Yet  so  it  was.  It  appeared 
that  her  husband  had,  months  since,  gone 
upon  some  distant,  dangerous  journey  ;  that 
being  long  absent,  and  rumours  raised  in  the 
native  bazaar  of  his  death,  she,  the  anxious 
wife,  had  vowed  to  Siva,  the  protector  of  life, 
to  undergo  self-torture  on  his  n«xt  festival  if 
her  loved  husband's  life  should  be  spared.  He 
had  returned,  and  now,  mighty  in  faith  and  love, 


this  simple-minded,  single-hearted  creature 
gave  up  herself  to  pain  such  as  the  stoutest 
of  our  sex  or  race  might  shrink  from.  She 
sat  looking  fondly  on  her  little  infant  as  it 
lay  asleep  in  the  arms  of  an  old  nurse,  all 
unconscious  of  the  mother's  sacrifice,  and 
turning  her  eyes  from  that  to  her  husband, 
who  stood  near  in  a  wild,  excited  state,  she 

ve  the  signal  that  she  was  ready.  The 
stout-limbed,  burly-bodied  husband  rushed 
like  a  tiger  at  such  of  the  crowd  as  attempted 
to  press  too  near  the  sacrificial  girl :  he  had 
a  staff  in  his  hand,  and  with  it  played  such 
a  tune  on  bare  and  turban ed  heads  and 
ebony  shoulders,  as  brought  down  many  an 
angry  malediction  on  the  player.  The  nurse 
with  the  infant  moved  farther  away  amongst 
the  crowd  of  adr.iiring  spectators.  Two  or 
three  persons,  men  and  women,  pressed  for- 
ward to  adjust  the  horrid-looking  hooks. 
Was  it  possible,  I  thought,  that  those  huge 
instruments  of  torture,  heavy  enough  to  hold 
an  elephant,  were  to  be  forced  into  the  flesh 
of  that  gentle  girl !  I  felt  sick  as  I  saw  the 
poor  child  stretched  upon  her  face,  and  first 
one  and  then  the  other  of  those  ugly,  crooked 
pieces  of  iron  forced  slowly  through  the  flesh 
and  below  the  muscles  of  her  back.  They 
lifted  her  up,  and  as  I  watched  her,  I  saw 
big  drops  of  perspiration  starting  from  her 
forehead ;  her  small  eyes  seemed  closed  at 
first,  and,  for  the  moment,  I  fancied  she  had 
fainted  ;  but  as  they  raised  her  to  her  feet 
and  then  quickly  drew  her  up  in  the  air  high 
above  us,  hanging  by  those  two  horrid  hooks, 
I  saw  her  looking  down  quite  placidly.  She 
sought  her  husband  out,  and  seeing  him 
watching  her  eagerly,  gave  him  a  smile,  and, 
waving  her  little  hands,  drew  from  her  bosom 
small  pieces  of  the  sacred  cocoa-nut  and  flung 
them  amidst  the  gazing  crowd.  To  scramble 
for  and  obtain  one  of  these  precious  frag- 
ments was  deemed  a  fortunate  thing,  for  they 
were  supposed  to  contain  all  sorts  of  charmed 
powers. 

And  now  the  Poojah  was  fairly  commenced. 
The  ropes  which  carried  the  iron  hooks  were 
so  arranged,  that  by  pulling  one  end — which 
passed  over  the  top  of  the  pole — it  swung 
round  a  plate  of  iron  which  set  in  motion  the 
other  rope  holding  the  hooks  and  the  living 
operator.  Two  men  seized  on  this  rope,  and 
soon  the  poor  girl  was  in  rapid  flight  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd,  who  cheered  her  on 
by  a  variety  of  wild  cries,  and  shouts,  and 
songs.  Not  that  she  seemed  to  need  en- 
couragement ;  her  eyes  were  still  bent 
towards  her  husband  ;  I  almost  fancied  she 
smiled  as  she  caught  his  eye.  There  was  no 
sign  of  pain,  or  shrinking,  or  yielding :  she 
bore  it  as  many  a  hero  of  the  old  world  would 
have  been  proud  to  have  done,  scattering 
beneath  her  flowers  and  fruit  amongst  the 
busy  throng. 

I  felt  as  though  a  heavy  weight  were  off  my 
mind  when  I  perceived  the  whirling  motion 
of  the  ropes  first  to  slacken,  and  then  to  cease 


508 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


ami  finally,   the   girl,   all   bleeding,   relieved   life,  they  turned  to  such   stone  and  wooden 
from  the  cruel  torture.     They  laid  her  on  a   deities   as   their  forefathers  had  set  up,  and 


mat  beneath  some  shady  trees  :  the  women 
gave  her  a  draught  of  cool  water  in  a 
cocoa-nut  shell.  But  her  thoughts  were  not 
upon  herself :  she  looked  anxiously  around, 
and  could  not  be  satisfied  until  her  husband 
sat  beside  her,  and  their  little  swarthy 
infant  was  placed  within  her  arms.  The  only 
care  her  deep  and  open  wounds  received  was 
to  have  them  rubbed  with  a  little  turmeric 
powder,  and  covered  with  the  fresh  tender 
leaf  of  a  banana. 

Leaving  this  family  group,  I  turned  back 
to  watch  the  further  proceedings  around  the 
huge  pole,  where  there  was  once  more  a  great 
bustle  and  pressing  amongst  the  crowd.  This 
time  the  operator,  or  sufferer,  whichever 
would  be  the  most  fitting  term,  was  a  man 
of  middle  age,  and  of  the  lowest  ranks  of  the 
labouring  class.  He  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
indifferent  to  anything  like  suffering,  as  the 
two  operators  seized  the  flesh  of  his  back,  and 
another  roughly  thrust  through  it  two  hooks. 
In  another  minute  he  was  whirling  through 
the  air  as  rapidly  as  the  attendants  could  force 
him  ;  still  he  seemed  anxious  to  travel  faster, 
and  by  signs  and  cries  urged  them  to  increased 
speed.  The  mob  was  delighted  with  this 
exhibition  of  perfect  endurance  and  enthu- 
siasm, and  testified  their  approbation  in  a 
variety  of  modes.  This  man  remained  swing- 
ing for  fully  twenty  minutes,  at  the  end  of 
which  time  he  was  released :  somewhat  less 
excited,  I  fancied,  than  when  he  was  first 
hoisted  in  the  air.  I  failed  to  learn  his  story, 
but  it  had  reference,  beyond  a  doubt,  to  some 
escape  from  danger,  real  or  imaginary,  and,  of 
course,  imputed  to  the  direct  interposition  of 
the  powerful  Siva,  or  some  equally  efficacious 
deputy.  The  medical  treatment  of  this  de- 
votee was  on  the  ruder  scale,  and  would  have 
shocked  the  feelings  and  science  of  some  of 
our  army  surgeons,  to  say  nothing  of  civil 
practitioners.  The  root  of  turmeric  was 
again  employed,  in  fine  powder,  but  placed 
in  the  wounds  most  hastily,  and  by  way  of 
forcing  it  thoroughly  in,  some  one  stood  on 
his  back,  and  trod  in  the  powder  with  his 


heel. 

I  saw  one  other  man  hoisted  up. 


He  had 


taken  the  vow  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  a 
much-loved  sister's  child ;  and  as  he  swung 
round  and  round  in  stoical  indifference,  the 
sister,  a  young  creature  with  her  little  in- 
fant, sat  looking  at  him  as  if  she  would  wil- 
lingly have  borne  the  suffering  in  his  stead. 
Doubtless  there  was  a  love  linking  these  poor 
creatures  together  in  their  ignorance  ;  which, 
mighty  as  it  was,  would  have  done  honour  to 
any  highly  gifted  dwellers  in  the  west.  And, 
it  must  be  remembered,  their  sacrifice  was  for 
the  past ;  it  was  one  of  gratitude,  and  not  of 
hope  or  fear  for  the  future.  Their  prayers 
had  been  heard;  and,  although  they  knew  not 
of  that  undying  Providence  which  had  listened 
to  their  voice  and  spared  the  young  child's 


devoutly  kept  their  vow. 

There  were  other  victims  yet  to  be  self- 
offered  ;  but  I  had  had  enough,  and  the  heat, 
and  the  noise,  and  the  many  strange  effluvia 
were  growing  so  rank  and  overpowering, 
that  I  prepared  to  retreat.  As  I  returned 
through  the  dense  crowd  which  made  way  for 
me,  I  perceived  an  aged  woman  preparing 
for  a  swing  as  stoically  as  any  of  the  younger 
devotees  who  had  gone  before  her.  A  tall, 
powerful- looking  man  was  standing  by  her 
side,  watching  the  preparations  with  con- 
siderable interest.  If  e  was  her  son  ;  and,  as 
I  learnt,  the  cause  of  her  present  appearance 
in  public.  It  had  been  some  seven  or  eight 
years  previously  that  the  vow  had  been  made 
to  the  stone  deity  ;  which,  as  they  believed, ' 
had  acted  as  a  miracle  and  saved  his  life.  It 
would  have  been  fulfilled  at  once,  but  first 
poverty,  and  then  ill-health,  had  stood  in  the 
way  of  its  performance  ;  and  now,  after  this 
long  lapse,  being  able  to  pay  the  necessary  fees 
to  the  priests,  she  had  left  her  distant  home 
to  carry  out  the  never-to-be-forgotten  vow. 
As  I  moved  away  in  the  distance,  I  heard  the 
shouts  of  the  enraptured  multitude  raised  in 
honour  of  the  old  lady's  fortitude  ;  cry  after 
cry  floated  on  the  breeze  and  died  away  in 
the  din  of  drums,  and  pipes,  and  bells. 

For  miles  the  country  round  about  was 
covered  with  festivity  and  uproar.  Hun- 
dreds of  fanatic  companies  were  revelling  in 
religious  festive  rites.  In  one  leaf  and 
bamboo  shed,  larger  than  the  rest,  I  noticed, 
as  I  looked  in  uuperceived,  the  young  self- 
offered  wife  of  that  day,  as  gay  and*  un- 
concerned by  pain  as  any  of  the  party  ;  I 
might  have  fancied  she  had  but  just  been 
married,  instead  of  hanging  in  the  air  upon 
cruel  hooks. 


UP  A  COURT. 


THE  spoon  which  was,  or  was  supposed  to 
be  in  my  mouth  \vhen  I  was  born,  was, 
decidedly,  not  a  silver  spoon.  If  ever  wood 
existed — hard-wood,  lignum  vitce — my  spoon 
was  made  of  it.  I  had  the  daughter  of  a 
peeress  for  my  godmother  ;  but  she  never  gave 
me  anything,  either  in  or  out  of  my  baptism, 
save  a  Bath  bun.  I  have  been  patted  more 
than  -once  on  the  head  by  a  live  lord,  and 
there  is  a  tradition  in  my  family  that  my 
nurse  was  once  spoken  to  by  a  duke,  a  real 
English  duke,  with  a  garter  on  his  gracious 
knee  ;  whose  grateful  country,  or  friends,  or 
somebody,  caused  him  to  be  marmorified  in 
that  world-wide-kuown  statue  by  the  cele- 
brated Praxlights,  the  sculptor,  and  in  that 
state  stuck  up  for  all  the  world  to  gaze  at, 
in  the  very  centre  of  Madapolam  Square  ; — 
a  species  of  blanket  being  deviously  twisted 
round  his  gracious  body  (leaving  bare  the 
garter-knee),  and  his  fore-finger  dexterously 
interleaving  the  pages  of  a  volume  supposed 


Charles  Dickens.] 


UP  A  COUBT. 


509 


to  be  the  British  constitution ;  of  which 
he  knew,  honest  man,  about  as  much  as 
he  did  of  Confucius.  This,  however,  is  by 
the  way.  Praxlights,  the  sculptor,  had  to 
build  a  house  to  contain  a  studio  for  his 
statue,  and  had  to  pull  it  half  down  before  he 
could  get  it  out  again.  He  goes  about  now 
with  a  horsewhip,  with  which  he  has  been 
heard  to  menace  the  reverend  Gilead  Tube- 
rose, chairman  of  the  statue  committee,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  a  secret  leaning  towards 
Jack  Fiddas,  Praxlights'  rival  ("  that  horrid 
Irish  stone-cutter,"  as  he  contemptuously  calls 
him),  and  who  by  his  casting  vote  caused  the 
golden  snuff-box  and  silver  chisel,  with  which 
Praxlights  was  presented  on  the  day  of 
inauguration  of  the  statue,  to  be  debited 
against  his,  Praxlights'  account.  Be  it  as  it 
may,  my  godmother  has  cut  me,  and  the  live 
lord,  Heaven  knows  where  he  is,  and  the 
duke  he  is  dead,  and  I  am  none  the  better 
for  their  patronage,  and  have  not  one  shirt  or 
boot  the  more  for  their  condescension.  They 
lived  at  Court,  and  I  live  up  a  court,  so 
there  is  or  was  something  in  common 
between  us. 

Sometimes  of  a  fine  May  day  when  the 
sun  is  shining  brightly,  and  after  the  streets 
have  been  well  watered,  on  a  Thursday,  and 
during  the  height  of  the  London  season, 
I  please  myself  to  come  forth  from  my  court, 
in  the  parish  of  Saint  Crapulens,  and  to  pay 
a  visit  to  that  other  Court,  which  foreign 
diplomatists  love  to  call  the  Court  of  Saint 
James's,  and  in  which  I  include  the  front  of 
Saint  James's  Palace,  Mr.  Sam's  library,  the 
two  first  clubhouses  in  St.  James's  Street, 
and, Mr.  Crollins  the  tailor's.  I  delight  in  a 
drawing-room.  Ragged,  horny-palmed,  food- 
less  wretch  as  I  may  be,  the  sun  is  mine  ; 
the  music  of  the  Life  Guards  Band,  the  Park 
patereroes,  the  gorgeous  bouquets  and  silk 
stockings  of  the  tremendous  footmen,  the 
gold,  the  lace,  the  jewels,  crosses  and  orders — 
all  these  for  the  moment  I  possess.  When, 
squalid  beggar  with  never  a  coat  to  my  back 
as  I  may  be,  a  Doctor  of  Divinity  condescends 
to  share  the  same  pavement  with  me,  and 
in  full  canonicals  too  ;  when  a  bishop  con- 
descends to  hustle  me;  when  I  am  for  a 
moment  a  privileged  spectator  of  an  alterca- 
tion between  Inspector  Bumps  of  the  A 
division  (very  grand  in  silver  lace  and  white 
gloves  on  drawing-room  days)  and  an  ambas- 
sador— a  gorgeous  creature,  a  pillar  of  pride 
on  which  they  have  hung  votive  crosses  and 
stars,  like  the  wreaths  of  immortelles  on  the 
railings  of  the  column  in  the  Place  Vendome 
— I  cry  "  here  is  equality."  When  I  see  the 
horses  with  their  satin  coats,  their  small 
nervous  heads,  champing  and  stamping  in 
their  splendid  harness ;  when  I  see  those  jewel- 
boxes  on  wheels,  called  carriages  ;  when  I  eye 
reverently  the  rosy  coachmen  with  their  well- 
fitting  wigs  and  buckled  shoes  ;  when,  encum- 
beri?ig  the  very  roadway,  dodging  among 
scaffold  poles,  edging  bet  ween  cai'riage  wheels, 


popping  round  corners,  and  treading  the  pave 
ment  gingerly,  I  encounter  lords,  ambassadors,, 
generals,  lawyers,  and  divines — I  cry  "here  is 
splendour."  I  gaze  with  admiring  astonish- 
ment at  Mr.  Sheriff  Slowbob,  who  has- 
evidently  been  puzzled  where  to  put  most 
silk  and  gold — on  his  coach  or  on  himself.  I 
glance  complacently  at  Hon.  Curtius  Cow, 
of  the  United  States,  who  is  about  to  intro- 
duce to  the  Presence  his  cousin  Eufus  Cow, 
of  Caucus  County,  Va.,  now  on  a  literary 
mission  connected  with  the  "Johnnicako- 
polis  Democrat,"  and  formerly  as  neat  a  hand 
at  sampling  'dry  goods  as  any  man  in  the 
Empire  City.  He  had  a  trifling  "  difficulty  " 
lately  with  Colonel  I.  Bonaparte  Fownes, 
who,  meeting  him  in  Coon  Street,  and  on  a 
disputed  question  of  "  drinks  "  unpaid  for  at 
the  colonel's  store,  drew  a  revolver,  and  fired  : 
whereupon  Eufus  out  with  a  bowie  knife, 
and,  to  use  his  own  expressive  epithet, 
"  barked  "  the  colonel,  ripping  him  up  indeed 
"  from  the  nave  to  the  chops."  I  regard 
with  respectful  complacency  the  fine  old 
wrecks  of  generals  and  admirals  laid  up  in 
ordinary  and  gold  lace  ;  it  is  good  for  my  eye- 
sight to  see  their  weather-beaten  old  faces 
and  white  hair.  And,  oh  !  sight  of  sights,  I 
stare  with  rapt,  yet  tender  and  reverent  love 
and  admiration  at  the  fair  young  daughters 
of  Albion,  at  the  almond  eyes  and  pearl  neck- 
laces resting  on  necks  more  pearly ;  at  the 
rosy  lips  and  blonde  tresses,  the  small  hands 
and  feet,  the  slight  symmetrical  forms  ;  at  the 
plumes  and  diamonds,  the  rustling  silks  and 
long  sweeping  trains.  I  chuckle  when  I  see 
these  children  of  the  aristocracy,  and  as  I  am 
elbowed  by  a  vicious-minded  looking  old 
Austrian  minister  plenipotentiary,  with  a 
coat  on,  that  seems  to  have  grown  white  in 
the  face  with  fear  and  hatred  of  English  free- 
dom, and  covered  with  a  leprosy  of  orders — 
I  say  to  him  mentally,  "  Match  that  if  you 
can,  old  boy."  Nor,  looking  towards  where 
the  people  stand,  and  stand  unrebuked,  though 
within  popular  limits  (for  on  drawing-room 
days  the  shibboleth  of  the  Police  Commis- 
sioners' "  move  on "  slumbers  a  little),  look- 
ing towards  the  hard-fisted,  labour-stainecl 
inheritors  of  the  wooden  spoon,  who  gaze 
with  an  equably  placid  grin  at  the  spectacle — 
looking  even  towards  the  tattered  and  forlorn 
philosophers,  such  as  I  am,  I  do  not  read  in 
their  faces  anything  approaching  to  that  ex- 
pression of  ferocious  contempt  and  pusilla- 
nimous hatred  which  I  have  caught  lowering 
on  the  features  of  the  lookers-on  at  the 
grandest  foreign  merry-makings.  "  Curse 
them,"  the  look  seems  to  say  ;  "  they  beat  me, 
and  starve  me,  and  cheat  me ;  they  wring 
their  golden  toys  and  gewgaws  out  of  my 
labour  and  sweat :  they  grind  me  under  the 
wheels  of  the  tawdry  carnages."  But  here  I 
con  a  different  page,  and  different  faces. 
Well,  the  faces  seem  to  say  there  is  a  great 
deal  of  nonsense  and  extravagance,  and  a 
great  deal  of  what  may  be  popularly  termed 


510 


HOUSEHOLD  W011DS. 


[Conducted  by 


humbug,  here.  Still  there  may  be  some  good 
in  it.  I  helped  to  make  that  grand  sheriff's 
r,o:;ch,  and  received  a  lair  day's  pay  for  a  fair 
day's  labour.  There  might  be  surely,  and  ad- 
vantageously, a  little  less  gold  on  yonder 
coats  and  carriages,  and  a  little  more  in  the 
pockets  of  myself,  and  of  my  mates  ;  but 
still,  should  my  son  Tom  ever  become  Field 
Marshal  Smith,  or  my  son  John  Lord  Chan- 
cellor Brown,  it  will  do  me  no  harm  to  see 
them  wear  gold  coats,  and  ride  in  gold  coaches 
too.  Who  knows  1  They  're  wondrous  quick 
at  learning.  At  which  reflection  the  labour- 
beaten  faces  clear  up,  and  the  placid  grins 
expand  into  a  joyous  guffaw,  as  a  coster- 
monger's  cart,  which  has  sprung  from  no 
man  knows  where,  and  of  which  the  driver 
wears  the  most  hopeless  expression  of  being 
out  of  his  element  that  ever  costermonger 
wore,  is  made  to  curvet  and  to  oscillate,  to 
back  and  to  advance,  by  infuriate  policemen  ; 
who  know  as  little  what  to  do  with  it  as  does 
the  driver  himself ;  and,  seeing  that  the  up  line 
and  down  line  of  carriages  in  all  the  streets 
are  all  crowded,  can  only  menace  him  with 
their  staves  in  a  vague  manner,  and  make 
sudden  feints  of  arresting  him,  and  dragging 
hi  m  off'  to  a  chimerical  Greenyard.  How  are 
they  to  get  him  there  ? 

Meanwhile,  I  have  had  my  fill  of  the  Court 
of  Saint  James's ;  and,  sunning  myself  in  what 
I  have  seen — with  the  fanfare  of  the  trumpets 
still  in  my  ears,  with  the  diamonds  yet 
glittering,  the  plumes  yet  waving,  the 
beautiful  English  faces  yet  sparkling  before 
me — I  creep  back  to  my  court  in  the  parish  of 
SaAnt  Crapulens.  If  the  reader  likes,  I  will 
take  him  with  me. 

To  Slaughterhouse  Court.  Low  Lane,  Saint 
Crapulens.  Walk  up  the  court,  pray.  Observe 
the  dirt ;  also  the  smells.  Walk  inside.  Ob- 
serve a  repetition  of  the  dirt  and  the  smells. 
Look  at  the  people.  Examine  the  children. 
Look  at  (but  don't  drink)  the  water,  where 
there  is  any.  I  live  here. 

Why  do  I  live  here  1  It  may  be  that  I  am 
a  philosopher,  an  author  dwelling  up  a  court 
like  Goldsmith  or  Johnson  in  solitude,  total 
idleness,  and  ':  the  pride  of  literature."  It 
may  be  that  I  have  nowhere  else  to  live — 
that  I  have  never  possessed  in  my  life  half-a- 
dozen  shirts,  an  umbrella,  or  a  home.  That 
I  never  was  respectable.  That  I  am  one  of 
the  rabble — the  lower  classes — the  inferior 
orders.  That  my  father's  name  was  Eag, 
and  his  father  being  Tag,  I  am  Bobtail.  Be 
it  as  it  may,  I  live  here. 

Goodness  knows  who  built  Slaughterhorse 
Court  ;  or,  indeed,  Calf  Alley  close  by  (leading 
into  Bleeding-knife  Yard)  ;  what  sort  of  a 
man  could  he  have  been,  so  devoid  of  common 
sense,  of  common  charity,  to  build,  or  to 
counsel  the  building  of  such  a  hole  as  this  ? 
It  must  always  have  been  a  hole.  If  every 
arrangement  for  dirt,  discomfort,  misery,  and 
wretchedness  had  been  systematic,  organised, 
deliberately  meditated,  and  carried  out  as  a 


good  joke,  or  a  moral  lesson,  or  for  any  object 
with  malice  prepense  or  aforethought  by  the 
architect,  he  could  not  have  succeeded  better. 
Slaughterhorse  Court  was  built  before  there 
was  gas  ;  but  the  builder  seems  to  have  con- 
templated the  possibility  of  such  a  invention  ; 
for  he  has  rendered  it  almost  impossible  to 
erect  gas  lamps  or  to  lay  gas  on.  He  has  made 
little  preventive  nooks  and  corners,  walls 
and  beams  to  burk  the  laying  on  of  water,  to 
crush  sewerage,  to  counteract  the  simplest 
measures  of  ventilation.  He  must  have  hated 
his  species,  this  builder  ;  he  must  have  howled 
with  joy  to  do  them  a  mischief,  to  build  this 
infernal  spider's  web  for  human  flies  to  be 
tortured  in. 

I  am  not  afraid  to  speak  my  mind.  It  is  a 
hole,  it  is  a  spider's  web.  It  is  an  uncovered 
sewer  with  an  anthill  burrowing  in  it.  There 
is  a  rogue,  though,  who  snuffs  up  its  fetid 
atmosphere,  as  though  it  were  laden  with 
all  the  perfumes  of  Araby  the  blest.  He 
takes  care,  however,  not  to  live  up  our  court, 
He  lives  on  it.  On  stated  days  you  may 
see  him  stop  at  the  corner  of  Slaughter- 
horse  Court  and  Low  Lane,  in  a  little 
wickerwork  chaise,  drawn  by  a  fat,  sleek- 
coated,  vicious  poney.  He  is  an  ill-looking 
man,  with  a  double  chin  grovelling  in  the 
folds  of  an  ill -washed  neckcloth.  He  has  fat 
hands,  on  which  the  starched  end  of  his 
wristbands  makes  a  mark,  and  of  which  the 
nails  are  in  half-mourning.  I  never  knew  a 
good  man  to  have  hands  like  those.  He  is 
the  landlord. 

This  fellow,  fattening  on  the  rents  he 
grinds  out  of  us  poor  courtiers,  lives  in  a 
pleasant  house  at  Highgate  ;  a  little  gem  of  a 
cottage  where  there  is  ivy,  and  lilac,  and 
geranium  ;  where  the  odours  of  hay-ricks  float 
on  the  air  with  golden  wings  ;  a  little  sweet- 
smelling  eyrie  on  a  high  hill,  which  stands 
nodding  familiarly  to  Hampstead,  winking 
confidentially  to  Hornsey  ;  but  regarding  with 
a  supercilious  stare  of  astonishment  the  great 
smoking,  steaming  giant  of  a  city  with  a 
cupola-shaped  hat  and  a  ball  and  cross  at  the 
top,  just  as  a  fresh  country  lass,  new  from 
gathering  primroses,  would  stare  at  a  big, 
swart,  grimy  ballast-heaver  drinking  his 
thirteenth  pint  of  beer  after  a  hard  day's 
walk  alongside  the  "  Maria  Jane."  Does  he 
ever  think,  this  double-chinned  earthworm, 
grovelling  in  a  honeysuckled  summer-house 
in  his  slip  of  a  garden,  moistening  his  wicked 
old  clay  with  beeswinged  port,  and  smoking 
his  comfortable  pipe, — does  he  ever  think  on 
the  quiet  summer  Sunday  evenings,  while 
watching  the  swallows  wending  their  way  to 
and  fro  the  great  city  in  the  distance,  that  there 
is  not  a  little  bird  among  them  but  might 
be  the  bearer  of  a  message  of  wrath  and 
vengeance  to  him  from  Slaughterhorse  Court  ; 
where  the  filthy  houses  he  lets,  and  persists 
in  letting,  and  in  conniving  at  sub-letting  and 
in  refusing  to  improve,  are  so  noisome,  so 
infected,  so  hideous  that  the  swallows  will  not 


Charles  Dickens.] 


UP  A  COUET. 


511 


sit  on  the  eaves  to  sun  themselves  ;  that  the 
shrewd  starlings  avoid  the  place  with  a  side- 
long, cock-eyed  glance  of  aversion  ;  that  the 
homely  sparrows  (and  Heaven  knows  they 
are  not  difficult  to  please)  alight  timidly,  hop 
irresolutely  in  its  loathsome  precincts,  and 
fly  hurryscurry  away  ;  preferring  rather  to  go 
erumbless  to  their  nests  than  pick  the  crumbs 
from  our  table.  What  live  things  could  thrive 
in  Slaughterhouse  Court,  save  obscene  rats, 
and  Chance  the  one-eyed  terrier,  who  belongs 
to  the  costermonger  (who  has  not  got,  I  am 
afraid,  a  worse  name  than  he  deserves),  and  a 
mildewed  cock,  with  a  broken  crest,  and  such 
poor,  sodden,  sallow  human  rubbish  as  we  are? 
I  doubt  if  Mr.  Gooze,  of  Gooze  Cottage,  High- 
gate,  troubles  himself  with  much  thought 
about  Slaughterhorse  Court.  He  may  say 
with  an  opaque  wheeze  to  his  friend  Broome, 
the  ex  dust-contractor,  or  to  his  crony,  Grubb, 
the  retired  bone-boiler,  "  Them  houses  down 
Low  Lane  brings  me  a  deal  of  money  ; "  but 
what  does  he  know,  what  does  he  think  of, 
what  does  he  care  for  the  want,  and  crime,  and 
miser}',  that  dirt  and  sub-letting  (both  to  be 
laid  at  his  door)  have  wrought  and  are  wreak- 
ing in  Slaughterhorse  Court.  Heaven  mend 
us  all !  We  are  all  selfish.  What  should  I 
care  about  the  wretchedness  of  Slaughter- 
horse  Court  if  I  didn't  live  up  it  ? 

It  is  not  only  that  Mr.  Gooze  drinks  his 
Port,  and  smokes  his  pipe,  and  grows  his 
geraniums,  and  keeps  his  gig  at  Gooze 
Cottage,  Highgate,  out  of  the  rents  of  our  court ; 
Slaughterhorse  Court  supports  other  land- 
lords. Gentlemen,  friends  of  the  middleman,  of 
the  sub-letting  system,  stop  at  No.  5,  up  our 
court,  and  take  your  fill  of  the  beauties  of 
sub-letting.  No.  5  is  the  rottenest,  filthiest 
house  in  our  rotten  filthy  court.  The  wood- 
work, brickwork,  stonework,  are  all  rotten. 
The  entrance  passage  shelves  down  like  the 
entrance  to  a  public-house  cellar  ;  the  window 
frames  have  shrivelled,  and  left  gaps  between 
them  and  the  window-cases.  'There  is  not  a 
right  angle  among  them.  I  would  bet  my 
morrow's  dinner  (if  I  earn  one)  that  not  one 
of  the  dingy  panes  of  glass  that  have  not  yet 
been  displaced  by  foul  rags,  tattered  great 
coats,  impossible  flannel  petticoats,  brown 
paper,  and  scraps  of  the  Newgate  school  of 
publications,  has  been  cleaned  for  twenty 
years.  The  tenants  have  stripped  what  little 
piping  or  guttering  there  ever  was  away  :  the 
door-posts  which  were  garnished  with  plates 
and  bells,  when  there  was  only  a  moderate 
number  of  tenants — say,  a  dozen  or  a  score, 
at  No.  5 — now  present  only  the  caverns  of 
defunct  bell-pulls,  and  one  twisted,  rusted 
bell-wire. 

The  different  floors  of  this  disreputable 
tenement  are  let  and  sub-let  to  an  infamous 
degree  of  minuteness.  It  is  not  the  sub- 
division of  a  house  into  so  many  rooms  to  so 
many  tenants  that  I  object  to  :  it  is  that  every 
room  should  in  its  turn  be  subdivided  ;  that 
beds  should  be  underlet,  that  in  the  garrets 


the  very  floors,  sometimes,  should  be  at  a 
premium,  that  in  the  cellar  one  Phelim 
Connor — whom  I  would  not  libel  by  saying 
that  he  was  from  Ireland — pays  a  few  shillings 
a  week  for  a  miserable  den,  into  which  he 
crams  as  many  of  his  miserable  countrymen 
and  women  as  can  afford  to  pay  a  few  pence 
a  night.  I  am  poor  and  miserable,  I  know, 
but  I  am  bold  enough  to  lift  up  my  voice 
against  our  court,  because  the  evidence  is 
there  full,  broad  staring  in  the  face  of  God's 
heaven,  to  bear  me  out ;  because  I  am  ready 
at  any  time  of  the  day  to  say  to  the  gentle- 
men who  live  among  plate-glass  windows, 
ventilated  rooms,  chimnies  that  don't  smoke, 
and  doors  that  will  shut,  in  Great  Goliah 
Street,  close  by  :  "  Walk  in,  gentlemen,  hold 
your  noses,  tread  gingerly  ;  but  walk  in  and 
satisfy  yourselves.  Not  only  number  five,  but 
many  more  numbers.  Don't  we  want  a  little 
water  ?  Don't  we  want  a  little  soap  1  If  we 
were  better  lodged,  don't  you  think  we  should 
have  a  slight  temptation  to  exert  ourselves 
to  get  better  fed  and  better  taught  ?  Depend 
upon  it  you  would  not  have  to  sit  on  so  many 
fever  inquests,  so  many  starvation  inquests, 
so  many  murder  inquests.  If  you  would  only 
have  a  word  or  two  with  our  landlord,  Mr. 
Gooze,  you  would  not  so  often  hear  our  voices 
quarrelling  and  blaspheming  as  you  pass  on 
your  way  to  counting-house  or  to  chapel. 
5Tou  would  not  be  forced  to  pass  through  our 
court  with  fear  and  trembling  after  nightfall. 
You  would  not  be  compelled  to  expend  so 
much  virtuous  indignation  at  vestry  at  the 
doings  of  that  abominable  den,  Slaughter- 
horse  Court :  useless  indignation,  seeing  that 
you  allow  the  abomination  to  remain." 

If  you  don't  believe  me,  come  and  live  up 
our  court.  Associate  with  Mr.  Phelim 
Connor's  lodgers,  and  his  lodgers'  lodgers, 
including  the  auimalculse.  You  are  educated 
men  :  draw  a  parallel  between  Nebuchad- 
nezzar grazing  like  an  ox,  and  us,  wallowing 
like  pigs.  Buy  your  victuals  at  the  miserable 
little  chandler's  shop,  where  Mrs.  M'Cann 
earns  an  ignoble  livelihood  by  selling  offal  a 
little  dearer  than  she  bought  it.  Come  !  you 
are  sure  to  find  somebody  at  home.  Some  of 
our  children  are  always  sprawling  or  fighting 
in  the  dirt  ;  some  of  our  gentlemen  are 
always  smoking  their  pipes  at  the  doorways  ; 
some  of  our  ladies  are  always  cowering  or 
wrangling  on  the  doorsteps. 

Am  I  without  hope  for  our  court  1  Oh  no  ! 
I  have  lived  up  it  many  years  (I  dwelt  in 
Swag  Alley — Grubb's  Bents  before),  and  have 
seen  a  very  dismal  and  weary  succession  of 
dirty,  fighting,  unwashing  years  ;  but  within 
the  last  few  mouths  hope — faint  and  distant, 
yet  hope  still — begins  to  peer  above  the 
horizon.  From  my  window,  at  number  eight, 
I  can  see  the  nearly  completed  tower  of  a 
public  establishment  for  baths  and  wash- 
houses  at  the  very  corner  of  our  court  where 
erst  was  Muggins's  beershop ;  a  model  lodging- 
house,  at  three  shillings  a  head  per  week  for 


512 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


each  lodger,  has  just  been  opened.  The  good 
time  will  coma,  and  Mr.  Gooze  will  be  put  to 
confusion  yet. 


THE  EHYME  OF  THE  CALIPH* 

THE   Caliph  Abder^mn,  in  the  pleasant  South  of 

Spain, 
Long  continued,  firmly  grounded  on  his  people's 

.  love,  to  reign  ; 
And  one  day  his  courtiers  left  him  in  his  palace-hall 

nlone, 
And  he  fell  into  deep  musings,  sitting  on  his  golden 

throne. 

"  Fifty  years,"  he  thought,  "  have  vanished  since  I've 

held  the  royal  power, 
Standing  in  the  midst  of  warfare  with  the  calmness 

of  a  tower. 
Fifty  Winters,  fifty  Summers,  fifty  Autumns,   fifty 

Springs, 
Eise  like  flocks  of  birds  before  me,  fluttering   on 

their  airy  wings. 

"  I  will  shut  mine  eyes  in  darkness ;  I  will  close 

up  both  mine  ears ; 
That  my  soul  may  look  and  listen  down  the  vista  of 

the  years ; 
For  I  fain  would  gather  wisdom  of  the   rich  and 

solemn  Past, 
And,  from  many-visaged  Action,  pluck  the  central 

Truth  at  last. 

"  Lo !   the   visions   gather  thickly !     Through   that 

length  of  time  my  hand 
Has    been    clothed    with   awful   power,   and   been 

honour'd  through  the  land  ; 
The  young  mothers   murmur  of  me,  as  they  sing 

their  babes  to  rest, 
Sitting  at  their  open  casements,  when  the  sun  is  in 

the  West. 

"  Riches  I  have  had,  uncounted — ample  pleasures — 

regal  state — 
Might  in  all  its  sumptuous  aspects — homage  of  the 

good  and  great — 
And   the   liquid  lays   of  poets,   glittering  from  the 

gorgeous  East, 
All  exalting  AbJerama,  have  I  heard  at  many  a  feast. 

"Round  my  throne  I  have  assembled  grey  philo- 
sophers, whose  sleep 

Brings  them  fiery  revelations  from  the  distant  starry 
deep ; 

And  my  court  has  shone  with  warriors  of  the  old 
Arabian  race, 

With  their  eager  souls  out-looking  in  the  quick 
blood  of  the  face. 

"Art  and  Science,  the  twin-sisters,  speak  my  praises 

near  and  far ; 
Learning,  from  her  groves  and  cloisters,  hails  me  as 

a  morning  star ; 
And,  though  threatened  by  the   Faithless,   I   have 

kept  my  lands  entire, 
Underneath  the  sacred  lightnings  of  the  Crescent's 

silver  fire. 

*  Abderama  the  Third,  one  of  the  Spanish- Arabian 
caliphs,  is  said  to  have  left  behind  him,  after  his  death  in 
the  year  961,  when  he  had  reigned  fifty  years,  a  paper 
containing  the  substance  of  the  complaint  embodied  in  these 
stanzas. 


"  To  increase  my  glory  farther,  and  the  largeness  of 

my  joys, 
I  have  caused   a  wondrous  palace  in  a  garden  to 

arise — 
In  a  garden  deep  and  leafy,   where   the  sparkling 

walls  are  seen 
Through  the  crowding  of  the  tree-trunks,  and  the 

heavy,  tremulous  green. 

"  Like  a  vision  in  a  sunset  rise  my  palace-towers  in 

air, 
And  the  domes  suspended  lightly,  and  the  galleries 

white  and  fair, 
And  the  terrace-walks  of  marble,  shadowy  dim  with 

citron  bowers, 
Where  the   birds,    made  faint  with    perfume,   fall 

asleep  upon  the  flowers. 

"And  within,   the   walls   are   builded   all   of  lapis 

lazuli, 
Overwrought  with  rubies  sanguine,  and  the  diamond's 

glancing  eye , 
And  the  air  is  cool'd  with  fountains,  springing  from 

the  metal  rich, 
Each  one  with  its  golden  sculptures  standing  in  a 

jasper  niche. 

"  Forty  thousand  silver  columns    lift    the  ceiling 

sappharine, 
Where  the  lamps  of  lucid  crystal  shed  a  languid  light 

divine — 
Shed  a  light  on  orbs  of  gold,  that  start  and  tremble 

into  view, 
Like  the  constellations  kindled  in  a  depth  of  evening 

blue. 

'"Who  so  happy  as  our  Caliph?'  cry   the  people. 

'  Every  hour 
Is  to  him  a  stately  vision,  full  of  loveliness  and 

power — 
Lying  in  a  light  of  jewels — laughing  under  lips  of 

love, — 
Like  a  rose-bud  deeply  reddening  to  the  regal  Sun 

above.' 

"  Idle  words,  and  lightly  spoken  !     In  that  lapse  of 

fifty  years, 
I  have  noted  every  day  which  has  been  free  from 

doubts  and  fears — 
Every   day  of  perfect  pleasure,  luscious,  lingering, 

and  serene, 
When  my  soul  has  seemed  a  monarch.     And  the 

number  is  fourteen ! 

"  Better  had   I   been   a   herdsman,   keeping   flocks 

upon  a  hill, 
Eating  the  earth's  simple  produce,  drinking  water 

from  the  rill ! 
Better  had  I  been  an  Arab  in  the  desert's  luminous 

haze, 
Living  like  a  patriarch  after  Nature's  unadulterate 

ways ! 

"  Better  to  have  dwelt  uulook'd-for  in  some  forest's 

shadows  dun, 
Where  the   leaves   are   pierc'd  in  triumph   by  the 

javelins  of  the  sun  ! 
Better  to   be   born,   and   die,   in  some  calm   nest, 

howe'er  obscure, 
With  a  vine  about  the  casements,  and  a  fig-tree  at 

the  door ! 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HOUSEHOLD  SCENERY. 


513 


"  Had  I  known  no  greater  riches  than  the  common 

earth  and  air  ; 
Had  my  flatterers  been  the  tempests,  blowing  from 

the  mountains  bare ; 
Had  my  palaces  beeu  caverns ;  had  my  fountains 

been  the  floods ; 
Had  my  gardens  been  the  valleys  and  the  barky, 

black-limb'd  woods  ; 

"  Had  I  seen  no  other  pageants  than  the  trooping 

clouds  at  even 
(Islands  of  the  airy  ocean,  with  their  baseless  tops 

in  Heaven), 
Or  the  Autumn  forests,  burning  into  heavy  red  and 

brown, 
And  great  flamy  breadths  of  yellow,   ere  the  leaves 

are  shatter'd  down; 

"  Had  I  never  felt  the  aching  and  the  fiery-seeming 

pain 
Of  the  sceptre  to  the  hand,  and  of  the  crown  about 

the  brain, — 
Happier  would  my  days  have  glided,  calmer  would 

my  nights  have  flown  !  " 
And  the    Caliph  sigh'd  full  sorely,   sitting   on  his 

golden  throne. 


HOUSEHOLD  SCENERY. 


MOST  people  amuse  themselves,  at  one  time 
or  other  of  their  lives,  by  fancying  what  sort 
of  house  they  would  like  to  live  in  ;  what 
sort  of  house  they  would  build  for  themselves, 
if  they  had  opportunity  for  that  very  charm- 
ing amusement.  But  the  last  thing  that 
people  seem  to  have  any  thought  about  is 
the  walls  of  their  rooms.  Yet,  what  is 
there  that  we  see  so  much  of  as  the  walls 
of  the  rooms  we  live  in  ?  Even  those  who 
have  the  blessing  of  a  country  residence — 
those  even  who  dwell  in  one  of  the  very  few 
remaining  parsonages  in  the  North  of  England, 
where  a  spacious  porch  shelters  the  house- 
door  from  draughts  and  driving  rains,  and 
who  resort  to  that  porch,  looking  out  upon  a 
meadow  or  a  flower-garden, — even  these  have 
to  sit  between  four  walls  for  at  least  three- 
fourths  of  the  year ;  and  certainly  always 
to  sleep  within  them.  It  is  all  very  well 
to  revel  in  fine  views  from  terrace  or 
window  ;  but  it  is  well,  also,  to  consider  what 
our  eyes  shall  rest  upon  in  all  times  of  sick- 
ness, of  bad  weather,  and  when  the  sun  is 
below  the  horizon.  It  is  a  charming  specu- 
lation to  a  man  about  to  build  a  house  for  his 
own  residence,  to  plan  what  it  shall  look  like 
externally — how  many  rooms  it  shall  have, 
and  how  they  shall  be  most  conveniently 
arranged  ;  but  the  aspect  of  the  four  walls  of 
each  room  is  worth  mature  consideration  too. 
In  old  times,  people  thought  more  of  this 
matter  than  we  do,  if  we  may  judge  by  the 
pains  taken  to  decorate  the  interior  of  ancient 
buildings  ;  and  those  who  attend  to  the  signs 
of  civilisation  assure  us  that  there  will  be  a 
revival  of  such  thought  and  pains — and  very 
soon.  Let  us  hope  that  this  is  true.  • 

There  could  scarcely,  at  any  former  time, 


have  been  a  greater  variety  in  the  walls  of 
human  abodes  than  there  is  now.  High  up 
in  the  north  there  are  the  Esquimaux,  huddled 
together  within  a  circular  wall  made  of  snow, 
built  up  in  slabs,  inclining  inwards,  so  as  to 
form  a  dome — a  house  of  bee-hive  shape.  Our 
English  feelings  would  be  put  to  a  severe  trial 
in  such  a  place.  If  the  walls  remain  solid,  it  is 
only  because  the  temperature  is  below  freezing 
point.  If  we  should  begin  to  flatter  ourselves 
with  any  notion  of  warm  feet — of  ceasing  to 
ache  and  shiver  with  cold — at  once  the  walls 
begin  to  steam  and  run  down,  and  the  wretched 
chill  of  thaw  brings  back  despair.  Much  the 
same  may  be  said  of  such  palaces  of  ice  as  we 
read  of  in  Russia.  Translucent,  glittering 
with  a  bluish  star-like  light,  there  is  still  the 
terrible  alternative  of  frost  or  thaw  within 
doors  ;  each  alike  excluding  all  hope  of  whole- 
some warmth.  Much  pleasanter  to  our  feel- 
ings is  the  South  Sea  Island  dwelling,  where 
the  walls  are  nothing  more  than  poles  of 
bamboo ;  through  which  the  morning  and 
evening  breeze  may  blow  freely.  To  be  sure, 
if  privacy  is  desired,  something  more  is  re- 
quisite ;  for  such  an  edifice  seems  to  be 
designed  for  a  community  of  that  kind  of 
stupid  people,  of  whom  the  Americans  say 
that  they  "  cannot  see  through  a  ladder." 
However  broad  may  be  the  eaves,  however 
prolonged  the  thatch  of  palm-leaves,  the  sun 
must  peep  into  the  abode  when  he  is  low 
in  the  sky  ;  and  there  is  no  hour  of  the  day 
in  that  climate  when  the  sun  is  a  welcome 
visitor  within  doors.  To  meet  these  cases, 
there  are  mattings  made  of  grass,  which  may 
be  hung  up  where  wanted.  These  simple 
hangings  have  a  grace  and  charm  about  them 
which  no  others,  however  gay  and  costly,  can 
boast :  they  are  deliciously  fragrant,  especially 
when  moistened.  As  the  night  dews  descend, 
and  when  the  breeze  from  the  sea  comes  to 
shake  these  primitive  curtains,  a  sweet  scent 
charms  the  watcher,  and  spreads  luxuriously 
through  the  dreams  of  the  sleeper. 

There  are  houses  even  now  in  civilised 
countries,  which  let  the  stars  be  seen  through 
their  walls.  We  have  ourselves  been  enter- 
tained in  a  dwelling  where  the  drawing-room 
was  full  of  couches,  easy  chairs,  boots  and 
musical  instruments  ;  where  the  dining-room 
was  set  out  with  an  array  of  plate ;  but 
where,  being  wakeful  in  the  night,  we  enjoyed 
the  singular  amusement  of  observing  the  stars 
passing  over  chinks  in  the  walls,  shining  full 
into  our  eyes  in  the  transit.  How  could  this 
be  1  Why,  the  house  was  a  log-house,  on  a 
plantation  in  a  hot  region.  Perhaps  from 
want  of  leisure,  perhaps  for  the  sake  of  cool- 
ness, the  logs  had  been  left  rough,  and  the 
spaces  between  were  not  filled  up  with  clay 
and  moss,  as  is  the  practice  further  north. 
So  the  mosquitoes  swarmed  in  and  out,  and 
hummed  all  night  long;  not  to  our  annoy- 
ance, for  we  were  safe  within  a  "  mosquito- 
bar,"  or  muslin  curtain,  completely  enveloping 
the  bed  ;  not  to  our  annoyance,  therefore, 


514 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


and  we  may  hope  to  their  own  satisfaction, 
unless  they  were  hungry,  and  tantalized  by 
our  inaccessible  presence.  Poets  compare 
human  eyes  to  stars.  It  struck  us  that  we 
preferred  those  real  stars,  shining  through 
the  wall,  to  certain  glittering  human  eyes 
which  a  lady  once  saw  shining  from  her  wall. 
As  the  story  goes,  this  poor  lady — destined 
to  a  terrible  flight — was  sitting  alone  before 
the  fire,  opposite  a  mirror  which  rested  on 
the  mantelpiece,  and  taking  off  her  jewelled 
necklace  and  bracelets  before  retiring  to  rest, 
when  she  looked  up  accidentally  and  saw 
in  the,  mirror — what  must  have  made  a 
tapestried  room  terrible  to  her  as  long  as 
she  lived — for  it  was  in  a  room  hung  with 
tapestry  that  she  was  sitting.  She  saw 
shining  eyes  rolling  in  the  head  of  one  of  the 
woven  figures,  a  sight  which  we,  safe  from 
all  ambush  of  the  kind,  can  never  think  of 
without  a  quiver  of  sympathetic  dread.  She 
knew  that  a  thief  was  watching  her,  and  that 
there  must  be  some  accomplice  in  the  house 
who  had  cut  out  the  eyes  of  the  figure  to 
enable  him  to  do  so.  She  did  not  go  into 
hysterics,  nor  do  anything  else  that  was  not  to 
the  purpose.  She  took  no  notice,  sat  awhile 
longer  without  looking  into  the  mirror  ; — no 
doubt  with  a  deadly  horror  of  being  ap- 
proached from  behind.  She  unfastened  some 
part  of  her  dress,  yawned,  put  on  a  natural 
appearance  of  sleepiness,  lighted  her  chamber 
caudle,  locked  her  jewel  case,  and — the  only 
suspicious  proceeding — left  it  on  the  table, 
walked  steadily  towards  the  eyes,  the  door 
being  in  that  direction,  quickly  took  the 
key  from  the  lock,  left  the  room,  locked 
the  door  on  the  outside,  and  quietly  went 
to  seek  help  which  she  could  better  trust 
than  that  of  her  own  servants.  Such  is 
one  of  the  horrible  stories  which  belong  to 
the  days  of  tapestry  hangings,  those  curtain- 
coverings  for  walls  which  are  perhaps  the 
most  objectionable  of  all  modes  of  decorating 
apartments. 

This  is  downright  heresy,  no  doubt,  in 
the  eyes  of  those  who  make  the  pursuit  of 
tapestry  an  idolatry.  Nobody  doubts  the 
vast  amount  of  pains  and  care  spent  on 
tapestry  as  an  art.  Nobody  doubts  the  skill 
which  so  directed  the  shuttle  or  the  needle  as 
that  they  rivalled  the  pencil  and  the  brush 
in  their  delineations.  In  fact,  no  art  could 
be  despised  which  employed  the  talents  of  the 
greatest  painters  ;  and  while  the  cartoons  of 
Haffaelle  are  associated  in  our  minds  with 
tapestry  hangings,  it  is  impossible  to  speak 
with  disrespect  of  such  a  representative  of 
the  art  of  a  past  century.  But  we  may  be 
glad  that  it  belonged  to  a  past  century,  and 
that  the  present  has  done  with  tapestry.  It 
might  be  necessary,  in  the  days  of  imperfect 
building,  to  keep  out  draughts.  King  Alfred 
might  have  been  glad  of  it  before  he  invented 
his  lantern,  and  when  his  candles  were  flaring 
and  wasting  so  as  to  baffle  him  in  his  measure- 
ment of  time  by  their  burning ;  but  we,  in 


our  tight  houses,  whose  walls  have  no  chinks 
and  cracks,  may  better  hang  our  apartments 
with  clean,  and  light,  and  wholesome  paper, 
which  harbours  no  vermin,  screens  no  thieves, 
and  scares  no  fever  patient  with  night-visions 
of  perplexity  and  horror. 

It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  tapestry 
was  invented  to  cover  defects  in  the  building 
of  walls.  From  the  little  we  know,  it  may 
rather  be  inferred  that  it  was  first  used  as  a 
convenient  imitation  of  the  more  ancient  deco- 
ration of  painted  walls.  The  first  tapestries 
which  are  seen  fluttering  amidst  the  shadows 
of  remote  history,  were  in  the  East,  and  of  the 
same  monstrous  order  of  delineation  with 
the  Egyptian  decorations,  which  so  many 
travellers  have  described  for  a  thousand  years 
past.  The  Egyptians  used  to  paint  the  scenes 
of  their  lives  and  deaths, — their  occupations, 
amusements,  their  funerals,  and  their  mytho- 
logy, upon  the  massive  walls  of  their  temples 
and  tombs.  There  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that 
the  convenience  of  making  these  pictures 
moveable  gave  rise  to  the  manufacture  of 
woven  hangings.  One  striking  instance  of 
this  is  on  record,  in  the  case  of  the  hangings 
of  the  Tabernacle  which  Moses  caused  to  be 
made  in  the  desert.  The  description  of  the 
animals  wrought  on  that  tapestry  answers 
exactly  to  that  of  the  walls  of  an  Egyptian 
temple  ;  and  it  is  the  opinion  of  learned  men 
that  the  Greeks,  as  well  as  the  Hebrews, 
thence  derived  their  notions  of  fantastic  com- 
posite creatures — griffins,  centaurs,  and  the 
like,  which  certainly  were  wrought  in 
tapestries  for  the  Greeks  by  Oriental  workmen. 
After  a  time,  the  Greeks  substituted  prettier 
objects  in  the  centres  of  their  hangings,  and 
drew  off  all  the  monstrosities  into  the  borders. 
In  like  manner,  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  tapestries  were  gifts  for  kings  to  bestow 
and  to  receive,  there  was  great  beauty  of 
design  and  infinite  delicacy  of  execution  in 
the  finer  tapestries,  on  which  artists  spent 
their  best  pains,  and  kings  spent  a  vast 
amount  of  money. 

We  must  not  suppose  that  all  hang- 
ings were  like  those  that  our  Henry  the 
Eighth  fostered,  or  the  French  Henry  the 
Fourth  and  Louis  the  Fourteenth.  While 
the  royal  and  the  rich  hung  their  palaces  and 
their  mansions  with  such  fabrics  as  the 
Gobelin  tapestry,  the  less  wealthy  were  content 
with  plain  velvet,  with  worsted  stuff,  with 
any  thing  that  would  hide  their  unsightly 
walls,  and  keep  them  warm  in  their  ill-built 
houses.  The  best  and  the  worst  were  alike  a 
nuisance  in  a  dwelling-house.  They  imbibed 
the  smoke  ;  they  grew  mouldy  with  damp  ; 
and,  in  hot  weather,  they  gave  out  a  worse 
plague  (if  there  be  a  worse)  than  the  mos- 
quitoes of  tropical  countries.  It  appears  to 
us,  in  our  cleanly  times,  that  our  grandfathers 
knew  nothing  about  this  kind  of  delicacy. 
After  the  rushes  on  the  floor,  (which  were 
offensive  with  filth,)  came  the  tapestries,  which 
were  almost  as  bad  ;  and,  while  this  was  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HOUSEHOLD  SCENERY. 


515 


condition  of  men's  abodes,  their  persons  were 
worthy  of  their  dwellings — powder,  pomatum, 
wigs,  and  other  unnatural  devices,  rendering  a 
pure  state  of  skin  impossible. 

It  was  a  great  day  when  a  Frenchman, 
bethought  himself  that,  instead  of  hangings  of 
wrought  carpeting,  or  of  velvet-flock,  or  stuff, 
a  covering  for  walls  might  be  made"  of  figured 
paper — cheaper,  lighter,  cleaner — preferable 
in  every  way.  It  is  said  that  this  invention 
was  made  known  in  1632,  and  that  the  first 
blocks  used  in  making  paper  hangings  are 
preserved  in  Paris.  England  followed  so  soon 
that  there  was  some  dispute  as  to  which 
ought  to  have  the  credit  of  the  invention,  but 
it  was  doubtless  due  to  France.  James  the 
First  had  lately  given  two  thousand  pounds — 
a  large  sum  in  those  days — to  encourage  a 
manufacture  of  fine  tapestry  at  Mortlake  ; 
but  it  was  in  a  drawing-room  of  the  Royal' 
Palace  at  Kensington  that  the  first  specimen 
of  English  paper-hanging  was  seen.  If  any- 
body is  curious  to  know  whether  that  paper 
was  like  any  that  we  see  now,  we  can  tell 
nothing  more  than  that  it  was  an  imita- 
tion of  the  '"'velvet-flock"  then  in  common 
use. 

The  "  flock  "  order  of  paper  seems  to  be : 
earning  into  fashion,  more  and  more,  after  a 
long  interval.  Perhaps  the  truth  is,  that  the 
reduction  of  the  duty  on  paper  hangings  puts 
a  higher  class  of  papers  within  reach  of  a 
greater  number  of  householders.  Sir  Robert 
Peel  took  ofl'  tenpence  out  of  the  shilling  a 
yard  duty  on  French  paper  hangings,  which, 
before  184?,  kept  good  decorations  out  of  the 
reach  of  all  but  the  wealthy.  We  remember 
the  time — somewhere  about  1818 — when  sten- 
cilling came  into  fashion,  and  was  thought  a 
great,  popular  boon.  Stencilling  was  done  by 
splashing  walls  with  colour  through  the  inter- 
stices of  tin  patterns.  The  result  was,  a  very 
coarse  and  untidy  decoration  of  white-washed 
walls  ;  the  colours  being  bad,  and  the  pattern 
never  accurately  made  out  for  many  consecu- 
tive feet  of  wall.  But  the  work  was  so  much 
cheaper  than  paper  hangings,  that  people  of 
email  means  were  very  glad  of  it ;  and,  even  in 
gentlemens'  houses,  the  attics  and  servants' 
rooms  were  often  thus  coloured.  Now,  we 
seldom  hear  of  stencilling  ;  for  papers  of  a 
tolerable  quality  and  really  good  pattern  may 
be  had  for  less  than  a  penny  a  yard,  so 
that  the  abodes  of  the  humble  present  a 
very  different  appearance  now  from  any 
thing  that  could  be  seen  even  ten  years 
ago.  As  for  the  taking  off  the  duty,  the 
story  is  the  same  that  Free-traders  are 
almost  tired  of  telling  about  other  articles. 
There  were  dismal  prophecies  that  the  French, 
who  much  excel  us  in  the  designs  and  prepa- 
rations of  paper  hangings,  would  destroy  the 
manufacture  in  England :  and  the  wealthy 
did.  supply  themselves — and  perhaps  do  so 
still — almost  exclusively  from  Paris  ;  but,  so 
much  more  extensively  are  paper  hangings 
used,  and  so  great  is  the  improvement  con- 


tinually taking  place  through  the  emulation 
of  the  French  by  our  manufacturers,  that  the 
manufacture  is  largely  and  steadily  increasing. 
It  only  remains  now  to  get  the  duty  removed 
from  the  raw  material,  the  paper,  to  give 
every  body  a  fair  chance  of  a  neat  set  of 
walls  to  his  dwelling-rooms,  decorated  accord- 
ing to  his  means. 

Perhaps  there  are  no  gayer  walls  to  be  seen 
anywhere — in  our  country  at  least — than 
those  we  saw  yesterday,  on  the  premises  of 
Her  Majesty's  Paper-stainer  for  Scotland, 
Mr.  Wm.  McCrie.  This  gentleman's  walls 
— even  the  rough  walls  in  the  yards  and 
passages — are  as  good  as  a  rainbow  for  colours. 
The  boys  empty  their  brushes  on  the  space 
next  at  hand,  to  save  the  trouble  of  washing 
them  ;  and  the  result  is  a  show  which  would 
make  a  little  child — with  its  love  of  brilliant 
colours — scream  for  joy.  There  are  things 
to  be  seen  at  Mr.  McCrie's,  which  may  please 
elderly  people  as  much  as  rainbow  hues  can 
gratify  a  child.  By  means  of  studying  there 
the  process  of  paper-staining  from  beginning 
to  end,  glimpses  are  obtained  into  all  classes 
of  homes,  from  the  Queen's  palace,  and  the 
student's  library,  and  aristocratic  club-houses, 
down  to  the  humble  abode  of  two  or  three 
rooms  in  town  or  country. 

The  paper  used  in  this  manufacture  is 
made  in  Scotland,  whence  it  is  sent  to  Eng- 
land and  Ireland,  where  more  of  the  staining 
goes  on  than  in  Scotland.  Mr.  McCrie's 
establishment  near  Edinburgh,  and  one  in 
Glasgow,  are  the  only  ones  north  of  the 
Tweed.  For  ordinary  patterns,  the  Scotch 
paper  is  about  two  feet  wide.  The  French 
are  narrower — a  circumstance  which  should 
be  remembered,  when  the  cost  of  hangings  is 
reckoned  by  the  piece.  Some  of  the  granite 
papers  for  halls  and  staircases,  and  panel 
papers  are  of  greater  and  various  width. 
The  pieces,  of  twelve  yards,  are  tied  up  in 
bundles  of  ten  ;  so  that  a  bundle  contains  one 
hundred  and  twenty  yards.  The  first  thing 
that  is  done  with  the  contents  of  a  bundle, 
when  it  is  untied,  is  to  fit  it  for  receiving  a 
pattern  by  covering  it  smoothly  and '  evenly 
with  a  coat  of  Paris  white,  or  tint,  for  the 
ground,  made  of  sulphate  of  lime  and  water, 
with  size,  which  forms  in  fact  a  cement,  and 
sets  the  pattern.  This  Paris  white  arrives 
from  Hull  and  Leith  :  the  size  is  made  on  the 
premises,  as  the  observer's  nose  informs  him  ; 
and  in  the  yard,  he  sees  the  bundles  of  buf- 
falo skins  from  which  it  is  made,  and  the 
cauldron  in  which  they  are  boiled.  No  part 
of  the  business  is  more  serious  than  that  of 
the  preparation  of  the  size — both  for  making 
the  pattern  on  the  paper,  and  for  attaching 
the  hanging  to  the  wall.  The  size  made  in 
hot  weather  is  never  good  ;  it  runs,  and  the 
pattern  is  blotchy  in  places ;  and  for  this  mis- 
chief there  is  no  remedy.  If  the  production 
must  go  on,  without  waiting  for  cooler  wea- 
ther, the  patterns  must  suffer,  and  the  sellers 
I  must  have  patience.  A  much  more  serious 


516 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


consideration  for  householders  and  deco- 
rators is,  that  none  but  the  best  size  should 
be  used  for  attaching  the  paper  to  the  walls. 
Many  a  fever  has  been  caused  by  the  horrible 
nuisance  of  corrupt  size  used  in  paper-hang- 
ing in  bed-rooms.  The  nausea  which  the 
sleeper  is  aware  of  on  waking  in  the  morning, 
in  such  a  case  should  be  a  warning  needing 
no  repetition.  Down  should  come  the  whole 
paper  at  any  cost  or  inconvenience  ;  for  it  is 
an  evil  which  allows  of  no  tampering.  The 
careless  decorator  will  say  that  time  will  set 
all  right — that  the  smell  will  go  off — that 
airing  the  room  well  in  the  day,  and  burning 
some  pungent  thing  or  other  at  night,  in  the 
meantime,  will  do  very  well.  It  will  not  do 
very  well ;  for  health,  and  even  life  may  be 
lost  in  the  interval.  It  is  not  worth  while  to 
have  one's  stomach  impaired  for  life,  or  one's 
nerves  shattered,  for  the  sake  of  the  cost  and 
trouble  of  papering  a  room,  or  a  whole  house, 
if  necessary.  The  smell  is  not  the  grievance, 
but  the  token  of  the  grievance.  The  grievance 
is  animal  putridity,  with  which  we  are  shut 
up,  when  this  smell  is  perceptible  in  our 
chambers.  Down  should  come  the  paper ; 
and  the  wall  behind  should  be  scraped  clear 
of  every  particle  of  its  last  covering.  It  is 
astonishing  that  so  lazy  a  practice  as  that  of 
putting  a  new  paper  over  an  old  one  should 
exist  to  the  extent  it  does.  Now  and  then  an 
incident  occurs  which  shows  the  effect  of  such 
absurd  carelessness. 

Not  long  ago,  a  handsome  house  in  Lon- 
don became  intolerable  to  a  succession  of 
residents,  who  could  not  endure  a  myste- 
rious bad  smell  which  pervaded  it  when 
shut  up  from  the  outer  air.  Consultations 
were  held  about  drains,  and  all  the  particu- 
lars that  could  be  thought  of,  and  all  in  vain. 
At  last,  a  clever  young  man,  who  examined 
the  house  from  top  to  bottom,  fixed  his  suspi- 
cions on  a  certain  room,  where  he  inserted  a 
small  slip  of  glass  in  the  wall.  It  was 
presently  covered,  and  that  repeatedly,  with  a 
sort  of  putrid  dew.  The  paper  was  torn  down  ; 
and  behind  it  was  found  a  mass  of  old  papers, 
an  inch  thick  —  stuck  together  with  their 
layers  of  size,  and  exhibiting  a  spectacle 
which  we  will  not  sicken  our  readers  by 
describing.  A  lesser  evil,  but  still  a  vexatious 
one,  may  be  mentioned  here  :  that  when  there 
is  not  alum  enough  in  the  size,  it  will  not  i  machine.  The  wet  whiting  is  thrown  into  a 


ingredient  of  which,  by  the  way,  was  arsenic. 
The  decorator,  being  sent  for,  saw  at  once 
what  was  the  matter,  and,  with  expressions  of 
shame  and  concern,  pulled  down  the  pretty 
paper,  and  put  up  another  without  charge.  — 
While  on  the  subject  of  the  mistakes  that 
may  be  made  in  paper-hanging,  we  may 
mention  one  for  which  the  householder  is 
answerable,  and  not  the  manufacturer  or 
decorator.  While  we  are  well,  we  ought  to 
remember  that  we,  and  those  belonging  to  us, 
shall  some  time  or  other  be  ill  :  and  it  is  just 
as  well  to  arrange  the  sleeping-rooms  of  our 
houses  so  as  to  give  every  advantage  to 
invalids,  when  the  day  of  sickness  comes.  It 
is  of  no  consequence  to  the  healthful,  perhaps, 
how  their  beds  stand  ;  but  it  may  make  the 
difference  to  a  sick  person,  of  fever  or  tran- 
quillity, of  sleep  or  no  sleep,  whether  his  bed 
stands,  as  it  should  do,  north  and  south,  or 
east  aud  west  ;  and  whether  the  window  is 
opposite  the  foot  of  the  bed,  or  in  some  less 
annoying  direction.  In  the  same  way  we  may 
never  think  of  the  pattern  on  the  wall  of  our 
room,  while  we  go  to  bed  only  to  sleep  and 
rise  the  moment  we  awake  ;  but  it  isyiertain 
that  delirium  in  fever  cases  has  been  precipi- 
tated, and  that  frightful  visions,  or  teasing 
images,  have  been  excited  by  fantastic  patterns 
on  chintz  bed-curtains,  or  on  the  hangings  of 
the  walls.  The  paper  for  bed  -rooms  should 
be  of  a  rather  light  colour,  and  of  a  pattern 
as  indefinite  as  can  be  had.  For  our  part,  we 
like  nothing  so  well  as  a  blank  paper  of  some 
pleasant  hue,  with  a  dark  border  for  a  relief  : 
but  there  are  many  papers  now  which  do  not 
present  any  of  the  everlasting  forms  and 
varieties  of  the  square,  the  circle,  and  the 
diamond.  A  watered  paper,  or  any  trailing 
pattern  is  objectionable,  because  the  eye  of 
the  invalid  will  trace  human  profiles  in  them. 
There  are  patterns  in  abundance  which  are 
pretty  enough  in  a  humble  way  —  consisting 
of  an  aggregate  of 
—  so  small  and  so 
nothing  to  the  eye  but  a  pleasantly-broken 
colour. 

Having  delivered  our  conscience  of  this  ad- 
monition, out  of  the  doctoring  and  sick-nursing 
part  of  our  experience,  we  may  return  to  our 
paper-staining. 

The  laying  on  the  Paris  white  is  done  by  a 


varous 
various 


small   figures 
as   to   create 


hold.  A  family,  sitting  around  a  table,  at 
dinner  or  at  work,  does  not  relish  the  incident 
of  the  entire  papering  of  the  room  coming 
down  at  once,  with  a  tearing,  crashing  sound, 
and  a  cloud  of  dust.  Worse  still  is  the 
trouble,  when  it  is  the  pattern  of  the  paper 
that  is  affected.  A  room  was  very  prettily 
hung,  not  long  ago,  with  a  paper  where  a 
bright  green  trail  of  foliage  was  the  most 
conspicuous  part  of  the  pattern.  Day  after 
day  everything  in  the  room  was  found  covered 
witli  a  green  dust ;  and  the  pattern  on  the 
wall  faded  in  proportion.  The  size  had,  in  fact, 
been  insufficient  to  fix  the  green  powder,  one 


trough,  where  it  is  licked  up  by  a  cylinder, 
which  daubs  it  on  a  cylindrical  brush,  which 
transfers  it  to  another  cylinder,  under  which 
the  paper  is  drawn,  receiving  the  plaster  as 
it  goes.  A  wide  brush,  like  a  fringe  of  soft 
bristles,  is  fixed  before  the  last  cylinder,  and 
sweeps  the  paper  as  the  long  sheet  passes  on, 
distributing  the  coating  evenly,  and  smooth- 
ing the  surface.  The  paper,  in  lengths  of 
twelve  yards,  is  drawn  out  by  little  boys,  who 
carry  it  over  little  heaps  of  sticks,  lifting  up 
a  stick,  and  of  course  the  wet  paper  with  it, 
and  hoisting  both  on  a  pole,  so  that  the  paper 
can  be  carried  to  the  drying  place  without 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HOUSEHOLD  SCENERY. 


517 


being  touched  by  human  hands.  Two  boys 
thus  carry  away  a  piece  in  four  folds,  which 
of  coui-se  do  not  touch  each  other.  The  lads, 
with  their  poles,  lay  the  sticks  across 
horizontal  poles  at  some  height  from  the 
ground ;  and  there,  still  untouched,  hangs 
the  paper  to  dry. 

If  a  polished  ground  is  wanted,  the  paper — 
duly  prepared  by  a  chemical  process  in  the 
open  air — is  rubbed  with  a  lump  of  French 
chalk  ;  then,  with  a  surface  of  felt  or  flannel, 
and  finally  with  a  polishing  brush  ;  and  from 
this  treatment  it  comes  out  with  a  burnish 
like  satin.  The  paper,  with  a  polished  or. a 
dead  ground,  is  now  ready  to  receive  the 
pattern. 

There  are  three  ways  of  giving  it  a  pattern 
— by  a  printing  machine,  by  block  printing, 
and  by  marbling  by  hand.  It  appears  that 
one  machine  does  the  work  of  about  four 
block  printers  ;  that  two  persons  may  prepare 
the  paper  for  fifteen  printing  tables  ;  and 
that  fifty  workmen  can,  by  great  diligence, 
turn  out  three  thousand  pieces  (of  twelve 
yards  each)  per  week.  They  are  paid  by  the 
piece — from  twenty-pence  to  two  shillings  per 
score,  and  a  workman  can  easily  earn  from 
•  thirty  to  thirty-five  shillings  per  week.  The 
business  is  carried  on  in  large  airy  rooms, 
and  although  much  activity  and  strength  of 
eye,  foot,  and  hand  are  required  for  joining 
the  pattern,  lifting  the  heavy  block,  and 
stamping  it,  there  is  no  pernicious  fatigue,  or 
perilous  liability  of  any  kind.  It  is  altogether 
a  favourable  and  fortunate  kind  of  employ- 
ment for  a  good  workman. 

In  one  part  of  the  premises  abides  the  de- 
signer, educated  now,  generally  speaking,  at 
one  of  our  schools  of  design.  He  watches  the 
French  ;  he  watches  the  English  ;  he  watches 
nature  ;  and  draws  ideas  from  all  for  his 
patterns.  Star  patterns  are  eternal  in  popular 
favour ;  and  so  are  lobby  patterns — granites  and 
marbles  ;  but  beyond  these,  all  is  uncertainty. 
A  new  set  of  designs  must  be  made  every 
year ;  and  if  a  pattern  does  not  pay  its  cost 
the  first  year,  it  never  will.  It  may  not  be 
utterly  lost,  but  it  will  never  be  remunerative. 
In  one  of  the  lower  rooms  at  Mr.  McCrie's, 
we  trod  upon  wealth  in  a  truly  magnanimous 
manner.  The  floor  wras  laid  with  obsolete 
blocks  ;  and  thus  we  trampled  on  many 
hundred  pounds'  worth  of  property. 

The  blocks  are  a  pretty  sight,  from  the 
beginning,  when  the  block-cutter  traces  his 
pattern  from  oil  paper  upon  the  wood,  and 
taps  his  chisel,  sending  it  down  to  a  certain 
depth  in  the  wood  (pine),  aud  then  clears 
out  the  spaces,  up  to  the  funeral  cere- 
mony of  laying  these  memorials  of  departed 
fashions  in  the  ground  ;  that  is,  in  the  floor. 
Where  little  bits  of  the  wood  are  broken 
away,  they  are  supplied  with  brass  or  copper. 
The  blocks  for  granite  papers  are  stuck  all 
over '"with  everything  that  will  make  a 
mark,"  as  we  were  told  ;  with  odds  and  ends 
of  copper  and  brass,  and  with  common  nail- 


heads.  For  the  printing  machine,  the  block 
is  cylindrical,  the  process  being  just  that  ot 
cylinder-printing  of  any  kind.  For  the  print- 
ing tables,  the  blocks  are  furnished  with  a 
strap  at  the  back,  to  receive  the  workman's 
hand,  and  they  are  pressed  down  on  the  paper 
by  a  mallet  driven  by  the  workman's  foot. 
Every  time  that  he  applies  the  block,  he  dips 
it  on  the  surface  of  a  stiff  liquid  in  a  trough 
by  his  side — the  liquid  being  either  the  colour 
he  wants  to  impress,  or  the  oil  which  is  to 
catch  and  retain  the  colour  to  be  afterwards 
shed  over  it.  For  the  best  sort  of  gilding, 
gold  leaf  is  applied  :  for  the  commoner  gilding, 
bronze  powder  ;  for  flock  papers,  the  flock 
which  is  brought  from  the  wool  districts. 
The  flock  is  wool,  dyed  of  various  colours,  and 
reduced  to  powder,  If  the  size  or  oil  on 
which  it  is  deposited  be  good,  the  flock  can- 
not be  rubbed  off,  or  removed  by  any  means 
short  of  scratching.  The  array  of  crimson 
flock  papers  is  really  superb  in  our  day.  One 
never  tires  of  gazing  at  them  in  an  establish- 
ment like  this,  and  fancying  how  each  would 
look  in  one's  own  study  or  dining-room.  Of 
all  charming  rooms  in  a  middle  class  house, 
the  most  bewitching,  perhaps,  is  a  library 
lined  almost  throughout  with  books,  with  the 
spaces  between  papered  with  a  rich  crimson 
flock  paper,  and  affording  room,  between  the 
book-cases,  for  a  pedestal  here  and  there,  with 
a  bust,  or  a  good  cast  upon  it,  surmounted  by 
a  very  few  choice  prints.  The  crimson  makes 
a  glorious  ground  for  prints. 

The  workman  has  not  always  dismissed  his 
piece  when  he  has  printed  it  from  end  to  end. 
It  may  be  a  pattern  of  two  colours,  or  of  six, 
or  even  of  twelve  ;  and  for  each  colour  a 
fresh  block  and  a  fresh  process  are  required, 
each  repetition  of  course  reckoning  as  a  new 
piece  in  regard  to  his  wages.  The  workman 
who  does  his  work  wholly  by  hand,  he  who 
marbles  papers  for  lobbies  and  stair- walls,  has 
also  to  go  over  it  several  times.  The  yellow 
polished  ground  is  supplied  to  him  ready  for 
his  brush.  He  veins  it  with  a  camel  hair 
brush,  dipped  in  a  dark  colour.  One  cannot 
but  admire  the  decision  with  which  he  makes 
his  strokes,  and  groups  his  veinings.  We 
should  stand  hesitating  which  way  to  make 
our  pencil  wander,  doubting  whether  we  were 
making  anything  like  marble  ;  but  the 
accustomed  stainer  wields  his  brush  Avith  as 
much  purpose  and  decision  as  we  do  the  pen, 
knowing  as  well  where  to  go  and  wherefore. 
When  he  has  thus  veined  a  certain  portion, 
he  sprinkles,  by  jerking  a  brush,  little  drops 
of  soap  and  turpentine,  which  make  blotches, 
and  give  a  marbled  appearance  to  the  whole 
surface.  The  coloured  streaks,  being  diluted, 
spread  into  a  perfect  resemblance  of  the  veins 
of  marble  ;  and  nothing  remains  but  to  daub 
some  white  blotches  into  the  centres  of  the 
groups  of  streaks.  Of  all  the  imitation  papers 
this  appeared  to  us  the  most  perfect.  The 
granite  was  good,  with  its  glittering  "  frost- 
ing," which  frosting  is  done  by  scattering, 


518 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


very  sparingly,  particles  of  the  thinnest  pos- 
sible glass  from  the  glass-houses.  The 
graining  of  oak  papers  is  done  by  putting  .in 
iron  comb  in  the  place  of  the  smoothing 
brush,  when  the  paper  receives  its  first 
coat. 

Among  the  papers  shown  in  the  warehouse, 
where  the  completed  goods  are  deposited,  the 
most  beautiful  in  our  eyes  was  a  broad 
panelled  paper  of  white,  watered  with  a  panel 
border  of  roses.  We  looked  in  vain  for  the 
sort  of  hanging  which  we  must  think  will  be 
in  demand  ere  long  ;  a  hanging  which,  being 
dark  near  the  floor,  becomes  gradually  lighter 
towards  the  ceiling.  At  present,  decorators 
depend  on  a  dark  carpet  and  a  light  ceiling 
to  give  the  effect  indicated  by  decorative 
principle  and  required  by  a  trained  eye,  some 
aid  being  given  by  a  dark  skirting  board, 
and  a  cornice  of  light  and  bright  colours  ;  but 
there  seems  to  be  no  reason  why  the  hang- 
ings on  the  walls  should  not  do  their  part, 
and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  a  wide  new 
range  of  design  would  be  opened  by  following 
out  this  principle. 

What  we  owe  to  the  designers  of  good 
paper  hangings  can  hardly  be  estimated  by 
those  who  have  not  .travelled  in  countries 
which  assume  to  be  highly  civilised,  but  have 
no  time  to  get  things  done  in  the  best  manner. 
Even  at  home,  and  in  good  houses,  one  meets 
occasionally  with  a  mistake  in  the  choice  of  a 
pattern  :  a  mistake  which  causes  irritation 
and  annoyance  to  the  visitor,  from  hour  to 
hour  ;  as  when  a  pattern,  which  is  every- 
thing that  could  be  wished  in  the  single 
breadth,  gives  birth  to  an  imperfect  form 
when  joined  with  the  next  breadth  ;  a 
diamond,  for  instance,  which  turns  out  a  little 
smaller  on  one  side  than  the  other,  or  a  curve 
which  is  not  freely  carried  out.  But  in  some 
parts  of  the  United  States,  among  other 
places,  where  money  is  not  spared  in  decorating 
dwellings,  but  workmen  are  scarce  and  ill- 
qualified,  one  sees  extraordinary  spectacles 
on  the  walls  of  good  houses.  We  were  once 
standing  in  perplexed  contemplation  of  our 
chamber  wall,  when  our  hostess  entered,  and 
told  us  how  vexed  she  had  been  about  it. 
She  had  employed  an  emigrant  paper-hanger, 
who  had  passed  himself  off  as  a  first-rate 
workman.  She  gave  him  the  papers,  and  left 
him  to  his  work.  In  a  wonderfully  short 
time,  he  came  to  her,  exulting :  he  had  done 
the  job — capitally — he  would  say  that  for 
himself;  he  had  "made  every  crease  show." 
And  so  he  had — with  the  most  perverse 
ingenuity — by  now  spoiling  the  pattern,  and 
now  leaving  a  white  thread  of  space  between 
the  breadths.  There  was  no  upholsterer's 
store  within  many  miles,  and  therefore  no 
remedy.  Our  hostess  was  English,  and 
annoyed  accordingly.  The  Americans  care 
less  for  such  things,  or  do  not  even  discover 
them,  unless  the  blemish  is  very  flagrant. 
We  remember  a  curious  instance  of  this 
difference  between  the  American,  and  the 


English  eye,  which  met  our  notice  as  far  off 
as  Lexington  in  Kentucky.  We  were  taken, 
of  course,  to  the  Senate  Chamber  at  Lexington 
— merely  our  own  party — to  see  the  room. 
A  picture  over  the  President's  chair  hanging 
awry,  we  naturally  stepped  upon  a  bench 
which  stood  below,  and  set  it  right  with  a 
touch ;  after  which  the  party  went  home, 
to  one  of  the  best  houses  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, where  a  young  Englishman  of  rank 
and  a  Mr.  Clay  were  to  join  us  at  dinner. 
Our  hostess  and  her  guests  fell  into  conver- 
sation about  furnishing  drawing-rooms,  and 
attention  was  drawn  to  the  paper  of  the 
handsome  room  we  were  sitting  in.  All  ad- 
mired it  ;  but  we  observed  on  the  oddity  of 
the  workman  having  put  up  two  breadths,  in 
different  parts  of  the  room,  upside  down.  The 
hostess  laughingly  doubted  it,  had  never 
heard  of  it,  could  not  see  it  now  :  would  ask 
the  young  Englishman,  and  see  if  any  body 
thought  so  but  ourselves.  Presently  came  a 
Mr.  Moat  with  Mr.  Clay.  Mr.  Moat  was  asked 
to  look  round  the  room,  and  say  if  he  saw  any 
blemish  anywhere.  He  glan-ced  round,  and 
pointed  to  the  two  breadths  that  were  topsy- 
turvy, to  the  amusement  of  the  good-humoured 
hostess,  who  said  the  English  eye  was  some-  • 
thing  past  her  comprehension.  Upon  this, 
Mr.  Clay  related  that  he  had  just  been  taking 
Mr.  Moat  to  see  the  Senate  Chamber,  and  that 
he  had  mounted  a  bench  to  set  straight  a  map 
which  he  declared  to  be  hung  awry,  though 
nobody  else  could  see  it.  The  laugh  was  now 
louder  than  ever ;  and  then  followed  a  dis- 
cussion whether  it  was  a  privilege  or  a  mis- 
fortune to  be  so  particular  as  we  English  had 
proved  ourselves.  Perhaps  we  should  suffer 
more  from  our  particularity  in  a  new  country 
than  the  thing  is  worth  ;  but  we  should  be 
sorry  to  lay  it  aside  at  home. 

The  omnipresent  gutta-percha  is  among 
the  paper  hangings  already.  It  presents 
itself  in  the  form  of  consolation  to  the  owners 
of  houses  which  are  cursed  with  a  damp  wall 
or  corner.  As  for  a  generally  damp  house, 
one  has  only  to  quit  it,  if  one  has  ever  been 
foolish  enough  to  go  into  it.  But  there  are 
many  excellent  houses  with  some  faulty  bit — 
some  corner  or  projection  which  got  wet  in 
the  building,  and  could  never  be  got  dry  ; 
and  here  cornes  in  the  gutta-percha  paper 
most  consolingly.  The  housewife  may  have 
rubbed,  and  warmed,  and  dried,  with  toil  and 
pain,  every  summer  ;  but  in  winter,  the  stains 
come  again,  and,  towards  spring,  the  green 
moss.  She  may  have  battened  that  end  or 
corner ;  but  then,  there  was  the  uneasy  thought 
that  the  damp  and  the  moss  were  growing 
behind  the  screen.  In  case  of  damp  from 
driving  rains,  in  exposed  situations,  it  may 
be  true  that  there  is  nothing  like  a  mantle  of 
ivy,  under  whose  leaves  dry  dust  may  be 
found  at  the  end  of  the  wettest  winter.  But, 
if  the  damp  be  incurred  in  the  process  of 
building,  the  ivy  is  not  the  appropriate  cure  ; 
and  besides,  it  takes  some  years  to  cover  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SOMETHING  NEW. 


519 


end  of  a  house.  The  gutta-percha  paper 
confines  the  damp  within  the  wall,  at  least, 
and  compels  it  to  evaporate  externally,  if  at 
all.  It  thoroughly  intercepts,  if  it  cannot 
cure,  a  very  great  evil ;  and  it  will,  no  doubt, 
be  in  extensive  use  till  all  men  are  too  sensible 
to  have  any  damp  corners  in  their  houses 
at  all. 


CHIPS. 


AN  EQUESTRIAN  MIRACLE. 

THE  following  passage  is  quoted  from  the 
account  of  an  unsuccessful  search  for  Choughs 
in  Cornwall,  in  an  article  headed  "  If  this 
should  meet  his  Eye."  * 

"  A  cavalier,  after  dinner,  one  day,  betted  that  he 
would  ride  to  the  Land's  End  next  morning.  So, 
he  mounted  and  got  thus  far.  The  shuddering 
horse  turned  and  backed.  The  rider  just  saw  the 
horse's  hind  feet  going  over  the  brink,  threw  himself 
off  in  agony,  and  escaped.  The  animal  perished, 
and  the  last  print  of  the  clinging  hoof  is  kept  fresh 
by  the  guides.  What  an  act  of  horsemanship  to 
witness !  This  happened  not  many  years  ago,  though 
the  biped  performer  is  since  dead." 

We  have  great  pleasure  in  contradicting, 
on  the  unquestionable  authority  of  General 
Sir  Eobert  Arbuthnot,  the  courageous  eques- 
trian himself,  the  statement  conveyed  in  the 
Ijfst  period  of  this  paragraph.  That  dis- 
tinguished gentleman  has  been  good  enough 
to  give  us  his  own  version  of  his  performance. 

"  Having  read  in  various  publications  erro- 
neous statements  of  my  miraculous  escape  at 
"the  Land's  End,"  when  the  horse  I  was 
riding  fell  over  a  cliff  upwards  of  four 
hundred  feet  high,  I  have  put  on  paper,  at 
the  request  of  a  few  friends,  a  true  account  of 
the  transaction. 

"  In  June  1804,  when  captain  in  a  dragoon 
regiment  and  aide  de  camp  to  General  Wilford, 
who  was  stationed  at  Falmouth,  I  attended 
him  on  an  inspection  of  a  yeomanry  corps  at 
Penzance.  The  day  after  the  inspection,  the 
general  with  a  party  proceeded  to  the  Land's 
End  on  an  excursion  of  pleasure  ;  and,  after 
taking  refreshment  at  a  house  known  by 
the  name  of  "  The  First  and  Last  House  in 
England,"  three  of  the  party,  consisting  of  my- 
self, Lieutenant  Cubit  of  the  Eoyal  Artillery, 
and  a  clergyman  who  resided  at  Mazarion, 
preceded  the  others  ;  and,  on  arriving  at  the 
top  of  the  slope  reaching  down  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  Land's  End — on  each  side  of 
which  was  a  steep  precipice — I  perceived  that 
the  grass  was  short  and  slippery ;  and,  although 
a  dragoon  officer,  I  did  not  think  it  prudent 
to  ride  down  ;  but  my  two  companions  being 
of  a  different  opinion,  did  so,  while  I  followed 
them  leading  my  horse.  After  remaining  a 
short  time  at  the  bottom,  we  mounted  to 
rejoin  the  general ;  who  had,  with  his  party, 

*  Vol.  IV.  page  600. 


reached  the  spot  whence  we  had  started, 
and  were  astonished — especially  the  general — 
at  seeing  me  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill 
and  terrified  at  what  afterwards  occurred. 
Although  I  did  not  think  it  prudent  to  ride 
down,  I  fancied  there  could  be  no  danger  in 
riding  up,  and  accordingly  I  mounted  ;  but 
we  had  not  proceeded  far  when  my  mare — 
a  very  spirited  animal — became  unruly, 
in  consequence  of  the  girths  of  the  saddle 
going  back,  and  she  began  to  kick  and  plunge, 
inclining  to  the  precipice  on  the  right.  Al- 
though in  imminent  danger,  I  did  not  happily 
lose  my  presence  of  mind,  and  I  threw  myself 
off  when  not  more  than  four  feet  from  the 
edge  of  the  cliff.  Mine  was  a  hussar  saddle,  and 
the  bridle  having  a  whip  at  the  end  of  it,  I 
threw  it  over  the  mare's  head,  and  was  able 
to  keep  hold  of  it  and  to  check  her  so  as  to 
prevent  her  kicking  me.  When  she  turned 
with  her  back  to  the  cliff  I  let  go,  and  she  fell 
down  and  was  dashed  to  pieces,  leaving  me 
on  the  ground  close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
A  person  went  down  in  a  basket  and  brought 
up  the  shattered  saddle  and  bridle,  which  a 
saddler  at  Penzance  begged  me  to  give  him 
that  he  might  Jiang  it  a£  the  door  of  his 
shop. 

"Many  accounts  of  the  event  were  circulated, 
but  this  is  the  true  one." 


SOMETHING  NEW. 

"BE  careful  to  ask  for  the  Universal 
Magazine ! "  Thus,  in  1747,  was  announced  the 
first  appearance  of  a  new  and  startling 
publication,  "  price  sixpence,  to  be  published 
monthly  by  Act  of  Parliament," 

The  title  page  alone,  not  to  speak  of  the 
elaborate  frontispiece,  was  well  worth  the 
money.  The  former  set  forth,  in  three 
very  long  rows,  what  the  Universal  Maga- 
zine of  Knowledge  and  Pleasure  contained ; 
beginning  with  News  and  ending  with  Archi- 
tecture. Moreover  the  author,  as  the  worthy 
superintendent  called  himself,  kept  his  word  ; 
was  not  this  as  much  as  man  could  desire, 
upwards  of  a  century  ago  ?  Have  we, more 
now,  in  these  days  of  cheap  serials  1  And  can 
we  produce  such  a  picture  to  seduce  and 
encourage  the  reader  as  that  which  adorns 
the  volume  now  lying  before  us,  on  this 
rainy  day  in  June,  in  an  antique  library,  the 
shelves  of  which  groan  with  a  rich  collection 
of  this  evidently  highly  successful  Universal  ? 
There  sits  the  author  at  his  writing  table, 
with  long  slender  crooked  legs  ;  books  to  be 
reviewed  ;  foolscap  paper,  ink  and  pens  are 
under  his  hand.  An  attendant  stands — 
accurately  in  the  third  position — offering  him 
a  volume  ;  while  another  reaches  one  from  a 
bookcase.  But  he  heeds  not  the  invitation  ; 
his  thoughts,  as  well  as  his  eyes,  are  bent 
upon  a  descending  genius  in  the  shape  of 
Mercury,  from  whose  caduceus  flies  a  flag, 
inscribed  with  the  name  of  the  new  periodical. 


520 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Conducted  by 


A  contributor,  with  cocked  hat  in  one  hand 
and  a  copy  of  verses  in  the  other,  is  endeavour- 
ing to  attract  his  glances — apparently  in  vain. 
Globes,  sextants,  quadrants,  planes,  and 
compasses,  strew  the  floor  at  his  feet ;  a  flight 
of  steps  leads  from  the  library — which  seems 
all  window — to  some  unknown  sea  ;  on  which 
floats  a  whole  navy  of  singularly  shaped 
vessels  in  full  sail  close  to  the  shore  of  a  very 
crowded  city.  Two  lines  at  the  top  and  two 
at  the  bottom  of  this  picture,  in  very  irregular 
text  hand,  denote  the  intention  of  the  repre- 
sentation, thus : — 

"  From  Art  and  Science  true  Contentment  springs, 
Science  points  out  the  Cause,  Art  the  Use  of  things." 

"  Merit  should  be  for  ever  placed 

lu  Knowledge,  Judgment,  Wit,  and  Taste." 

The  reader's  mind  being  thus  prepared,  he 
may  safely  open  the  book  and  look  for  know- 
ledge and  pleasure.  The  publisher  first  ad- 
dresses the  subscribers,  and  assures  them  that 
his  gratitude  is  "  extream  "  for  their  support. 
"  Without,"  he  nobly  and  impressively  writes, 
"  incurring  the  odious  Character  of  vilifying 
and  exclaiming  against  Other  Monthly  Publi- 
cations, I  can  safely  declare  that  I  am  the 
First  that  ever  sold  three  sheets  of  letter- 
press, three  copper-plates,  and  other  Decora- 
tions at  the  same  price  !  It  must  be  allowed 
to  be  attended  with  much  Labor  and  a  sur- 
prising Expense  !  "  This  "  surprising  "  work, 
he  goes  on  to  say,  in  defiance  of  grammar,  is 
"divided  between  the  Curious  and  the  Indus- 
trious ;  and,  what  is  more  praise-worthy, 
Candour  and  Impartiality  appears  in  every 
Part  thereof."  The  publisher,  warming  with 
his  subject,  and  with  affection  towards  his 
authors,  assures  the  reader  that,  "  if  anything 
has  slipped  by  the  Channel  of  an  extensive 
and  pressing  Correspondence  that  can  give 
Offence  to  any  Public  or  Private  person,  they 
now  beg  their  pardon."  What  could  be  said 
more  to  the  purpose  ? 

"  Who  with  repentance  is  not  satisfied, 
Is  not  of  Heaven  nor  Earth." 

The  publisher  having  concluded,  let  the 
authors  speak.  They,  perhaps,  will  be  a 
little  less  humble — a  little  more  sarcastic — 
but  let  it  pass.  "  As  the  Proprietor  is  neither 
afraid  nor  ashamed,"  say  they,  "  to  publish 
this  Magazine  in  his  own  Name ;  neither  shall 
we  attempt  to  gain  any  reputation  to  this 
work  by  indecent  language,  and  scandalously 
reflecting  on  those  that  have  gone  before  us 
in  the  like  method  of  Monthly  Publications. 
The  Fate  of  those  that  once  flourished  and  are 
now  forgotten,  should  convince  others  that 
pretend  to  monopolise  wit  and  learning,  and 
to  set  bounds  to  other  people's  knowledge 
and  industry,  that  we  have  as  much  right  to 
oblige  and  to  entertain  the  publick  as  any 
other." 

After  this  stinging  reproof,  assisted  by 
italics  and  capitals — severely  felt  no  doubt  by 


the  culprits  at  whom  it  was  levelled — a  pro- 
mise is  held  out  that,  "the  adventurous 
merchant,  the  industrious  tradesman,  the 
skilful  mechanic,  the  toilsome  farmer,  and 
the  careful  housewife,  shall  never  want  some 
helps  in  their  respective  stations.  .  .  . 
The  reader  may  expect  a  whole  body  of 
Arts  and  Sciences,  tales,  fables,  and  (powerful 
climax  ! )  even  riddles." 

No  bounds  being  put  to  expectation,  our 
ancestors  must  therefore  naturally  have 
encouraged  themselves  to  undertake  the 
perusal  of  a  work  destined,  almost,  to  o'er- 
inform  their  tenement  of  clay.  It  is  more  than 
probable  that  they  were  not  disappointed; 
although  we,  in  these  days  of  progress,  cannot 
keep  ourselves  from  impertinently  smiling  at 
the  simplicity  of  our  respectable  progenitors, 
who  devoured  such  passages  as  we  hit  upon 
in  turning  over  the  leaves  of  their  favourite 
magazine,  and  who  were  quite  ravished  with 
the  novelties  contained  therein. 

Would  it  not  be  worth  the  while  of  our 
modern  editors  to  consider  the  propriety  of 
introducing,  at  the  present  crisis,  such  a  paper 
as  the  following  to  help  the  consciences  of 
electors  : 

"  HEADS  OF  SELF-EXAMINATIOX,  PROPER  TO  BE  USED 
BY  EVERY  ELECTOR  IN  GREAT  BRITAIN  BEFORE 
HE  EITHER  GIVES  OR  PROMISES  HIS  VOTE. 

"  1.  Have  I  thoroughly  considered  the  privileges 
•which,  ns  a  Briton,  I  have  a  right  to  enjoy  ? 

"  2.  Have  I  reflected  that  when  I  chuse  a  man  to 
represent  me  I  convey  to  him,  for  the  time,  all  my 
share  of  the  legi-lative  power? 

"  3.  If  he  has  before  had  n  seat  in  Parliament,  how 
did  he  then  behave  ?  Was  his  steadfastness  from  a 
virtuous  principle,  or  because  ths  Minister  did  not 
bid  up  to  his  price?  Did  he  listen  at  all  to  pro- 
positions of  making  easy,  and  did  he  bargain  and 
higgle  in  a  manner  to  create  suspicion?  Does  he 
want  to  buy  my  suffrage  or  biass  me  by  some  favour 
or  gratuity  to  give  it  in  defiance  of  laws  that  make 
both  him  and  me  guilty  in  such  a  compact?" 

After  this  we  have  a  little  history  ;  and 
then  our  geography  is  helped  by  a  very 
original  map,  adorned  with  a  beautiful  device 
of  a  tombstone  and  cornucopia.  Science  is 
illustrated  by  a  page  full  of  "  Figs,"  singu- 
larly useful,  and  very  marvellous.  Law 
follows,  with  an  "  Opinion  of  the  Attorney 
and  Solicitor-General  relative  to  Windows." 
Philosophy  brings  Earthquakes  in  his  hand, 
with  such  an  exordium  as  this  :  "  I  do  not 
doubt  but  there  is  a  supreme  Being  who 
moderates  and  guides  the  blind  impetus 
and  force  of  such  raging  and  voracious 
motions." 

Agriculture  recommends  the  farmer  in 
June  "  if  his  land  be  wet  and  spewy  to  sow 
cole  or  I'ape  seed,"  and  to  mind  his  manure  ; 
nevertheless,  deferring  any  directions  about 
it  "  till  another  opportunity  :  " — an  arrange- 
ment somewhat  inconvenient  to  the  farmer 
about  to  commence  operating  forthwith. 
Those  who  require  to  be  positively  assured 


Charles  Dicken*.] 


OUR  RUINS. 


521 


that  a  spade  is  a  spade  have  their  minds  set 
at  ease  by  the  information,  under  the  head  of 
"  Gardening,"  that  "  A  Garden  is  an  inclosed 
plot  of  ground,  curiously  cultivated  and 
furnished  with  a  variety  of  Fruits,  Plants  and 
Flowers.  As  to  its  form,  that  is  to  be  accord- 
ing to  the  taste  of  the  owner  and  the  dimen- 
sions of  the  ground." 

"  The  Complete  English  Housewife  "  may 
feel  happy  in  the  knowledge  of  the  best 
method  to  serve  her  salmon  and  gooseberry 
sauce  ;  "  how  to  make  a  Pye  of  her  Turbot," 
and  what  to  do  with  her  carp  to  make  it 
eatable. 

Receipts  follow  of  remarkable  importance. 
Amongst  them  is  one  "communicated  by  a 
Lady  of  great  Charity  and  Distinction"  for 
Sweating  Powder  ;  and  another  for  Plague 
Water,  in  the  latter  of  which,  "  master-wort 
and  butter-bur,  with  lovage  and  zedoary," 
are  prominent  components.  Immediately  after 
the  pages  which  record  these  treasures  of 
knowledge,  come  the  Poetry  and  Riddles, 
which  are  destined  to  recreate  the  student  of 
so  much  learned  matter.  Here  you  have 
songs  warbled  by  Mr.  Lowe,  at  Vauxhall ; 
Lines  written  in  a  Lady's  Prayer-Book,  be- 
ginning thus : — 

"  If  you,  fair  Silvia,  hope  the  gods  will  hear." — 

On  the  heels  of  the  Muses  come  the  politics 
of  Europe  communicated  in  short  hand,  in 
this  fashion : — 

HAMBURGH,  MAY  30th. — Dr.  Blaekwell  confessed 
the  treasons  laid  to  his  charge. 

STOCKHOLM,  JUNE  2nd. — Dr.  Blaekwell  was  sen- 
tenced to  have  his  heart  taken  out  of  his  body  and 
burnt,  &c. 

LONDON,  5th. — The  Sessions  ended  at  the  Old 
Bailey,  when  John  Cooke,  for  the  Highway,  Eichard 
Ashcroft  for  Smuggling,  and  Samuel  Hurlock  for 
Murder,  were  condemned  to  be  hanged.  Thirteen 
were  cast  for  transportation,  one  burnt  in  the  hand, 
and  five  ordered  to  be  whipped. 

PETERSBUKGH,  8th. — Veldt-Marshal  Keith  lias 
obtained  leave  to  resign  his  employments. 

ROME,  27th. — The  Pretender's  eldest  sou,  accom- 
panied by  several  Scotch  lords  and  gentlemen, 
arrived  there. 

LONDON,  12th. — It  was  ordered  that  every  ship  of 
war  from  one  hundred  to  tit'ly  guns,  should  carry  as 
many  marines  as  they  mount  guns. 

MADRID,  13th. — A  dreadful  earthquake  has  hap- 
pened at  Lima  in  October  last,  which  entirely  de- 
molished the  town,  and  swallowed  up  all  the  treasures 
of  that  magnificent  city,  fifteen  hundred  inhabitants, 
seventy-four  churches,  fourteen  monasteries,  and 
fifteen  hospitals. 

LONDON,  17th. — This  day  His  Majesty  went  to 
the  House  of  Peers  and  made  a  most  gracious  speech 
from  the  throne. 

Which  gracious  speech  is  given  at  full 
length  ;  arid  on  the  same  page  is  an  ominous 
list  of  "  those  Persons  particularly  excepted 
in  the  Act  of  Grace,"  in  which  figure  a  fearful 
amount  of  Gordons,  Erasers,  Drurnmonds, 
and  M'Donalds,  whose  attachment  to  "  Charlie 


over  the  Water,'''  placed  them  in  the  awk- 
ward predicament  here  set  forth  in  full. 

Then  come  the  births,  marriages,  and 
deaths,  certainly  remarkable  in  their  way  : 
the  candid  spirit  in  which  gentlemen,  in  those 
primitive  times,  proclaimed  their  motives  for 
leading  brides  to  the  hymeneal  altar  is  start- 
ling. Thomas  Gordon,  Esq.,  happily  escaped 
the  dangers  of  many  of  his  namesakes,  and 
marries  Mrs.  Trenchard  :  "  a  fortune  of  two 
thousand  pounds  per  annum  ;"  the  Reverend 
Stephen  Duck  officiating  on  the  happy  oc- 
casion. Mr.  Palmer,  an  eminent  distiller, 
becomes  the  husband  of  Miss  Patty  Smith  : 
"  a  two  thousand  pounds'  fortune." 

The  bookseller's  announcements  come  now 
in  aid  of  the  promised  variety,  by  which  we 
learn  how  literature  flourishes. 

Life  of  Henry  Sirnms,  alias  Young  Gentle- 
man Harry,  from  his  Birth  to  his  Death  at 
Tyburn,  all  wrote  by  himself  in  Newgate. 
Parker,  Corbet t. 

The  Jesuit  Cabal  further  opened.     Birt. 

A  Letter  to  the  Tories.     Say  six-pence. 

The  trial  at  large  at  Westminster,  wherein 
a  young  lady  was  plaintiff,  and  a  reverend 
clergyman  defendant,  on  the  non- performance 
of  a  marriage  contract,  when  the  young  lady 
had  seven  thousand  pounds  damages. 

A  Letter  from  a  Travelling  Tutor  to  a 
Noble  Young  Lord. 

The  prices  of  Stocks  precede  a  charming 
portrait  of  the  East  and  West  elevations  of 
Windsor  Castle,  ingeniously  unlike  the  real 
building ;  and  the  reader  has  had  his  money's 
worth  in  one  number. 


OUR  RUINS. 

OUR  town  has  not  important  commercial  re- 
lations, if  we  except  its  trade  in  painted  shells, 
polished  pebbles,  and  mugs  with  views  of  the 
High  Street  gaudily  daubed  upon  them.  It 
has  no  port :  its  shipping  includes  only  half- 
a-dozen  crazy  fishing-boats,  and  a  few  apple- 
green  "pleasure  "  boats  ;  from  which  it  is  the 
pleasure  of  visitors  to  add  materially  to  the 
food  Nature  provides  for  the  fish  upon  the 
coast.  The  local  guide  informs  us  that  the 
Normans  landed  upon  the  coast,  within  a 
two-and-sixpenny  fly  drive  of  the  Parade — 
that  a  young  lady  fell  from  the  west  cliff,  of 
course  only  two  days  after  her  marriage  — 
that,  there  are  smuggler's  caves  (which  may 
be  seen  for  sixpence  a  head,)  well  worth 
visiting — that  the  sea-bathing  is  reckoned  the 
best  on  the  coast,  by  competent  authorities 
(that  is,  by  the  lodging-house  keepers  of  the 
town).  It  is  only,  however,  when  the  author 
of  the  guide  approaches  the  great  subject  of 
his  instructive  volume,  that  he  fairly  gives  the 
rein  to  his  eloquence,  and  applies,  with  tre- 
mendous effect,  the  epithets  "  moss-covered  " 
— "  hoary  " — "  ivy-mantled  " — "  venerable  " — 
"  august,"  &c.,  &c.,  to  the  ruins  which  form 
the  staple  commodity  of  the  pla.ce.  No  visitor 
should  leave  the  town  without  having  visited 


522 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  ruins,  as  they  are  closely  connected  with 
the  History  of  England,  and  the  charge  i 
twopence  to  pass  the  gateway.  Who  would 
wish  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  the  plans  of 
this  "  tremendous  fortress  of  old,"  while 
ginger-beer  may  be  bought  in  the  ruins  of  its 
hall,  .and  biscuits  are  kept  in  the  remains  of 
its  keep  1  Built  firmly  upon  a  commanding 
rock,  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  that  hence 
the  sturdy  warrior  of  old  hurled  dreadful 
stones  upon  the  foe  beneath  :  that  hence  the 
skilful  archer  winged  his  deadly  shaft ;  that 
through  these  chinks  the  clumsy  firelock  of 
old  thundered  hot  iron  to  the  surrounding 
plain.  But  now  it  is  difficult  to  trace  the 
plan  of  the  fortifications :  a  heap  of  severed 
walls,  tottering  corners,  and  thickly  plastered 
bits  of  gateways,  are  all  that  remain.  These, 
however,  would  be  welcome  pictures  to  the 
mind  of  any  contemplative  creatures,  were 
they  true  ruins — did  they  lie  here  moulder- 
ing under  the  picturesque  hand  of  Time,  and 
marking  fairly  their  centuries  of  existence  iu 
the  long  and  various  processes  of  their 
decay. 

They  are  not  the  ruins  of  Time,  how- 
ever :  but  those  of  a  town  council.  Turn 
to  any  one  of  them,  and  you  will  find  the 
meddling,  unseemly  mortar  of  the  corpora- 
tion. You  expect  to  tread  here  upon  the 
mouldering  dust  of  bygone  greatness ;  but  you 
are  upon  a  fine  grass-plot,  primly  decorated 
with  flowers.  The  lichen,  the  scrambling 
mosses,  and  the  sober  dark  ivy,  are  the  vege- 
tation in.  keeping  with  the  place  ;  not  mari- 
golds at  a  penny  a  root,  and  a  pinch  of 
ten-week  stocks  scattered  by  the  porter's 
daughter.  Some  eight  or  nine  months  back  we 
ventured  a  few  remarks  on  ruins  with  silver 
keys  ;  but  here  we  have  ruins  with  copper 
keys  as  systematically  laid  out  for  exhibition 
as  the  Chamber  of  Horrors  in  Baker  Street. 
These  ruins  are  not  in  the  possession  of  a 
heavily  mortgaged  county  family :  yet  are 
they  patched  up  and  apparelled  in  holiday 
guise  to  catch  the  halfpence  of  passing 
Londoners.  In  truth,  this  habit  of  "  showing  " 
the  historic  relics  of  the  country,  threatens  to 
destroy  the  many  grand  wrecks  of  the  cen- 
turies that  have  rolled  by  ;  and  to  substitute 
the  vulgar  patchwork  of  old  stones  adapted 
"  to  meet  the  taste  of  the  age."  This  threat 
is  wofully  apparent  in  Our  lluins.  Stones  of 
the  fourteenth  century  have  been  piled  up 
with  the  plaster  and  taste  of  the  nineteenth  ; 
and  the  meddling  fingers  of  living  showmen 
have  toyed  with  the  handiwork  of  the  old 
Norman.  Hence  we  have  here  a  pile  we  may 
strictly  call  our  ruins.  Little  enough  of  the 
castle,  as  Time  undisturbed  would  have  dealt 
with  it,  remains  ;  but  the  mind  of  the  visitor 
may  be  here  elevated,  for  twopence,  to  the  level 
of  the  taste  at  the  command  of  a  modern 
town  council.  Our  builder  deserves  more 
credit  for  our  ruins  as  they  stand,  than  the 
old  Ncrmans  can  fairly  claim.  There  is  yet 
a  little  liere  which  reminds  the  visitor  of  old 


barbaric  pomp  ;  but  more  that  calls  to  mind 
the  trowel  of  Stokes  of  our  High  Street. 
With  this  experience  before  us,  we  are  not 
certain  that  a  Board  charged  by  Government 
with  the  guardianship  of  the  historic  relics 
of  the  country,  would  not  be  welcomed  by 
a  host  of  enlightened  countrymen ;  and 
with  these  observations  we  resign  the  ruins 
of  a  Norman  castle  to  the  custody  of  a 
porter — to  cultivate  therein  his  marigolds, 
and  to  roll  away  the  relics  that  disturb  the 
order  of  his  parterres. 


EOVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

A   EAMBLB  TO   REHBURG. 

B.EHBURG  is  a  regular  German  watering 
place  of  the  old  school.  The  gambling  tables 
have  been  wisely  abolished  since  1848,  and,  as 
far  as  I  could  judge,  there  may  hardly  be  a 
quieter  spot  in  Europe.  It  is  situated,  how- 
ever, in  the  midst  of  remarkably  pretty 
scenery,  and  the  whole  aspect  of  the  place  is 
pleasant  and  friendly.  A  more  agreeable 
picture  than  this  little  village,  as  I  rode  in  the 
rich  light  of  the  summer  afternoon  along  the 
woody  road  which  passes  through  it,  never 
soothed  the  spirits  of  a  traveller.  The  trees 
threw  a  checkered  varying  shadow  over  gar- 
den and  cottage  as  they  sported  about  with 
my  friend  the  breeze.  Under  doorways  and 
in  summer-houses  sat  the  wives  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  neighbourhood,  making 
stockings  against  the  winter,  or  a  band  of  coffee- 
sisters  (Cafe-Schwestern)  with  their  clean 
white  cups  before  them,  sat  talking  of  their 
lovers,  or  singing  gently  some  ballad  of  Schu- 
bert. The  cows  and  the  goats  came  lowing 
homewards  along  the  road,  a  boy  was  bring- 
ing home  his  wearied  team  from  the  hay-field 
and  cracking  his  noisy  whip  by  the  way,  and 
two  of  those  travelling  workmen,  who  are  to 
be  found  on  every  highway  in  Germany,  were 
winding  down  a  little  hill  which  leads  to  the 
inn  ;  with  their  long  beards  and  picturesque 
hats,  their  staffs  and  their  knapsacks,  they 
looked  but  little  like  the  journeymen  watch- 
makers they  were.  I  pulled  up  for  awhile  to 
enjoy  the  scene  :  to  drink  as  it  were  my  fill 
of  that  pure  light  air,  and  graven  so  pleasant 
a  picture  on  my  memory  for  ever,  ere  I  went 
upon  my  way. 

T  dined  simply  but  substantially  at  the 
village  inn,  and  then,  while  my  horse  was 
resting,  loitered  to  the  little  "  Kurhaus  "  to 
see  the  company  that  assembled  there  twice 
a  day  to  drink  the  "  Molke,"  or  goats'  milk, 
which  is  said  to  work  miracles.  A  band  of 
ight  rather  unwashed-looking  musicians 
were  playing  some  not  very  lively  airs  as  the 
people  walked  about,  but  rny  landlord  said  it 
was  hardly  to  be  expected  they  could  be 
gayer  upon  a  hundred  thalers  a  year  between 
;hem,  and  conscience  obliged  me  to  agree 
with  him.  The  visitors  to  the  bath  were  for 
the  most  part  the  usual  collection  of  bewigged 


diaries  Dickens.] 


THE  KOVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


523 


and  washed-out  oddities,  who  assemble  in 
such  places  in  search  of  a  new  lease  of  life — 
people,  whose  characters,  perhaps,  were  ori- 
ginally stamped  in  fast  colours  enough,  but 
whom  time,  and  trouble,  and  small  annuities 
seem  gradually  to  have  fused  all  into  the 
same  pale  faded  tint.  There  was  a  German 
professor  or  two  who  had  bewildered  them- 
selves with  Greek  roots  and  Chaldaic  at  Got- 
tingen.  There  was  a  little  lost  old  woman 
who  fidgetted  about,  and  seemed  to  know 
nobody,  and  to  be  on  very  distant  terms  even 
with  herself,  and  not  at  all  likely  to  put  up 
with  a  liberty.  There  was  a  strayed  dandy, 
who  evidently  ought  to  have  been  at  Hom- 
burg,  and  the  same  eternal  widow  and  her 
three  daughters  whom  I  have  met  every- 
where these  seven  years,  though  why  they  do 
not  stay  at  their  uncle's  rural  deanery  and 
marry  the  young  solicitors  and  surgeons  to 
whom  they  naturally  belong,  and  whom  they 
will  marry  at  last,  is  a  little  mystery  it 
might  make  one's  heart  ache  to  peep  into  too 
closely. 

Going  through  the  Kurhaus  and  a  billiard- 
room,  which  I  was  glad  to  see  deserted,  I 
found  myself  among  a  low  range  of  sheds, 
something  like  the  booths  at  a  fair,  for  not  a 
single  thing  that  they  contained  appeared  to 
be  of  the  slightest  use  to  anybody.  People 
living  in  small  places,  however,  never  like 
their  friends  to  go  anywhere  without  bring- 
ing them  some  little  love  gift  or  other.  It  is 
a  bad  thing  to  go  against  people's  fancies  in 
such  cases,  and  in  the  commerce  of  life,  if  we 
expect  to  receive  kindnesses  and  to  win  hearts, 
we  must  show  a  good-natured  feeling  for 
others,  even  in  the  simple  deed  and  in  the 
trifling  word. 

One  may  find  "  sermons  in  stones  "  if  one 
looks  for  them,  and  we  may  certainly  very  often 
find  an  odd  moral  if  we  look  for  it.  Here,  in 
this  little  hospital,  where  every  person,  not  a 
native  of  the  place,  either  was  or  fancied  him- 
self ill — I  had  a  great  truth  impressed  on  my 
mind  quite  as  vividly  as  it  has  ever  been  before 
or  since  :  "  a  lady  never  thinks  herself  too  old 
to  marry."  I  was  rummaging  about  among 
trumpery  of  all  kinds,  and  had  finally  bought 
a  small  China  goose  to  give  my  friends  as  a 
forget-me-not,  when  an  ominous  little  sharp 
sound  upon  the  floor  told  me  I  had  lost  one 
of  those  bachelor's  torments,  a  shirt  button. 
"  Madam,"  said  I.  deferentially,  to  the  elderly 
lady,  who  had  left  a  still  more  elderly  gentle- 
man to  attend  to  me  ;  "  Madam,  have  you  got 
any  buttons  to  replace  the  one  I  have  just 
After  a  good  deal  of  searching  about — 


lost.' 


for,  of  course,  she  did  not  keep  so  useful  an 
article  as  any  part  of  her  stock  in  trade — a 
new  button  was  at  length  found,  and  as  the 
elderly  lady  seemed  a  matronly  sort  of  body, 
of  some  sixty-five  winters,  and  had  a  good 
stiff  beard  on  her  chin,  I,  .though  a  staid 
man  enough,  saw  no  harm  in  telling  her  that 
she  would  add  to  the  favour  which  she  had 
conferred  upon  me,  if  she  would  sew  it  on. 


Upon  this  she  appeared  to  be  taken  with 
a  strange  kind  of  flutter,  but  as  a  new  comer 
at  the  baths,  who  had  already  purchased  to 
the  magnificent  extent  of  half-a-crown,  was 
not  to  be  lightly  lost  as  a  probable  customer 
in  future,  she  at  length  produced  the  neces- 
sary needle,  and  sitting  down  in  the  chair 
which  the  elderly  gentleman  had  just  quitted, 
I  prepared  for  the  operation.  Much  was  I 
astonished  to  hear  her  say,  in  a  tone  of 
coquettish  anguish  :  "Ah  Gott,  the  Lord  Court 
Counsellor  (Heir  Hofrath)  will  tease  me 
finely  about  sewing  on  a  shirt  button  for 
a  young  man."  The  Lord  Court  Counsellor, 
who  must  have  been  at  least  seventy,  was,  I 
suppose,  the  elderly  gentleman  who  was  car- 
rying on  a  sort  of  faded  flirtation  with  her  ; 
but  I  need  not  add  after  this,  that  my  button 
was  very  badly  sewn  on.  Flirtations  and 
good  housewifery  seldom  agree. 

I  was  just  returning  to  my  inn  after  this, 
when  a  little  group  of  people  coming  down 
the  "  Kurhaus  "  steps  attracted  my  attention. 
It  was  composed  of  two  gentlemen,  evidently 
belonging  to  the  better  classes,  and  somewhat 
in  the  decline  of  life — a  lady,  who  seemed  to 
be  the  wife  of  one  of  them — a  young  man 
of  about  twenty,  who  looked  like  a  student — 
and  an  invalid  girl  of  some  eighteen  summers, 
who  was,  in  the  sight  of  all  men  but  perhaps 
those  to  whom  she  was  dearest,  wearing  away 
to  the  "  Land  of  the  Leal !  "  They  interested 
me  so  strongly,  and  almost  in  spite  of  myself, 
that  I  tried  to  learn  their  history.  It  was 
short,  but  touching  enough.  The  young 
maiden's  lover  had  been  killed  in  the  wars  of 
Holstein.  He  had  fallen  in  the  front  of 
battle,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand,  and  the 
star  of  the  Hohenzollern  knighthood  newly 
won  upon  his  breast.  He  had  died  while 
her  faith  was  whole  in  him,  in  the  promise 
and  the  hope  of  youth  ;  in  the  full  flush  of  its 
beautiful  romance  he  had  passed  away  ;  like 
a  song  unfinished,  like  an  air  but  just  begun, 
the  chords  had  ceased  to  vibrate  while  their 
tone  was  sweetest.  So  the  maid  had  looked 
upon  her  dead  lover  as  a  hero,  as  something 
greater,  nobler,  better  than  anything  which 
could  be  again.  So  great,  and  even  as  it  has 
always  seemed  to  me,  so  humbling  to  our 
grosser  natures,  is  the  love  of  a  true-hearted 
woman. 

The  news  did  not  seem  to  affect  her  very 
violently  at  first ;  she  went  about  her  house- 
hold duties  as  usual,  smiling  often  when  kind 
eyes  were  watching  her  ;  but  she  drooped 
gradually.  From  being  a  fine,  healthy  girl, 
and  one  of  those  happily-constituted  natures 
not  easily  moved,  she  became  subject  to  need- 
less alarms  and  cried  frequently.  One  day 
she  fainted  ;  her  brother  had  casually  men- 
tioned the  name  of  her  lover,  who  had  been 
his  college  friend  and  "  Dutzbruder  "  (Thou 
brother)  ;  when  she  came  to  herself,  and  they 
asked  what  had  ailed  her,  she  said,  at  last,  "  I 
think  I — I — am  going  to  join  Wilhelrn." 

Then  they  knew  her  secret,  and  the  wealth 


524 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


of  grief  she  had  hoarded  up  in  her  heart  so 
long.  They  took  her  to  baths  and  watering 
places,  hither  and  thither.  The  skill  of 
physicians  was  exhausted  in  vain  upon  her. 
They  led  her  from  place  to  place,  and  she 
was  always  cheerful  when  they  were  with 
her,  and  the  smile  lingered  ever  on  her  lip  ; 
but  if  left  alone  the  dark  shadow  came  back, 
and  at  night  her  dreams  were  troubled,  and 
she  sobbed  in  her  sleep  as  if  her  heart  was 
breaking. 

Her  mother  had  died  when  she  was  young, 
or,  perhaps,  she  might  have  found  a  balm  for 
that  early  heavy  sorrow,  though  it  was  beyond 
the  art  of  another.  The  father  of  her  dead 
lover  and  his  mother,  however,  attended  her 
.everywhere,  and  it  was  very  touching  to  see 
with  what  heart-aching  anxiety  they  watched 
over  her.  Her  brother,  too,  looked  upon  an 
almost  solemn  care  of  her  to  be  among  the 
duties  he  owed  to  his  dead  friend  as  much  as 
to  his  sister  ;  for  the  young  soldier  who  slept 
far  away  had  been  his  college  friend  and  Dutz- 
bruder,  and  of  all  feelings  this  friendship  is, 
perhaps,  the  strongest  in  a  German  heart :  as 
strong  even  as  foster- brotherhood  among  the 
highlands  of  Scotland.  If  love,  then,  and 
watching  and  tenderness,  if  the  very  heart's 
blood  of  all  around  her  could  have  prolonged 
that  gentle  life  an  hour,  it  would  have  been 
poured  out  like  water.  Alas  !  there  is  little 
hope  ;  in  another  short  week  or  two  a  bell 
shall  be  heard  in  the  little  chapel  upon  the 
hill,  and  a  crucifix  be  born  aloft :  she  shall  be 
laid  in  "  The  Court  of  Peace  "  (Fried-Hof), 
and  flowers  shall  blossom  sweetly  over  that 
early  and  sacred  grave.  War  is  a  dreadful 
thing,  indeed,  when  such  are  of  its  fruits  ! 

I  rode  homeward,  rather  saddened  by  this 
little  history,  loitering  gently  through  the 
sweet-smelling  hay-fields  and  ripening  corn, 
looking  like  fairy  gold  in  the  moonlight,  and 
I  thought  that  I  had  spent  one  of  those  happy 
peaceful  days  it  does  one  good  to  remember. 
Golden  bells,  as  the  Hungarians  say,  were 
ringing  in  my  heart  :  a  gentle  peal  full  of 
love  and  gratitude  to  the  Giver  of  all  things. 
and  of  overflowing  tenderness  .and  charity  to  I 
all  created  things.  My  very  breathings  felt 
like  spontaneous  prayer,  and  thus  journeying 
among  hills  and  woodland,  by  cottages  trelliced 
over  with  the  honeysuckle,  and  fragrant  with 
eglantine  and  sweet-briar,  I  saw  the  quaint 
old  city,  with  its  gloomy  streets  and  fantastic 
air.  with  something  almost  like  regret  that  so 
pleasant  an  episode  in  my  life  was  ended. 

Great  things  had  happened,  however,  while 
I  was  away.  A  sixteenth  cousin  of  mine 
(thrice  removed),  who  enjoys  the  high  here- 
ditary office  of  "  Vice  Uncoverer  of  the  Soup" 
to  His  Effulgent  Thoroughgoingness  the 
Margraf  of  Schwarzwiirst-Schinkens-Hausen, 
had  chosen  this  day  to  give  a  fete  (a  hot 
troublesome  dusty  crowded  assembly  bewil- 
dered with  noisy  music),  in  commemoration  of 
the  occasion  when  the  grand-uncle  of  His 
present  Effulgency  Rudolph,  surnamed  "  The 


j  Terror  of  the  Burghers,"  recovered  from  the 
chicken-pox.  These  occasions  are,  however, 
of  such  frequent  occurrence  throughout  Ger- 
many, that  their  punctual  observance  goes 
very  far  to  stop  the  wheels  both  of  business 
and  pleasure,  and  I  had  for  some  time  made 
a  practice  of  forgetting  them  ;  although  not 
without  many  stern  remonstrances  from  iny 
excellent  uncle,  or,  I  should  rather  say,  from 
"  His  Excellency "  my  uncle  :  for,  at  this 
almost  inaccessible  height  of  German  dignity 
was  he  placed,  in  virtue  of  his  office. 

I  had  great  trouble  to  excuse  my  absence 
when  I  returned,  and  I  fear  my  uncle,  though 
in  the  main  a  kind  old  man,  will  be  long 
before  he  forgets  my  defection.  It  never 
seemed  to  occur,  either  to  him  or  to  his 
guests,  that  it  is  not  a  very  exhilarating  species 
of  entertainment — or  rather,  that  it  is  upon 
the  whole,  and  when  you  come  to  think  of  it — 
more  than  sufficiently  wearisome  to  pass  a  fine 
summer's  evening,  standing  about  in  doorways 
in  tight  clothes  and  varnished  boots.  Besides 
which,  I  am  getting  a  little  tired  of  hearing 
my  uncle  and  his  friends  tell  me,  so  often, 
how  many  quarterings  a  man  must  have  upon 
his  escutcheon,  in  order  that  he  may  be 
qualified  to  take  off  the  boots  of  His  Effulgency, 
and  wear  a  little  gold  key  on  the  tails  of  his 
coat  in  token  thereof. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I  have  been 
at  some  trouble  to  ascertain  what  may 
be  the  virtues  of  the  Molke,  and  of  the 
different  waters  drank  at  German  watering 
places,  to  occasion  the  general  emigration 
which  sets  in  about  July — but  without  success. 
Some  say  that  a  kind  of  furor  or  ungovernable 
desire  for  unpalatable  beverages  seizes  upon 
the  Teutonic  races  about  this  period  ;  while 
others  assert,  that  having  carefully  avoided 
all  contact  with  water  for  ten  months  in  the 
year,  exasperated  nature  insists  on  their 
washing  themselves  during  the  other  two. 
Of  their  medical  virtues  I  have  heard  siich 
wonders,  as  could  only  have  been  the  effects 
of  a  miracle  (all  attested  by  the  principal 
innkeepers  of  the  place),  and  they  seem  to  be 
equally  efficacious  in  matters  which  appeared 
formerly,  to  darkened  minds,  to  concern  the 
surgeon.  A  Bremen  merchant  whom  I  con- 
sulted, a  short,  squat  man,  told  me  that  he 
had  gone  to  Eehburg,  "  because  he  had  broken 
his  arm.''  He  did  not  tell  me  .whether  the 
Molke  had  set  it,  but  added,  with  a  sigh, 
that  "  money  was  of  little  value,  and  did  a 
man  no  good  without  health."  [  answered, 
that  I  was  thankful  to  say  I  knew  very  well 
that  health  w.is  a  good  thing  :  but  what 
might  be  the  sensations  of  a  man  who  had 
money,  I  did  not  know,  and,  therefore,  should 
now  become  reconciled  to  what  I  hsul 
hitherto  regarded  as  a  grief,  and  advise  my 
friends  to  do  likewise,  and  to  profit  by  his 
moral. 

I  question,  however,  should  any  of  us  break 
a  leg,  whether  drinking  goats'  milk  will  be 
the  right  way  to  set  it. 


Publl.hert  »t  the  Offlee,  No  18,  Wellington  Street  North.  Strand.    Printed  br  B»»rBn»T  *  Kt»si,  Whltefrimn.  LOT-JOB. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."— 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


126.] 


SATURDAY,  AUGUST  21,  1852. 


[PRICE  -2d. 


THE  CITY  PAELIAMENT. 

I  READ  much  in  dusty  folios.  I  think  much 
of  old  kings  and  their  subjects,  dead  and 
gone.  I  like  to  picture  in  my  chamber  the 
domestic  life  of  mummies  as  they  used  to  be, 
when  they  could  walk  about,  and  eat  and  drink, 
and  kiss.  Sometimes  I  have  blundered  through 
Cheapside,  jostled  by  the  crowd,  and  while  I 
might  be  staring  at  the  window  of  a  music- 
shop,  with  my  eyes  fastened  about  the 
Bloomer  painted  on  a  polka,  my  head  has 
been  with  Hath6r,  who  was  the  Egyptian 
Venus,  and  my  whole  mind  busy  in  the  ruins 
of  her  temple,  near  the  village  of  Bedrechein. 
Over  London  Bridge,  perhaps,  I  have  dreamed 
that  I  was  walking  in  the  date  wood  which 
now  covers  the  ground  where  Memphis  stood. 
Passing  Bucklersbury — sacred  grove  of  cooks 
— my  fixed  gaze  on  the  placard  appended 
to  the  breast  of  a  hungry-looking  man,  may 
have  induced  that  individual  to  suppose  that 
I  was  counting  to  myself  the  cost  of  roast  beef, 
potatoes,  cabbage,  and  a  pint  of  ale,  preliminary 
to  an  acceptance  of  his  public  invitation  to 
dine  cheaply  at  Marrowfat's,  while  I  was  only 
conscious  to  myself  of  gazing  at  the  statue  of 
Sesostris,  thirty-four  and  a  half  feet  high,  with 
its  face  flat  on  the  ground,  and  wanting  a  great 
portion  of  its  legs. 

I  do  not  look  at  names  upon  street- 
corners,  I  take  no  heed  of  turnings,  yet,  in 
the  .Roman  Catacombs,  I  read  every  in- 
scription. I  have  also  copied  writing  from 
Etruscan  tombs,  and  I  have  made  rubbings 
in  this  country  of  a  vast  number  of  monu- 
mental brasses.  I  walked  one  day  last 
winter  in  Cheapside — there  was  no  "  me- 
thought "  about  it — I  had  been  walking 
through  one  half  of  huge  London,  through 
the  very  substance  of  the  nut,  until  I  reached 
the  City,  which  lies  like  a  maggot  in  the 
centre.  I  knew  the  City  by  the  noise  and 
dirt  of  its  close  thoroughfares,  and  by  the 
thumbed  look  of  its  shops.  I  had  been  jostling 
my  way  for  two  hours  through  a  huge  popu- 
lation, with  large  heaps  of  wealth  piled  up  on 
either  side  of  the  great  human  current.  Un- 
consciously I  became  tossed  by  some  eddy  out 
of  the  full  roar  of  the  tide  into  the  quietness 
of  a  small  creek,  which  is  named  King  Street, 
Cheapside.  I  know  it,  for  it  is  become  my 
Yarrow.  I  then  visited  it  first,  and  I  have 


since  revisited  the  spot.  Of  a  few  impressions 
left  upon  my  memory  by  these  two  visits,  it 
is  my  desire  now  to  present  copies  to  the 
public  generally,  but  particularly  to  my 
brother  antiquarians. 

At  the  time  when  I  first  drifted  into  King 
Street,  I  was  reading  an  old  book  in  modern 
Latin,  Cardan's  Confession  of  his  Life.  He 
was  a  man  much  hustled  in  the  world  three 
centuries  ago,  and  I  was  so  greatly  interested 
in  his  narrative  that  I  walked  on  without 
perceiving  the  direction  I  had  taken  (my 
desire  was  to  go  to  Hackney),  until  I  had 
fairly  walked  into  the  hall  of  an  old  building, 
which  stood  in  the  way  of  any  farther  pro- 
gress. The  change  from  open  air  to  roof,  the 
presence  of  antiquity,  the  frowns  of  two  sub- 
lime idols,  who  reared  in  a  corner  of  the  hall 
their  lofty  fronts,  caused  me  to  close  my  book, 
and  look  with  reverence  about  me.  A  person, 
in  reply  to  my  inquiry,  informed  me  that  the 
temple  in  which  I  stood  was  called  Guildhall, 
|  and  that  the  colossal  idols,  gorgeously  coloured, 
and  far  superior  in  breadth  of  feature  to  the 
effeminate  productions  of  Canova,  Thor- 
waldsen,  or  Baily,  were  named  Gog  and 
Magog.  Steps,  leading  through  a  suite  of 
smaller  antechambers,  led  to  the  recesses  of 
the  temple,  and  with  a  bold  step  I  set  forward 
to  explore  its  inmost  mysteries. 

A  venerable  man  in  scarlet  clothing  stood 
in  the  third  chamber,  and  pointed  to  a  door, 
by  which  I  entered  to  ascend  a  little  flight 
of  steps  and  reach  a  g'allery.  A  humming 
and  a  drumming  filled  the  air :  a  humming 
as  of  men,  a  drumming  as  upon  a  table 
with  a  hammer,  and  a  monotonous  cry 
of  order,  like  the  cry  of  Imaum  from  the 
Mosque.  From  the  gallery  I  looked  out 
upon  a  full  concourse  of  the  initiated,  who 
assemble  in  the  recesses  of  the  Temple  of 
Gog.  Since  there  were  a  few  men  near  me 
in  the  gallery,  who  had  apparently  accom- 
plished the  same  adventure  which  I  had 
myself  brought  to  so  fortunate  an  issue,  of 
one  of  them  I  asked :  "  What  place  is  this,  and 
what  may  be  the  meaning  of  this  humming 
and  this  drumming  1  "  "  Sir,"  he  replied, 
"  this  is  the  House  of  Common  Councilmen — 
the  City  Parliament — and  members  are  now 
forwarding  a  bill  through  its  first  and  second 
stages/' 

This,  then,  was  that  great  Corporation  of 


126 


526 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  City  of  London,  of  which  I  had  heard  so 
much  ;  that  great  civic  Amphyctyony  formed 
of  deputies  and  members  from  the  City 
wards,  and  with  the  objects  of  whose  league 
was  intimately  bound  up  the  protection,  not 
indeed  of  the  worship  at  Pytho,  but  of  the 
market  in  Smithfield.  The  Amphyctyony  was 
an  honour  to  the  age  in  which  it  was  esta- 
blished, the  Corporation  of  London  is  an 
honour  to  our  own  age.  I  am  not  one  of  its 
detractors.  It  is  one  of  the  few  nooks  into 
which  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors  has,  in 
the  present  day,  been  able  to  retreat  and 
stand  like  a  great  boar  at  bay.  If  it  be  true, 
as  Heyne  suggested,  that  the  Amphyctyony 
was  a  confederation  against  the  Pelasgians, 
I  know  well  that  there  is  equal  reason  for  a 
theory  which  would  make  the  Corporation  of 
London  a  confederation  against  the  Pelasgians 
of  our  own  day — the  dull  men  who  will  think — 
as  if  the  thinking  had  not  all  been  done  ;  and 
p  do  not  know  that  the  world  is  five  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  fifty-six  years  old,  and 
needs  no  teaching  from  the  pert  young  fellows 
of  thirty,  forty,  fifty,  ay,  or  seventy,  who  talk 
about  improved  lights  and  reform.  The  Cor- 
poration may  be  an  anachronism  in  these  evil 
days,  just  as  it  sometimes  occurs  to  me  that 
I  myself  might  have  felt  more  at  home  in 
better  times.  If  I  could  only  have  lived  in 
the  days  mentioned  by  Manetho,  when  Mis- 
phragmuthosis  liberated  Egypt  from  the 
Hycsos,  I  should  have  seen  some  patriotism 
then,  and  my  chest  would  have  expanded,  as 
it  never  can  expand  in  these  dull  days.  The 
nearest  approach  to  a  sense  of  patriotism 
that  I  have  ever  known,  was  that  Avhich  I 
felt  in  the  recesses  of  Guildhall  when  I  first 
looked  forth  upon  the  grand  scene  of  the 
assemblage  of  the  Common  Council.  There 
sat  the  great  Lord  Mayor  upon  his  chair  of 
state,  the  solemn  dignity  of  whose  appearance 
has  suggested  the  fine  parallel  of  a  modern 
poet — 

"Jove  in  his  chair 
Of  the  skies  Lord  Mayor," 

and  over  the  head  of  this  grand,  living  Jove, 
towered  upon  a  pedestal  the  statue  of  King 
George  the  Third,  under  which  was  inscribed 
the  single  patriotic  sentiment  "  Born  and 
Bred  a  Briton  " — please  to  observe  the  B's. 

I  looked  about  me  to  take  more  notice  of 
the  bees,  by  whom  the  buzz  and  humming  was 
created.  Light  from  the  ceiling  streamed  into 
their  hive,  around  the  walls  of  which,  pictures 
were  hung — pictures  of  royal  personages, 
judges,  mayors,  admirals,  and  naval  engage- 
ments. There  were  also  busts.  I  trembled 
and  blushed  when  I  observed,  for  the  first  time, 
that  by  the  hyphen  of  a  long  table,  which 
ran  down  the  centre  of  the  floor,  I  was  in 
some  manner  connected  with  the  Chief  Magis- 
trate of  London.  The  benches  of  the  House 
of  Common  Councilmen  arose  on  each  side  of 
the  central  table  in  rows  ;  row  behind  row  ; 
well- cushioned  and  padded.  Those  benches 


were  well  filled  by  members,  each  of  whom 
held  in  his  hand  a  printed  paper,  on  which  I 
understood  to  be  inscribed  petitions,  notices 
of  motion,  and  the  other  business  of  the  day. 
The  dry  and  legal  voice  of  the  clerk  of  the 
House,  who,  gowned  and  wigged,  stood  at  a 
table,  was  filing  its  way  through  a  wedge  of 
formal  documents.  There  was  a  great  rustling 
of  the  members'  papers,  and  a  great  hum  from 
the  peopled  banks  on  each  side  of  the  table. 
Between,  the  banks  also  on  each  side  of  the 
long  table,  I  observed  a  constant  current  pro- 
duced by  the  movement  of  two  gentlemen  in 
wigs  and  gowns,  who  now  had  somebody  to 
speak  with  near  the  door  under  the  gallery, 
and  then  returned  to  the  town  clerk  under 
the  Mayor,  and  so  like  ghosts  upon  the 
margin  of  the  Styx  continually  flitted  to 
and  fro. 

The  town  clerk  sat  at  a  cross  table  near  the 
feet  of  his  Gamaliel,  the  Mayor.  The  Mayor's 
platform  was  extended  on  either  side  of  him, 
and  was  supplied  with  seats  sufficiently 
capacious  ;  from  which  aldermen,  who  are 
entitled  there  to  sit  and  thence  to  speak, 
looked  down  over  a  brass  railing  (like  the 
greater  gods  of  Olympus  encompassing  their 
Jove)  upon  the  multitudes  of  lesser  gods — 
Dii  Minores  of  the  corporation. 

With  what  rapt  attention  I  listened,  on  my 
first  visit,  to  the  proceedings  in  the  recesses 
of  the  Hall  of  Gog  that  winter's  day,  I  do 
not  mean  to  tell.  There  was  a  fine  debate. 
The  stream  of  reading,  after  flowing  long 
through  the  breezy  murmur  and  the  rustle 
on  the  benches,  ceased  at  last,  and  a  young 
man  stood  forward  to  address  the  House  of 
Common  Councilmen  on  business  in  which 
strong  interest  was  taken.  Noble  passions 
were  aroused.  The  gentleman  upon  his  legs 
looked  tranquil.  He  said  that  he  had  been 
put  down  very  often,  but  to-day  he  was 
determined  that  his  business  should  come  on. 
Others  were  determined  that  it  should  not 
come  on.  He  was  told  that  he  was  in  order, 
he  was  told  that  he  was  out  of  order  ;  he  was 
told  to  sit  down,  he  was  told  to  speak  up  ;  and 
a  roar  as  of  Smithfield  on  a  market-day  sur- 
rounded him.  The  clerk  rose  to  explain  the 
forms  and  ceremonies  of  the  House  :  deciding 
that  the  honourable  gentleman  was  perfectly 
in  order.  The  clamour  was  resumed,  and  the 
clerk  of  the  House  was  contradicted.  Mr. 
Speaker,  the  Mayor,  Jove  himself,  then  rose 
to  order,  and  endeavoured  to  appease  all 
parties  by  the  nectar  of  compromise.  The 
honourable  member,  who  had  been  declared 
in  order,  said,  that  being  in  order,  he  should 
wait  for  order,  and  would  certainly  not  waive 
his  claim  to  speak.  At  last  an  Alderman  pro- 
posed over  the  brass  railing  that  the  question 
be  adjourned  to  that  day  six  months.  Nobody 
seconded  ;  and  the  opposition,  having  been 
aldenuaoized,  fell  asleep. 

The   question  of  the  honourable  member 
proved  to  be  some  question  about  gas,  a  !' 
in  which  I  do  not  myself  believe.     It  was  so 


C&arlcs  HicUcns.] 


THE  CITY  PARLIAMENT. 


527 


uncongenial   than  gas  is, 
opinions    of    antiquity. 


clearly  intended  that  the  night  should  be 
dftrfe,  that  there  lies  against  gas  the  same 
objection  that  I  have  always  urged  against 
the  use  of  chloroform  ;  that  it  is  a  flying  in 
the  face  of  Providence.  If  a  bright  light  were 
wanted  longer  than  we  have  it  naturally,  the 
sun  would  not  leave  us  when  it  does.  If  we 
ought  to  have  more  than  a  glimmer  after  sun- 
set, we  should  have  more  than  glimmer  from 
the  moon  and  stars.  I  consider  rushlights 
most  in  harmony  with  Nature,  and  much  less 
to  the  habits  and 
I  was  not  sorry, 

therefore,  when  I  found  that  the  gentleman 
who  opened  this  debate  was  the  advocate  of 
a  company  for  supplying  London  with  cheap 
gas  ;  I  say  I  was  not  sorry  to  perceive  that 
he  was  heard  unwillingly.  I  need  not  detail 
the  particulars  of  that  debate,  one  of  the 
hottest  I  have  ever  heard  ;  I  need  say  only 
that  it  was  heated  by  gas :  gas  was  the 
matter  that  inflamed  all  minds,  upon  that 
memorable  afternoon. 

The  storm  of  opinion  beat  most  decidedly 
against  the  honourable  gentleman  who  intro- 
duced the  question,  until  the  rising  of  an 
incautious  opponent  —  although  incautious, 
certainly  not  incorrect ;  for  he  assured  the 
honourable  House  that  "  'e  never  in  his  life 
'ad  stated  anything  he  couldn't  prove."  A 
second  Euclid  !  I  have  made  note  of  his 
name,  and  will  supply  it  with  much  pleasure, 
should  the  University  of  Cambridge  feel  dis- 
posed to  enter  into  treaty  with  him  for  the 
valuable  service  he  could  render.  This  civic 
Euclid,  who  appeared  at  the  same  time  to  be 
the  civic  Cicero,  entreated  honourable  gentle- 
men frequently  in  the  course  of  his  address, 
"  not  to  swaller  an  Act  of  Parliament,"  as  it 
appeared  they  must  needs  do,  if  they  voted 
for  his  honourable  friend.  The  suggestion 
was,  perhaps,  not  quite  judicious.  Perhaps 
the  Corporation  of  London — being  told  that 
there  was  anything  to  swallow,  and  knowing, 
as  it  does  know,  that  the  stomach  is  an  insti- 
tution which  began  with  Adam,  and  which  for 
its  antiquity  deserves  to  be  substantially  sup- 
ported— was  prepared,  if  there  was  something 
to  swallow,  certainly  to  swallow  it,  even 
though  it  might  be  no  more  than  a  dry  husk 
of  an  Act  of  Parliament.  From  that  point 
the  tide  of  eloquence  appeared  to  have  turned, 
and  to  be  closing  in  upon  the  motion  of  the 
honourable  member  who  first  spoke.  I  was 
not  quite  sure  how  the  debate  would  end  ; 
and,  unfortunately,  did  not  remain  in  the 
august  assembly  after  three  o'clock  ;  that 
being  the  dinner  hour  at  Hackney,  I  was 
than  admonished  to  proceed  upon  my  road. 

Since  the  winter,  I  have  run  over  to  Thebes 
with  a  few  friends,  not  without  some  annoy- 
ance at  experiencing  the  indecent  haste  with 
which  the  solemn  act  of  travelling  is  now 
slurred  over.  I  was  unable,  therefore,  for 
some  months  to  revisit  King  Street.  Thebes 
did  me  good.  From  among  its  ruins  I  looked 


is  called,  forsooth,  a  large  town  in  these 
degenerate  days.  Thebes,  in  the  good  old 
times,  with  its  included  gardens,  was  a  town 
indeed.  Thirty-six  English  miles  in  cir- 
cumference !  Its  great  temple  might  have  the 
whole  of  Winchester  set  down  upon  the  space 
it  covered.  Even  near  Rome,  it  is  well 
known  that  the  little  town  of  Palestrina 
stands  upon  the  area  of  an  old  temple  of 
Fortune.  Those  were  great  times  indeed. 

Nevertheless,  even  while  in  Thebes,.  I  re- 
membered that  there  was  an  ancient  fane  in 
London  wherein  once  I  had  been  privileged  to 
wonder.  While  the  Corporation  of  London 
shall  meet  under  the  shadow  of  Gog  and 
Magog,  to  resist  the  pressure  of  the  present 
on  the  past,  there  remains  for  men  like  me, 
at  least  one  straw  at  which  to  grasp  in  the 
great  flood  of  innovation.  When  I  came  back 
to  London  recently,  I  said  within  myself, 
There  yet  remain  giants  for  reverence.  I  will 
seek  out  King  Street,  I  will  pass  again  under 
the  shadow  of  the  idols ;  and,  in  the  \> 
tralia  of  their  temple,  will  behold  again 
the  solemn  gathering  of  the  andrGn  eroon 
theion  ffenos,  which  I  translate  for  a  perverse 
age  that  speaks  no  longer  Greek,  as  meaning 
the  divine  race  of  heroes. 

So  I  went.  1  heard  again  the  rustling  of 
the  papers,  and  the  humming  of  the  members, 
and  the  drumming  of  the  hammer.  Bills 
were  being  read  second  and  third  times, 
money  was  being  voted,  and  a  screw  press 
was  biting  constantly  upon  the  ends  of  docu- 
ments presented  to  it,  and  leaving  the  mark 
of  its  teeth  upon  them  in  the  shape  of  the 
City  seal. 

Among  other  things,  money  was  asked  and 


in  Copenhagen  Fields  for  a  new  market ;  a 
home  for  the  flocks  and  herds  torn  from  their 
heritage  in  Smithfield,  and  about  to  be 
transferred  to  other  regions.  There  appeared 
to  exist  out  of  doors  some  little  unwillingness, 
in  men  living  about  those  fields,  to  fraternise 
with  the  poor  anastatoi ;  to  a  perverse  age 
that  has  ceased  to  speak  Greek,  I  explain 
that  anastatoi  was  the  name  given  technically, 
in  the  fine  old  times,  to  races  carried,  as  the 
Jews  were,  out  of  their  own  proper  country 
and  set  down  in  a  new  place — it  might  be  in 
Babylon,  or  it  might  be  in  Copenhagen  Fields. 
The  money  was  voted,  but  inquiry  was  made 
of  the  honourable  mover  of  the  vote,  whether 
it  was  intended  to  proceed  at  once  with  the 
erection  of  the  new  market,  in  spite  of  the 
opinion  of  authorities  that  the  bill  for  removal 
could  not  be  left  in  its  existing  state,  and  the 
feeling  of  the  public  that  the  choice  of  the 
new  site  was  an  aggravation  of  the  old  offence. 
The  public  !  Oioi  nun  brotoi  eisin,  they  are 
brutes,  as  Homer  says.  If  one  could  only  get 
them  well  under  a  drover's  stick  ! 

The  honourable  mover  of  the  vote  answered 
with  the  calmness  of  a  hero  who  disdains  the 
voices  of  the  present ;  who  knows  no  voice  but 


back  upon  the  puny  pomps  of  London  ;  which  I  the  voices  of  his  brothers  in  Guildhall.     As 


£26 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


for  newspaper  opinion,  he  neither  heeds  nor 
reads  it.  The  latest  news  that  interests  him 
in  the  world  might  be  found  perhaps  in  the 
Prologues  of  Trogus.  "  The  committee  pro- 
posed," he  said,  "to  abide  within  the  bill, 
and  to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  the  Corpora- 
tion. The  Corporation  wished  the  new  market 
to  be  established  speedily  " — "  In  Copenhagen 
Fields  ? "  cried  one.  "  In  Copenhagen  Fields," 
replied  the  hero.  "  Then,"  said  another,  "  I 
shall  present  presently  an  important  memo- 
rial " — he  said  no  more,  for  he  was  instantly 
put  down,  and  the  House  proceeded  to  the 
next  item  of  business. 

Petitions  were  read  from  three  gentlemen 
who  had  been  elected  to  the  office  of  Sheriff 
of  the  City  of  London  without  their  own  con- 
sent, and  fined  severally  four  or  six  hundred 
pounds  for  being  unable  to  serve.  They 
prayed  for  inquiry  into  the  duties,  gains  and 
losses  of  the  sheriff's  office,  with  a  view  to  its 
amendment. 

An  honourable  member  rose  to  propound  a 
motion,  founded  on  the  prayer  of  the  petition. 
He  began  well,  by  saying  that  "  he  should 
advance  back  to  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar." 
Backward  motion,  a  return  towards  the  pattern 
of  the  past,  is  certainly  the  only  way  of  getting 
forward  safely  in  these  days.  I  was  glad, 
therefore,  to  hear  Julius  Caesar's  time  dilated 
upon,  and  the  office  of  sheriff  in  the  ancient 
times,  under  Anglo-Saxons,  William  the  Con- 
queror, and  early  English  sovereigns,  held  up 
as  an  example  to  the  present.  It  seemed  that 
the  office  of  sheriff  has  degenerated.  The 
sheriffs  formerly  received  all  dues  on  account 
of  package  and  carriage  in  the  City  ;  by  way 
of  commutation,  it  was  agreed  that  they 
should  receive  as  an  equivalent  in  old  times 
one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  yet 
those  package  dues  were  afterwards  bought 
of  the  City  for  two  hundred  thousand  pounds, 
which  should,  according  to  the  ancient  order 
of  things,  have  come  into  the  pockets  of  the 
sheriffs.  In  the  same  way  the  sheriffs  had 
the  tolls  of  Smithfield,  which  were  commuted 
when  they  were  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  a  year ;  so  that  the  sheriffs  receive 
now  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year 
when  they  might  have  been  enjoying  these 
lucrative  tolls.  The  tolls  of  Bishopsgate  and 
Aldgate  were  also  commuted  to  them  for  fifty 
poundsj  in  the  good  times  when  fifty  pounds 
was  a  good  deal  of  money,  and  water  dues 
for  sixty  pounds,  by  the  fair  current  of 
which  they  ought  to  have  become  sole 
recipients  of  the  coal-tax.  The  sheriffs  used 
to  receive  also  a  handsome  income  from  the 
sale  of  offices  in  the  City  of  London ;  there 
were  fifty-six  such  offices  on  sale  from  that  of 
a  judge  downwards,  and  sales  were  effected 
up  to  the  beginning  of  the  present  century. 
In  the  year  1828,  the  City  Lands  Committee 
recommended  the  sale  of  a  valuable  office, 
and  the  opposition  of  an  active  member  caused 
the  system  then  to  be  finally  abolished.  It 
had  held  good  a  long  time  in  the  Corporation  ; 


but  it  was  well,  the  honourable  member  said, 
that  it  should  now  be  gone  ;  and  the  virtue 
of  the  Court  was  testified  by  the  prompt 
abolition  of  the  practice.  There  were  also 
small  fines  paid  to  the  sheriffs,  which  it  was 
now  the  custom  to  return,  so  that  the  revenues 
of  their  office  do  not  amount  to  more  than 
seven  hundred  and  eighty-seven  pounds. 

But  what  are  their  expenses  ?  In  the  first 
place,  there  is  the  Inauguration  Dinner — not 
compulsory,  indeed,  but  not  to  be  omitted  wit]'.  - 
out  letting  a  blot  fall  on  the  escutcheon  of  a 
civic  functionary.  That  is  for  eating.  Dinners 
are  not  so  cheap  now  as  they  were  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  ago,  when  fifty 
persons  could  be  feasted  at  Salter's  Hall  for 
one  pound,  thirteen  shillings,  and  twopence 
halfpenny.  Then  the  sheriffs  must  maintain 
a  table  at  the  Sessions-house,  for  judges, 
barristers,  and  counsel,  during  twelve  sessions, 
and  that  costs  each  of  them  about  six  hundred 
pounds.  That  is  for  eating.  Then  their  con- 
tribution to  the  feast  on  Lord  Mayor's  Day 
costs  them  again  about  six  hundred  pounds 
a-piece.  That  is  for  eating.  They  have  also  to 
worship  in  pomp  with  the  Lord  Mayor  at  the 
City  churches,  and  to  bestow  money  after  the 
sermons  to  the  extent  of  fifty  or  eighty  pounds 
a  year.  That  is  for  charity.  It  appears,  there- 
fore, that  the  sheriff  pays  for  riding  in  his 
gorgeous  City  coach  a  first-class  fare  of 
serious  dimensions ;  and  that  his  outlay  is 
created  by  the  necessity  for  food  existing 
among  fellow-citizens.  His  scarlet  gown  in 
not  a  robe  of  honour  ;  and  although  a  fine,  ac- 
cording to  his  rank  as  alderman  or  commoner, 
of  six  or  four  hundred  pounds  is  invented  for 
the  purpose  of  compelling  any  chosen  man  to 
serve  and  feed  his  fellow-citizens  ;  yet  so  little 
is  the  office  liked,  that,  in  the  twenty  years 
beginning  with  the  present  century,  no  less 
a  sum  than  sixty-two  thousand  four  hun- 
dred pounds  was  gathered  in  the  fines  of 
men  who  had  refused  its  honours.  "  Without 
a  proper  honorarium"  said  the  speaker,  "  no 
man  of  fine  feelings  will  accept  an  office." 
The  honourable  member,  therefore,  moved 
for  a  committee  to  inquire  into  all  matters 
connected  with  the  position  of  the  sheriffs, 
and  to  consider  the  propriety  of  appending  to 
the  office  such  allowance  as  would  suffice  to 
meet  the  expenses  it  entailed. 

Upon  this  motion  a  debate  arose  in  the 
honourable  Court,  remarkable  as  being  a  con- 
verse to  the  ancient  fable  of  "The  Belly  and 
the  Members."  The  members  of  the  Court, 
testifying  the  most  laudable  affection  for  the 
belly,  showed  how  well  they  can  keep  pace, 
in  their  heroic  spirits,  with  the  temper 
of  the  Roman  patriot  and  moralist.  An 
honourable  member  in  an  admirably  ener- 
getic speech,  declared,  with  attitude  and 
gestures  of  disgust,  that  "  he  despised  the 
claptrap  of  grossness.  It  is  not  gross,  I  sup- 
pose," he  said,  "to  dine  at  'ome,  but  it  is 
gross  work  dining  with  the  Queen  !  "  He 
would  never  be  a  party  to  the  remuneration 


Charlei  Dickens.} 


THE  CITY  PAELIAMENT. 


of  the  sheriffs.  "  If  anything  was  to  be  got 
by  the  office,"  he  said,  with  a  stern  moral 
sense,  an  instinct  of  honour  which  has  still  a 
stronghold  in  Guildhall,  "  if  anything  was  to 
be  got,  we  should  'ave  everybody  after  it.  It 
wodd  give  rise  to  jobs." 

It  was  stated  frequently  in  the  course  of 
debate  as  one  ground  of  complaint,  that  gen- 
tlemen received  no  notice  of  intention  to 
propose  them  to  the  rank  of  sheriff,  and  that 
the  election  which  ought  to  be  made  by  the 
Livery  of  London,  sifice  the  Livery  did  not 
attend,  was  made  notoriously  by  men  hired 
at  two  shillings  or  half-a-crown  a  day,  to  hold 
up  their  hands  according  to  directions.  It 
was  said,  on  behalf  of  one  of  the  petitioners, 
that  he  had  indeed  been  warned  privately 
of  the  impending  fate,  and  was  promised 
that  he  should  not  be  elected  if  he  would 
consent  to  pay  a  certain  sum,  considerably 
smaller  than  his  fine,  He  refused,  considering 
this  way  of  sheriff-making  by  a  praetorian 
guard  got  up  for  the  occasion,  to  be  a  practice 
of  the  most  pernicious  kindj  which  affected 
seriously  the  honour  of  the  City.  Another 
speaker  read  an  address  formerly  delivered 
by  the  esteemed  Judge  Jeffries,  in  which  he 
spoke  of  the  practice  of  creating  unwilling 
men  one  after  another  into  sheriffs,  for  the 
sake  of  their  fines,  as  a  familiar  habit  well 
known  to  his  hearers  under  the  name  of 
"going  a  birding  for  sheriffs."  The  main 
topic  of  declamation,  however,  and  the 
pressure  of  opinion  in  the  honourable  Court 
at  which  I  had  the  pleasure  to  be  present, 
was  against  all  reduction  of  dinners,  or  in- 
crease of  allowance  to  sheriffs.  They  had 
prospered  in  the  City,  and  owed  a  debt  of 
dinner  to  the  City  ;  and  any  alteration  in  the 
existing  practice  on  those  heads  would  lead 
immediately  to  the  grossest  jobbery. 

There  were  the  under-sheriffs :  lawyers, 
members  of  the  Court,  "  kept  a  pretty  sharp 
look-out  upon  their  office."  As  a  noble  alder- 
man said,  in  a  facetious  speech  over  the  brass 
railing,  there  were  connected  with  it  "pretty 
pickings,"  and  the  office  "didn't  used  to  be 
despised."  Such  fine  old  Saxon  expressions 
as  are  marked  here  in  inverted  commas,  I 
should  say,  gave  nerve  and  power  to  the 
whole  discussion  of  the  honourable  Court.  It 
is  well  known  that  a  great  deal  of  what  is 
called  vulgar  in  the  language  of  the  present 
day  consists  in  a  retention  of  some  forms  of 
speech  used  by  our  ancestors.  Vulgarity  of 
diction  is,  in  fact,  antiquity  of  diction  ;  and  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  declare  my  opinion,  that  it 
adds  much  to  the  distinctive  antiquarian 
character  of  the  debates  in  the  City  Parlia- 
ment. Again,  in  the  noblest  language  of 
the  world,  in  Greek,  there  is  no  letter  h  :  the 
honourable  Court  knows  this  ;  and,  modelling 
its  practice  on  its  veneration  for  the  past, 
honourable  members  commonly  s<iy,  'ouse  for 
house,  and  'at  for  hat,  and  so  forth.  This  is 


the   comma  used  as  aspirate  in  the   Greek 
language,  is  important. 

To  the  original  motion  there  was  an  amend- 
ment proposed  by  the  City  Euclid,  which  was 
lost  eventually,  and  a  new  amendment  was 
proposed,  to  put  a  stop  at  once  to  all  inquiry 
which  might  have  for  its  object  the  better 
remuneration  of  the  sheriffs.  Said  one,  it  is 
their  privilege  to  provide  dinners ;  said 
another,  in  a  fervent  speech,  "  Sheriffs  are 
called  the  eyes  of  the  community.  If  so, 


then    treat    them    as    becomes   the 
feature  in  the  human  countenance." 


noblest 
(Hear, 


hear.)  If  that  means,  put  them  in  spectacles, 
the  advice  surely  was  needless.  For  they  al- 
ready ride  in  gorgeous  coaches,  and  are  made 
a  leading  feature  in  the  Lord  Mayor's  Show. 

This  interesting  discussion — in  which  the 
word  dinner  was  to  be  found  in  all  corners, 
floating  (like  Murat's  white  crest)  conspicuous 
above  the  tide  of  war — this  discussion  occupied 
much  time  ;  the  second  amendment,  declining 
to  pay  for  dinners,  which  it  was  the  privilege 
of  sheriffs  to  provide,  was  carried  with  but 
few  dissentients — base  men,  no  doubt,  who 
dine  on  legs  of  mutton  in  their  parlours,  and 
are  content  to  get  a  slice  of  pudding  after  it 
direct  from  the  hands  of  the  manufacturer  in 
a  domestic  way,  and  pay  for  it  in  the  shape 
of  housekeeping  allowance.  Brains  below 
marrow  pudding ;  hearts  that  never  palpitated 
at  the  sight  of  turtle  ! 

This  matter  being  settled,  a  question  arose 
whether  the  Court  should  at  once  proceed 
to  an  important  election  which  had  procured 
an  unusual  attendance  of  members,  or  whether 
members  should  be  detained  while  they  dis- 
posed of  Corn,  Commerce,  and  other  questions 
that  stood  earlier  upon  the  list,  and  some  of 
which  might  occupy  much  time.  For  the 
convenience  of  members,  it  was  resolved  to 
release  those  wlio  did  not  wish  to  be  detained, 
by  proceeding  forthwith  to  the  election  oT  a 
City  Smith.  What  may  be  the  important 
functions  of  a  City  Smith,  I  did  not  know  ; 
but  I  perceived  that  there  were  seven  or 
eight  candidates  in  eager  competition  for  the 
office.  The  great  question  was  at  last  decided ; 
and  the  great  question,  Who  shall  be  City 
Smith  'I  having  been  settled,  members  breathed 
freely,  and  took  up  their  hats ;  and,  as  the 
afternoon  was  far  advanced,  two-thirds  of  the 
assembly  thronged  to  the  door  and  dispersed  ; 
probably  in  search  of  dinner. 

The  next  piece  of  business  was  a  mere 
petition  from  merchants,  pointing  out  the 
heavy  pressure  of  certain  clumsy  arrange- 
ments connected  with  City  dues,  which  tend, 
they  said,  to  drive  trade  out  of  the  port 
cf  London  ;  and  comparing  the  bad  position 
of  a  merchant  in  the  port  of  London,  with  the 
better  position  of  the  merchants  trading  into 
Liverpool,  and  other  ports.  This  petition 
being  read,  was  despatched  without  discussion. 
Trade  and  commerce  are  dull  topics.  Other 


extremely  interesting,  and  the  light — if  it  be  j  matters  were  despatched  also  ;  and  a  deputa- 
an  independent  fact — the  light  it  throws  upon  '  tion  of  gentlemen  then  came  to  the  bar  in 


530 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


obedience  to  the  wish  of  the  Home  Secretary, 
to  support  a  petition  that  the  honourable 
House  would  reconsider  its  assent  to  the 
establishment  of  Smithtield  in  Copenhagen 
Fields,  an  assent  to  which  the  Govern- 
ment was  morally,  but  now  unwillingly, 
pledged.  A  brief  discussion  arose  upon  this 
topic,  from  which  it  appeared  that  Copen- 
hagen Fields  is  a  place  situated  among  villa 
residences  near  a  handsome  square,  and  by 
no  means  out  of  London  ;  that  the  Corpora- 
tion very  prudently  abstained,  therefore,  from 
giving  notice  of  its  intention  to  remove  the 
market  thither,  lest  the  price  of  land  should 
be  raised,  and  opposition  be  raised  also  before 
the  authorities  in  Downing  Street,  whose 
assent  to  the  whole  scheme  was  made  essen- 
tial by  an  Act  of  Parliament. 

An  honourable  member  had  the  audacity 
to  give  a  strange  turn  indeed  to  this  astute 
conduct  of  the  Court,  by  telling  them  that 
they  had  entrapped  the  Home  Secretary  into 
a  consent.  This  they  indignantly  scouted, 
while  they  laughed  very  humorously  at  the 
notion  of  allowing  him,  now  that  he  had 
heard  the  other  side,  to  reconsider  his 
opinion.  "  We  kept  Smithfield  as  long  as 
we  could,"  said  an  honourable  Councilman, 
"  so  you  may  know  we  liked  our  market ;  and 
it's  no  mark  of  ill-will,  gentlemen,  since  we 
must  move,  to  carry  what  we  like  so  much  to 
you."  Indeed  the  ruin  of  the  valuable 
property  represented  by  the  deputation,  Avas 
treated  as  a  capital  joke  ;  and  a  jocular 
tendency  arose  to  put  down  the  petition  in  a 
summary  way,  first  by  "a  count  out,"  and 
next  by  ordering  it  to  lie  upon  the  table  ; 
but  his  Lordship  in  the  chair,  having  stated 
that  he  had  received  a  letter  from  a  noble 
marquis  to  the  effect  that  he  would  have 
accompanied  the  petitioners  if  he  could  have 
been  in  town,  the  honourable  Court,  with 
the  respect  due  at  all  times  to  rank,  if  not 
to  reason,  'referred  the  document  politely  to 
a  committee-room,  with  the  understanding 
that  it  would  there  be  immediately  put  upon 
the  shelf.  The  question  was,  whether  it 
should  be  rudely  laid  upon  the  table,  or 
politely  put  upon  the  shelf.  My  heroes 
generously  ordered  the  petition  to  be  put 
upon  the  shelf. 

Five  hours  had  now  elapsed  since  my  first 
entrance  upon  the  scene,  in  a  few  minutes 
it  would  be  five  o'clock,  and  by  the  de- 
spondency upon  his  countenance  it  became 
evident  to  me  that  the  dinner  hour  of  the 
Chief  Magistrate  was  five.  The  silent  open- 
ing and  shutting  of  his  mouth  resembled 
(I  speak  with  respect)  that  of  a  young  bird 
which  feels  the  want  of  food  at  an  accustomed 
time.  Reflection  on  his  worship's  dinner  caused 
me  at  once  to  feel  the  want  of  mine.  The  im- 
portant labours  of  the  City  Parliament  closed, 
I  believe,  a  few  minutes  afterwards  ;  but  I  then 
left,  and  reading  again  in  Cardan  as  I  passed 
out  of  Guildhall,  struck  violently  against  a 
golden  man  iu  a  cocked  hat.  Then  I  looked 


up,  and  saw  the  vision  of  a  gorgeous  coach — 
the  Lord  Mayor's  coach  —  before  a  file  of 
Hansom  cabs.  So,  methought,  is  the  Corpo- 
ration represented  by  his  Lordship  in  advance 
of  all  the  movements  of  the  age. 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 

IN   TWO   CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER   II. 

I  HAVE  come  to  the  conclusion  that  there 
are  districts  in  England  which  represent  every 
period  of  our  history  ;  that  the  Roses  are  still 
fighting  in  obscure  villages  in  Suffolk  ;  and  in 
the  heart  of  Warwickshire  people  are  looking 
out  for  news  from  the  Crusades.  It  was  quite 
evident  that  three  generations  of  such  people 
as  inhabited  the  Butts  would  take  us  up  a 
great  many  hundred  years  ;  that  their  fathers 
were  redolent  of  Queen  Elizabeth  ;  and  their 
grandfathers  very  bitter  against  the  usurpation 
of  Henry  the  Fourth.  An  English  traveller, 
in  the  year  1820,  came  upon  a  tribe  of  Cos- 
sacks in  the  north-east  of  Russia,  who  were 
celebrating  with  great  triumph  the  news,  that 
day  arrived,  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  It  is 
said  that  the  bonfires  for  the  restoration  of 
Charles  the  Second,  were  the  first  intimation 
the  inhabitants  of  Truro  had  of  the  great 
Civil  War  and  the  reign  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 
How  many  Cossacks  there  are  in  these  days 
of  illumination  scattered  all  over  the  country, 
who  take  years  to  learn  the  greatness  of  a 
victory  that  has  been  won  on  their  behalf ! 
How  many  wise  men  of  Truro,  who  only  learn, 
from  the  signs  of  safety  around  them,  the 
troubles  and  dangers  they  have  escaped  by 
which  that  safety  was  gained  ! 

I  am  generally  reflective  when  I  am  hungry, 
and  these  thoughts  came  into  my  head  while  I 
was  waiting  for  dinner.  You  might  have  sup- 
posed a  couple  of  chickens  and  a  cold  ham, 
which  I  had  discovered  through  the  glass  door 
of  the  larder,  need  not  have  taken  long  to  be 
placed  on  the  table.  But  the  motions  of  the 
ostler — who  was  promoted  to  the  rank  of 
waiter,  and  bore  evident  proofs  both  to  eye  and 
nose  of  his  former  occupation — were  as  slow 
as  everything  else  at  the  Butts.  In  no  placid 
humour,  I  was  watching  the  dilatory  manner 
in  which  he  pitchforked  the  bread  upon  the 
table,  and  currycombed  the  tablecloth,  and 
rubbed  down  the  plates  before  he  laid  them 
on  the  sideboard,  when  suddenly  the  door 
opened,  and  my  travelling  companion,  the 
great  Arabella,  entered  the  room. 

"  You'll  think  me  very  bold,"  she  said  ; 
"  but  mamma  insisted  on  my  coming  —  for 
duty,  she  says,  is  above  all  things.  I  heard 
how  delighted  you  were  with  the  lecture — 
didn't  you  admire  Biddy  Budd  1  Isn't  Mr. 
Sloekurn  charming  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  made  Miss  Budd's 
acquaintance,  and  I  thought  Mr.  Slockum 
very  charming." 

"  And  you're  going  to  Mr.  Mudd's  ?  I'm 
so  enchanted  —  the  Miss  Boltona  are  his 
nieces ;  amiable  creatures — mamma  and  I 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 


531 


superintended  their  education.  Did  you  find 
them  clever  1 " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  are  very  clever — 
and  with  such  an  instructress — " 

"Oh  !  excuse  me.  Mamma  is  very  angry 
when  I  receive  a  gentleman's  attentions 
without  informing  her  whether  I  think  his 
designs  are  honourable.  May  I  say  so  of 
yours  1 " 

"  Decidedly  honourable,  I  assure  you  ;  but 
here  comes  dinner." 

"  Then  I  must  proceed  to  business  at  once. 
Was  Charles  at  the  lecture  ? " 

"  Who  ? " 

"  Charles  Hammersmith.  He  was  a  pupil  of 
Mr.  Slockum,  prodigiously  clever,  and  had 
got  into  the  second  volume  of  Goldsmith's 
Greece  when  his  education  was  finished." 

"  Is  he  a  tall,  handsome  young  man,  auburn 
hair,  dark  eyes,  about  five  feet  eleven,  fine 
teeth,  a  pleasant  smile,  and  a  shocking  temper 
when  he's  put  out  ?" 

"  Ah  !  I  see  you  know  him.  His  smile  is 
indeed  very  pleasant,  and,  do  you  know,"  she 
added  in  a  mysterious  whisper,  "  he  once 
pulled  Mr.  Slockum's  nose — his  own  tutor  ! 
Wasn't  it  dreadful '?  but  I  see  you're  impatient, 
so  I  will  proceed  at  once.  Do  you  ever  buy 
baby  caps  ?  Mamma  and  I  make  them,  and 
dispose  of  them  for  charitable  purposes.  Do 
take  a  dozen." 

"  What  is  the  charitable  purpose  ?  I  would 
rather  give  a  small  donation  at  once.  I  am 
a  bachelor,  and  never  bought  a  baby  cap  in 
my  life." 

"  These  are  prepared  for  the  '  Decayed 
Dorcas  Association.'  " 

"  I  never  heard  of  it ;  who  is  Dorcas  1 " 

"  I'm  a  Dorcas  :  so  is  mamma.  We  make 
worsted  jackets  and  warm  petticoats ;  so 
when  we  have  given  away  all  we  have  got, 
and  are,  in  fact,  decayed,  we  think  it  right 
there  should  be  a  fund  for  our  maintenance. 
The  caps  are  only  four  shillings  a-piece.  Do 
take  a  dozen  ;  you  may  find  them  very  useful 
to  give  away,  for  of  course  you  are  often 
asked  to  be  godfather.  Charles  Hammer- 
smith buys  two  or.  three  every  day.  He 
takes  an  immense  interest  in  the  Dorcases  for 
so  young  a  man." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  know  a  little  of  Charles 
Hammersmith,  and  as  I  always  follow  a  good 
example  I  will  take  a  dozen  caps." 

"  Oh,  you're  so  good  !  There's  one,  the  rest 
shall  be  sent.  They  are  four  shillings  a-piece  ; 
two  pound  eight — thank  you,  thank  you  !  Dear 
me,  this  is  three  sovereigns  ;  we  never  give 
change  on  charitable  occasions.  Won't  you 
come  in  and  see  us  at  work  to-morrow  1  The 
Miss  Boltons  assist.  Charles  often  comes." 

"  Oh.  does  he  ?  Are  the  Miss  Boltons 
Dorcases  1 " 

"No,  but  they  help.  They  belong  to  the 
Widow's  Chicken  Fund  ;  and,  bless  me,  what 
a  nice  chicken  that  is  !  Two,  I  do  declare.  Oh  ! 
if  you  knew  how  we  require  a  chicken  to 
make  up  a  good  dinner  for  the  widows,  I'm 


sure  you  wouldn't  grudge  one.  It's  such  a 
charity.  Waiter,  bring  a  plate — this  is  the 
largest.  You  make  the  Widow's  Chicken 
Fund  sing  for  joy!  -Good  bye,  we  meet  at 
Mr.  Mudd's,  and  you'll  join  us  to-morrow  at 
twelve.  Mamma  will  be  so  pleased  ;  she  will 
see  your  designs  are  strictly  honourable." 

And  so  saying,  before  I  could  recover  from 
my  surprise,  she  walked  off  with  my  three 
sovereigns  and  a  chicken.  I  recollected  the 
character  given  of  her  and  her  mamma  by 
the  driver  ;  they  were  skin-flints  and  spoon- 
sweaters  without  a  doubt.  But  what  could 
Charles  Hammersmith  want  in  this  seques- 
tered spot  1  He  was  the  only  son  of  old 
Harry  Hammersmith,  the  original  head  of 
our  house,  who  had  retired  to  a  good  estate  in 
Sussex,  and  had  died  of  being  a  justice  of  the 
peace.  I  had  known  the  boy  from  his  cradle  ; 
and  whenever  he  wanted  a  tip  while  he  was 
at  Harrow,  he  always  said  I  was  his  god- 
father. I  gave  him  a  horse  at  Oxford,  for  he 
said  he  was  known  in  College  as  the  son  of 
"  Hammersmith  and  Co.,"  and  if  he  made  a 
shabby  appearance  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to 
the  Firm.  I  had  never  heard  of  his  being 
a  pupil  of  Slockum,  and  had  dreadful  sus- 
picions about  his  charitable  contribution  to 
the  baby  cap  establishment  at  the  great 
Arabella's. 

In  the  midst  of  these  meditations,  I  dis- 
covered the  absence  of  the  ham  on  which  I 
had  relied  as  the  principal  security  for  my 
dinner.  The  waiter  was  profoundly  ignorant 
of  what  had  become  of  the  ham,  as  of  every- 
thing else  in  the  world  ;  and  the  landlord,  at 
my  request,  made  his  appearance.  He  was 
not  alone,  however,  but  brought  with  him  a 
man  dressed  exactly  in  the  same  style  with 
himself,  only  the  collar  was  still  more  rigidly 
straight,  and  the  surtout  still  more  sur- 
prisingly like  a  funeral  cloak. 

"  What  has  become  of  the  ham  I  ordered  ?" 
I  began  without  attending  to  the  bows  of  the 
visitors.  "  I  saw  it  in  the  larder,  and  parti- 
cularly desired  it  for  dinner." 

"  It  is  all  cut  into  sandwiches,  sir,  for  Mr. 
Mudd's  entertainment  ;  \ve  generally  furnish 
supper  on  occasions  of  the  sort.  Mr.  Platter- 
wipe  knows  our  customs.  This  is  Mr. 
Piatterwipe." 

I  looked  at  the  gentleman  thus  introduced, 
and  thought  I  remembered  his  name  as  one 
of  the  great  men  of  the  parish  commemorated 
by  Arabella. 

"  I  think,  sir,  it 's  a  very  infamous  custom, 
whoever  practises  it,  to  rob  an  unsuspicious 
stranger  of  his  dinner  by  cutting  up  his  ham 
into  sandwiches.  I  declare  my  dinner  is 
quite  spoilt." 

"  Unfortunately,"  replied  my  visitor  with  a 
melancholy  smile,  "  this  is  the  martyrdom  of 
Saint  Hookey,  or  I  should  have  been  happy 
to  share  your  repast.  If  you  prolong  your 
stay  till  to-morrow,  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
dine  with  you,  for  it  is  the  festival  of  Saint 
Dando.  Meanwhile,  I  have  called  to  give 


632 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bjr 


you  an  opportunity  of  compensating  for  a 
few  sins  by  a  slight  exertion  of  charity.  In 
this  box  are  received  contributions  for  our 
niches  ;  and  in  this — for  the  purchase  of  the 
door  of  the  old  gaol  at  Blisterton,  our  county 
town — we  receive  anything,  from  a  crown 
upwards." 

"  You  are  immensely  condescending,  upon 
my  word.  What  have  I  to  do  with  your 
niches  or  a  prison  door  1 " 

"  The  niches,  my  dear  sir,  are  for  the 
reception  of  votive  offerings,  in  commemora- 
tion of  extraordinary  events.  We  have 
already  received  eight  bottles  which  contained 
the  Daffy's  Elixir  to  which  Mrs.  Tippleton 
attributes  her  baby's  recovery  from  the 
jaundice.  We  have  also  received  a  broken 
beer-jug  from  an  Irish  convert  who  turned  a 
teetotaller,  but  afterwards  recanted,  and  was 
transported  for  sheep-stealing." 

"  Then,  sir,"  I  said,  "  you  are  perfectly 
welcome  to  the  shank  of  the  ham  bone." 

"  And  the  prison  door,"  he  went  on,  not 
paying  any  attention  to  my  liberal  offer,  "  we 
require  for  our  vestiarium.  It  is  most  taste- 
fully studded  with  nails,  and  is  ornamented 
with  two  large  keys  across  each  other :  a 
noble  emblem,  and  redolent  of  the  good  old 
times.  I  was  told  by  the  amiable  and  most 
generous  Miss  Arabella  Gawker,  that  you 
were  ready  with  a  handsome  donation  to  both 
our  objects.  Allow  me  to  lay  both  boxes 
before  you." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Piatterwipe,"  I  began ;  "  in  the 
first  place  I  think  your  objects  veiy  con- 
temptible ;  if  it  were  any  purpose  of  real 
charity" — 

"Exactly  what  I  thought  possible  !  "  inter- 
rupted the  landlord ;  "  and  I  have  therefore 
brought  in  from  the  hall  our  box  for  '  Parish 
Casualties,'  and  the  box  for  the  '  Poultice  As- 
sociation.' " 

"  I  was  in  hopes,  sir,  you  were  not  a  mere 
heathen,"  said  Mr.  Piatterwipe,  taking  the 
tin  cases  indignantly  under  his  arms  ;  "  but  I 
find  I  was  mistaken.  I  will  expose  your  lati- 
tudinarian  principles  at  Mr.  Mudd's,  this 
evening,  and  open  the  eyes  of  the  Miss 
Boltons,  who  saw  you  at  the  lecture  to-day, 
to  your  true  character." 

I  didn't  want  a  quarrel  to  break  out  at 
Mr.  Mudd's  ;  I  didn't  want  the  Miss  Boltous 
to  think  me  either  a  heathen  or  a  miser — so  I 
laid  a  sovereign  on  the  table,  and  said — 
"Gentlemen,  here  are  five  shillings  a-piece  to 
the  boxes  you  have  brought  to  my  notice.  I 
desire  after  this  to  have  no  applications  of  the 
kind,  for  I  must  tell  you  that  the  charity  of  a 
man  who  is  robbed  of  his  dishes  and  pillaged 
of  his  money,  is  very  easily  exhausted." 

"  I  hesitate  to  accept  a  donation  so  grudg- 
ingly offered,"  said  Mr.  Piatterwipe,  '•'  and 
will  consider  whether  it  would  not  be  better 
to  apply  it  to  the  secular  uses  of  the  parish, 
and  spend  the  half-sovereign  in  the  purchase 
of  a  scraper  for  my  front  door.  Meanwhile,  I 
take  iuy  leave,  and  to-morrow,  under  more 


mirthful  circumstances,  shall  be  happy  to  offer 
you  a  bat  in  the  cricket-field,  and  dine  jollily 
with  you  here  after  the  game.  I  am  very 
much  addicted  to  feasts,  and  keep  them  to 
the  utmost  of  my  power." 

"  This  abominable  inn  is  better  adapted  for 
the  other  anniversaries,"  I  said,  "  and  I  dare 
say  the  wine  is  as  intolerable  as  the  food. 
Bring  me  a  bottle  of  Port,  Mr.  Smith,  and 
don't  let  any  more  visitors  in." 

"  Governor,"  said  a  voice  at  the  door, 
when  I  had  taken  my  first  sip,  and  was 
making  a  hideous  countenance,  for  the 
liquid  was  by  no  means  Port  wine,  but  a 
good  deal  of  soot  dissolved  in  a  little  gin — 
"  Governor — " 

"  Hallo  !  "  I  turned  round,  and  saw  Charles 
Hammersmith  holding  on  by  the  door-handle, 
as  if  afraid  to  come  into  the  room. 

"  You're  angry,  governor ;  I  knew  you 
would  be." 

"  How  can  I  help  it  1  Hungry,  thirsty, 
robbed ! " 

"  And  hopelessly  in  love.  Hard  case.  I 
pity  you." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  The  great  Arabella.  She  says  she  has 
rejected  you.  Piatterwipe  says  you  look  in 
despair." 

"  No  wonder.     What  brought  you  here  ? " 

"  The  same  that  brought  vou — love." 

"  For  Arabella  1 " 

"  No.  Didn't  you  see  Mary  Bolton  at  the 
lecture  1  She  saw  you.  I  knew  you  from 
her  description.  She  drew  you  to  the  life — 
handsome  features,  brilliant  eyes,  intelligent 
glances,  and  portly  figure.  It  was  impossible 
to  mistake  you." 

"  A  very  charming  girl  ;  in  fact,  so  is  her 
sister.  I  observed  them  all  the  time  of  lecture. 
Tell  me  all  about  it." 

"  Oh,  there  isn't  much  to  tell.  After  I  left 
college  I  met  her  when  she  was  on  a  visit  to 
Brighton  ;  followed  her  here  ;  entered  myself 
as  pupil  to  Mr.  Slockum  ;  subscribed  to  all 
the  charities  ;  admired  all  the  great  people, 
and  with  your  aid,  my  dear  old  godfather" — 

"Oh,  you  want  a  tip,,  do  you?  How 
much  1 " 

"Nothing.  You  forget  I  am  fouiMind- 
twenty,  and  a  squire  in  Sussex.  All  you  have 
to  do  is  to  occupy  the  attention  of  the  party 
at  Mr.  Mudd's,  this  evening  ;  leave  the  rest 
to  me.  We  are  off  to  Gretna  Green." 

"  Can't  you  wait  for  banns  ?  " 

"  Impossible !  Old  Mudd  is  a  regular 
donkey,  and  is  her  guardian,  till  she  is 
twenty-one.  She  is  now  nineteen.  He 
swears  she  has  a  vocation  for  celibacy  :  she 
doesn't  think  she  has.  Mudd  wants  to  keep 
all  her  money — twenty-five  thousand  pounds 
— and  to  make  Georgiana,  the  younger  sister, 
marry  Mr.  Piatterwipe.  Now,  will  you 
help  1 " 

'  Won't  I  ?  Why  does  Smith  keep  such 
poisonous  stuff  as  this  ?  I  should  like  to 
drink  success  to  the  scheme." 


Charles  Dickens.] 


TAPPING  THE  BUTTS. 


533. 


"'Mudd  has  excellent  wine,  and  generally 
fills  his  three-bottle  decanter.  There's  a  dear, 
jolly,  kind  old  governor !  Mary  was  quite 
struck  with  your  appearance.  Don't  say 
anything  of  our  meeting.  The  party  begins 
at  eight.  We  are  strangers." 

"  Mum  !  "  Oh,  delightful  !  Here  was  an 
opportunity  of  revenging  myself  on  these 
Ishmaelites  of  the  Desert— whose  hands  were 
against  every  man's  pocket — and  a  means  of 
letting  a  little  of  the  light  of  the  present  day 
into  the  very  head-quarters  of  the  dark  ages. 
Gretna  Green  and  the  Butts  seemed  as 
entirely  opposed  to  each  other  as1  Queen 
Anne  and  the  Polka.  A  runaway  match 
would  be  as  wonderful  an  incident  among  the 
Slockums  and  Bangles  and  Budds,  as  a  drum 
in  a  Quaker's  meeting.  So,  full  of  mischief, 
and  of  nothing  else — for  it  was  the  most 
inhospitable  place  I  ever  heard  of — I  found 
my  way  at  eight  o'clock  to  Oporto  Hall,  where 
I  was  kindly  received  by  Mr.  Mudd  and  his 
family.  I  was  pleased  to  see  various  specimens 
of  his  inventive  powers  on  the  side  table,  and 
all  filled  with  wine.  The  ingenuity  of  the 
thing  was  immense.  By  the  excessive  wide- 
ness  at  the  bottom,  a  couple  of  bottles  filled 
up,  apparently,  no  space  at  all ;  and  as  to  any 
visible  diminution,  it  was  impossible  to 
observe  it  after  any  amount  of  bumpers.  I 
wonder  it  isn't  universally  adopted  in  lodgings, 
where  there  are  landladies  of  a  prying  dispo- 
sition. I  was  led  up  to  admire  the  shape  of 
the  decantei's  ;  I  was  invited  to  feel  their 
weight ;  and  lastly,  to  taste  the  contents. 
When  I  was  in  the  act  of  filling  out  a  glass,  to 
which  I  regretted  to  perceive  the  same  prin- 
ciple had  not  been  applied,  a  sharp-eyed, 
sharp-nosed,  sharp- voiced  woman — Mrs.  Mudd 
herself — pushed  under  my  elbow  another  of 
the  inevitable  boxes,  and  squeaked  in  a  very 
disagreeable  manner,  that  it  was  always 
expected  "  that  spectators  of  the  decanters 
should  subscribe  to  the  Aboriginal  Drawers  ;" 
there  were  two  compartments,  and  over  one 
Avas  written  "  flannel,"  and  over  the  other 
"  cotton." 

"Another  invention  of  Mr.  Mudd?"  I  in- 
quired ;  "  our  ordinary  chests  ought  certainly 
to  be  improved." 

"  Oh,  no  ! "  said  the  shrill  woman  again, 
"these  are  funds  for  the  supply  of  under 
apparel  to  the  natives.  Cotton  for  the  South 
Sea,  flannel  for  the  Esquimaux." 

"  Are  there  any  for  the  English  ? "  I  asked. 

"  They  are  a  highly  civilised  people,"  re- 
plied the  lady,  contemptuously,  "  and  can 
supply  themselves.  Our  minimum  is  half-a- 
crown  ;  no  limit  on  the  other  side." 

I  perceived  that  these  people,  though  there 
was  no  sign  over  their  door,  kept  a  public- 
house  like  the  rest  of  their  neighbours,  where 
tho  charges  were  by  no  means  moderate  or 
the  attendance  good.  I  calculated  that  I 
might  perhaps  drink  to  the  amount  of  five 
shillings,  and  deposited  half-a-crown  in  each 
of  the  compartments.  I  don't  think  the  gift 


made  any  sensation.  Mrs.  Mudd  had  evidently 
expected  a  larger  contribution,  and  Mr.  Mudd 
put  the  stopper  into  the  decanter.  I  gloried 
in  the  punishment  I  was  about  to  inflict  on 
the  ruffian ;  and  half  reconciled  myself  to  my 
unsatiated  thirst  by  dwelling  on  the  luxury 
of  my  revenge.  The  Misses  Bolton  came  in. 
Both  very  pretty  :  the  elder,  beautiful  ;  and 
she,  unobserved,  gave  me  a  look  of  intelli- 
gence which  strengthened  me  in  my  good 
resolution.  Then  Arabella  came  in,  supporting 
on  her  arm  an  old  woman  who  was  very 
lame,  and  was  dressed  like  a  Quaker. 

"  Oh,  he  is  so  full  of  impulse  !  "  cried 
Arabella,  leading  her  companion  up  to  where 
I  stood  ;  "  he  will  be  enraptured  to  be  in- 
troduced to  Biddy  Budd.  This  is  Miss 
Wormer,  the  authoress  of  the  charming  works 
I  told  you  of.  She  is  the  greatest  writer  of 
the  present  day,  and  I  have  brought  all  her 
books  with  me.  They  are  in  the  hall,  and 
you  must  positively  read  them." 

"  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,  I  am  sure." 

"  And  instruction,  too.  Oh,  instruction  is 
her  forte !  isn't  it,  Miss  Wormer  ?  Such  pretty 
morals  she  draws,  and  so  cheap.  The  whole 
series  is  sold  for  a  pound ;  and  the  extra 
profits  go  to  a  charity,  and  that's  the  reason 
we  are  sure  of  your  support." 

"  My  young  friend  is  very  enthusiastic," 
said  Miss  Budd,  "  and  her  warmth  of  friend- 
ship is  embarrassing  to  the  sensitive  mind. 
But  she  is  harmless  in  the  midst  of  all  her 
brilliancy.  She  is  like  one  of  those  fire-flies 
which  pursue  their  peaceful  flight,  illuminating 
whatever  they  touch  upon,  but  never  pro- 
ducing a  conflagration." 

"  Beautiful,  beautiful !  Don't  jou  feel  how 
beautiful  that  is  ?  "  cried  Miss  Arabella, 
turning  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling.  "I  feel 
really  as  I  were  a  fly.  Don't  you  think  it's  a 
charming  description  of  easy  motion  ;  I  never 
felt  so  satisfied  with  being  a  little  thing 
before." 

"Nay,  are  not  we  all  flies,  more  or  less?" 
pursued  the  authoress,  "  we  buzz  and  bustle 
through  our  little  busy  day  ;  perch  upon 
lofty  elevations  and  thread  the  fantastic 
mazes  of  our  short  existence  ;  but,  alas  !  we 
are  but  gad-flies  and  blue-bottles,  after  all  !  " 

"  That's  the  moral,"  said  Arabella.  "  Oh, 
she's  so  great  in  finding  morals  ;  her  books 
are  full  of  them.  You'll  buy  them,  won't 
you,  for  my  sake  ? — I'm  sure  you  will  !  " 
And  so  saying,  she  disappeared  for  a  moment, 
and  came  back  with  a  basket  filled  with  small 
pamphlets,  all  stitched  in  blue  wrappers  and 
bearing  on  each  in  gold  letters,  "  Biddy 
Btidd's  Basket  of  Nuts  and  Notions."  "  They 
are  all  delightful,  so  you  must  really  have 
them  all ;  but  the  last  is  the  dearest  little 
story  I  ever  read — there  it  is — '  Chrystal 
Cruets  for  Crocodile's  Tears  '  —  a  charming 
name,  so  immensely  pious  and  very  severe." 

"  If  you  will  allow  me,"  I  said,  "  to  study 
them  all  at  leisure,  I  hope  to  be  greatly 
benefited" — 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


"  Price  one  pound"— 

"Here  it  is." 

She  clutched  the  coin  as  if  she  had  been  in 
a  'den  of  thieves,  and  put  it  into  her  private 
purse  without  a  single  look  towards  the  dis- 
appointed authoress.  I  buttoned  up  my 
pockets  with  a  firm  determination  to  be 
swindled  no  more,  and  turned  with  a  discon- 
tented visage  from  Miss  Arabella  and  her 
friend  ;  and  to  iny  disgust  heard  Charles 
Hammersmith,  who  had  meanwhile  come  into 
the  room  with  all  the  parish,  inviting  Mr. 
Slockum  to  read  them  a  few  passages  from 
his  essay  on  "  Possible  things  which  did  not 
happen,  and  their  probable  bearing  on  the 
history  of  the  world." 

Were  we  to  have  no  supper — no  wine  ? 
Where  were  the  sandwiches  1  Was  Arabella 
to  be  perpetually  at  my  elbow,  introducing 
me  to  multitudes  of  people  as  her  friend  'I 
And  finally,  was  I  to  be  placed  between 
Arabella  and  her  mother — a  wretched  old 
woman,  who  had  been  wheeled  up  in  one  of 
Mr.  Bangles's  three-wheeled  chairs — and  to 
listen  for  some  hours  perhaps  to  the  drivel 
of  the  miserable  impostor  Slockum  ?  And 
how,  in  all  this,  was  I  assisting  Charles  and 
Mary  Bolton  1  for  there  they  sat,  the  two 
most  attentive  listeners  to  the  drawling 
orator,  who  began  by  a  disquisition  on  our 
probable  condition  if  the  world  had  never 
been  created. 

As  I  did  not  take  much  interest  in  what 
might  have  been  my  situation  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, I  applied  my  thoughts  to  the  best 
method  of  getting  the  young  people  off  without 
being  observed  and  pursued.  I  reviewed  all 
the  novels  I  had  read,  and  plays  I  had  seen  ; 
and  though  there  was  an  elopement  in  most 
of  them,  it  had  not  occurred  exactly  in  the 
same  circumstances  as  those  in  which  we  were 
placed.  At  last,  I  fixed  on  what  struck  me 
to  be  a  novelty,  and  I  resolved  to  run  off  with 
the  girl  myself,  giving  notice  to  Charles  to 
join  us  at  the  railway  station  in  time  for  the 
northern  train.  I  took  an  opportunity  of 
communicating  my  plan  to  Charles  while  Mr. 
Queeker  was  describing  his  visit  to  London — 
the  only  one  he  had  ever  ventured — at  the 
time  of  George  the  Fourth's  coronation,  and 
requested  him  to  have  a  carriage  from  the 
hotel  at  the  door  at  ten  o'clock,  and  to  let 
Miss  Bolton  know  the  arrangement.  Having 
made  up  my  mind,  I  entered  into  the  amuse- 
ments which  were  going  on.  They  were 
certainly  not  very  lively,  but,  by  a  curious 
coincidence,  they  constantly  ended  in  a  con- 
tribution to  the  poor-box.  If  we  played  at 
"  What  is  it  like  ?  "  a  failure  to  answer  was 
punished  by  a  fine  of  a  sixpence  to  the  Surplice- 
Embroidery  Fund,  and  they  had  actually 
carried  their  system  of  levying  contributions 
so  far,  that  once  or  twice  1  found  myself 
depositing  pieces  of  coin  in  a  case  with  a  sl;t 
in  it,  which  had  been  set  a-going  for  the 
rrp;iir  of  the  parish  roads.  The  eyes  of  Miss 
Arabella  Avere  fixed  on  all  my  movements, 


and  glowed  with  fiercer  curiosity  when 
she  saw  me  tay  a  few  words  to  Charles 
Hammersmith. 

She  spoke  to  me  in  a  sharp,  inquisitive 
manner  as  if  I  had  been  in  the  witness-box 
of  the  Old  Bailey.  She  spoke  to  the  Miss 
Boltons  as  if  they  were  on  the  rack.  She 
hopped  hither  and  thither,  and  could  make 
nothing  of  it.  She  whispered  to  Biddy  Budd, 
who  answered  her  by  a  quotation  from  Cicero, 
I  suppose,  for  Arabella  evidently  did  not  un- 
derstand what  she  said.  She  then  communi- 
cated with  Mr.  Slockum,  who  did  not  even 
try  to  comprehend  her,  for  he  knew  it  would 
have  occupied  his  faculties  a  week  to  have 
picked  up  an  idea ;  and  finally  committing 
me,  with  an  intelligent  wink  to  her  mother, 
to  the  guardianship  of  that  lynx-eyed  old 
woman,  she  left  the  room.  So  much  the 
better.  We  were  now  able  to  carry  on  our 
plans  without  the  observation  of  a  person  who 
was  evidently,  by  animal  magnetism  or  other- 
wise, ina  fair  way  of  discovering  what  we 
were  at.  At  last  it  was  on  the  stroke  of  ten. 
The  night  was  pitchy  dark.  I  proposed  a 
game  which  required  the  principal  agent  in  it 
to  go  out  of  the  room,  while  the  rest  devised 
a  question  for  him  to  answer.  Mary  Bolton 
had  a  headache,  and  went  up  stairs  to  bed. 
She  was  to  bring  down  her  carpet-bag,  and 
slip  into  the  carriage  at  the  gate.  I  was  to  go 
out  to  answer  the  question  ;  Charles  on  my 
non-appearance  was  to  come  out  to  discover 
the  cause  of  my  delay.  Everything  was 
excellently  planned  and  succeeded  to  a 
miracle.  The  game  was  to  be  a  proverb. 
They  fixed  on  "  Marry  in  haste  and  repent  at 
leisure."  The  first  part  of  the  proverb  I  was 
actively  engaged  in  bringing  to  bear.  Having 
slipped  noiselessly  through  the  hall,  down  the 
avenue,  and  into  the  carriage  that  was  waiting 
as  we  had  ordered,  away  we  went  in  a 
hush  of  expectation  and  success  ;  and  it  was 
only  when  we  had  gone  about  a  mile,  over 
the  roughest  roads,  or  in  the  most  uneasy 
vehicle  I  ever  encountered,  that  I  ventured  to 
say, 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  never  thought  I  should 
live  to  be  the  hero  of  a  Gretna  Green  ad- 
venture." 

There  was  no  answer  ;  but  a  sob  which 
shook  the  poor  girl's  bosom  made  itself 
audible  amidst  the  rumbling  of  the  carriage. 
I  felt  I  had  been  wrong  in  speaking  so  care- 
lessly on  such  an  agitating  occasion,  so  I  took 
hold  of  her  hand,  and  bade  her  be  of  good 
cheer.  The  tyranny  of  her  idiotic  old 
guardian,  and  the  insupportable  dulness  of 
the  neighbours  would  be  an  ample  excuse  for 
the  step  she  took.  There  was  no  danger  of 
our  being  overtaken,  though  I  confessed  the 
suspicions  of  that  frightful  old  maid,  Miss 
Arabella,  were  strongly  excited,  and  I  feared 
she  already  suspected  our  design. 

"  Doesn't  she  ? "  cried  my  companion, 
banishing  her  sobs,  and  in  the  identical 
shrill  and  frightful  tones  of  Miss  Arabella 


Charles  Dickens.] 


HEALTHY  FIGUBES. 


herself.  "  Yes,  you  false,  deceitful  man,  I  do 
suspect  your  designs.  You  are  going  to 
desert  me  for  some  one  else,  and  what  am 
I  to  do  1  Ruined  in  character  and  reputation, 
what  will  mamma  say  to  me  1  I  will  hold 
you  to  your  promise.  You  shall  not  get  off 
after  such  marked  attentions,  and  being 
invited  to  Mr.  Mudd's  as  my  accepted  lover. 
Driver,  stop  !  " 

As  if  iu.  obedience  to  her  command,  the 
ricketty  machine  in  which  we  were  nearly 
shaken  to  a  jelly,  after  a  convulsive  sort  of 
shudder,  gave  a  stagger  forward  and  fell 
heavily  on  its  side.  In  a  moment  the  feet  of 
the  active  Miss  Arabella  were  planted  on  my 
shoulder,  and  with  a  spring  that  would  have 
done  honour  to  Columbine  in  a  pantomime, 
she  got  out  of  the  window  and  left  me  to 
follow  her  if  I  could.  I  was  in  no  hurry  to 
do  so.  The  wreck  lay  motionless  on  the  road, 
and  I  resolved  to  wait  patiently  for  assistance. 
The  driver,  who  took  matters  so  coolly  that 
it  was  evident  he  was  used  to  adventures  of 
the  sort,  came  at  last  to  my  aid. 

"  It's  all  along  of  that  'ere  Bangles'  wheel 
which  master  he  puts  on  his  carriage.  It 
always  twists  round  ander  the  pole,  and 
upsets  us  as  sure  as  winking." 

"  Mr.  Bangles  is — like  the  rest  of  the  fools 
in  the  Butts — an  atrocious  impostor,"  I 
answered.  "They  are  a  set  of  thieves  and 
extortioners,  and  I  wish  they  were  all  sent  to 
the  treadmill  as  obtainers  of  money  under 
false  pretences." 

These,  and  fifty  other  growls  expressed  my 
unbiassed  sentiments  as  I  was  slowly  drawn 
through  the  door,  like  a  gigantic  periwinkle 
out  of  its  shell.  While  I  was  resting  myself 
on  the  flat  side  of  the  carriage,  wondering 
how  I  was  to  get  off  between  the  wheels,  a 
light  flashed  upon  us  from  the  lamps  of  a 
carriage  that  came  along  at  an  immense  pace. 
For  an  instant  the  light  rested  on  me,  and 
I  saw  the  face  of  Charles  Hammersmith 
radiant  with  joy,  while  farther  in  was 
pretty  Mary  Bolton  blushing  and  smiling 
her  best. 

"  Hallo  !  "  I  cried,  "  help  me  down,  there's 
a  good  fellow  !  "  He  pulled  up  in  a  moment, 
jumped  out  of  the  carriage,  handed  me  to  the 
ground,  discovered  my  portmanteau,  and  in 
less  time  than  it  takes  to  write  these  lines, 
I  was  delivered  from  my  lofty  eminence,  and 
snugly  ensconced  beside  the  bride.  Twelve 
hours  after  that  I  gave  her  away  at  Gretna 
Hall,  and  in  about  a  week  afterwards  when 
I  was  staying  at  the  inn  at  Keswick,  I  read 
the  first  of  a  long  succession  of  advertise- 
ments, which  has  enriched  the  Times  ever 
since,  requesting  the  gentleman  who  visited 
the  Butts  in  June  last  to  return  to  his  dis- 
consolate Arabella,  or  legal  proceedings  will 
be  taken  against  him  the  moment  his  name 
and  address  can  be  discovered.  The  reader 
will  therefore  see  the  necessity  of  considering 
this  communication  strictly  confidential ;  and 
if  he  has  any  regard  for  his  pocket,  any 


horror  of  stupidity,  any  disgust  at  vanity 
and  presumption,  he  will  take  very  good  care 
never  to  tap  the  Butts,  as  I  did . 


CHIP  S. 


HEALTHY   FIGUEES. 

THE  people  of  Geneva  are  remarkable  for 
their  longevity  ;  and  as  it  so  happens  that  in 
that  town  deaths  have  been  registered  since  the 
year  1549,  and  marriages  and  baptisms  since 
1550  there  exist  ample  materials  for  any  gen- 
tleman who  has  a  genius  for  statistics.  Such 
a  gentleman  was  M.  Edouard  Mallet,  whose 
historical  and  statistical  inquiries  respecting 
the  population  of  Geneva,  from  1549  to  1833, 
have  recently  been  transferred,  in  a  condensed 
form  from  the  Anncdes  d1  Hygiene  Publique 
to  the  journal  of  our  own  Statistical  Society. 
Since  these  inquiries  yield  some  interesting 
and  amusing  facts  of  general  significance,  we 
shall  endeavour  to  extract  a  little  of  their 
juice.  Statistics,  we  know,  are  not  usually 
juicy  in  their  character,  but  are  to  be  reckoned 
among  the  dry  fruits  which  overhang  the 
walks  of  knowledge  ;  and  where  it  so  happens 
that  they  were  originally  mellow  and  refresh- 
ing in  their  character,  it  is  unhappily  the 
custom  to  present  them  to  us  cut  and  dried. 

Our  own  faith  in  armies  of  Arabic  nume- 
rals is  not  implicit ;  if  the  hosts  be  not  under 
the  guidance  of  a  vigilant,  quick-witted 
general,  if  they  be  marshalled  carelessly  at 
the  command  of  a  man  who  trusts  his  cause 
to  immbers  simply,  the  Arabs  only  tread  on 
one  another's  heels,  and  make  unhappy  figures 
of  themselves.  In  M.  Mallet  we  confess  our 
faith  to  be  circumscribed.  He  does,  indeed, 
march  at  the  head  of  a  formidable  array  of 
columns,  but  his  regiments  are  not  united 
among  themselves;  and,  when  a  point  is" 
gained  by  one  troop  now  and  then,  another 
will  come  down  upon  it,  and  completely  turn 
the  tables.  We  shall  not  meddle,  however, 
with  dissensions.  We  would  observe,  also,  that, 
curious  as  it  might  be  to  compare  the  figures 
of  Geneva  with  the  London  figures,  we  abstain 
from  doing  so,  because  the  shaping  is  con- 
trived with  skill  so  different,  by  different 
people,  that  we  shall  not  get  much  by  the  com- 
parison. For  example,  we  are  told,  that  iu 
1837  Geneva  contained  nearly  twenty-two 
inhabitants  to  every  house.  Here  we  suspect 
some  error,  if  we  are  correctly  told  that  in 
London  the  average  number  of  inmates  to  a 
house  is  between  seven  and  eight.  The  ave- 
rage mortality  of  London  is  of  course  greatly 
altered,  to  the  apparent  advantage  of  the 
town,  by  the  immigration  of  much  youth  and 
health,  which  finds  its  way  to  the  metropolis 
in  search  of  fortune  ;  and  by  the  emigration 
in  large  numbers — of  the  sick  for  health,  of 
the  unfortunate  for  a  less  crowded  arena,  and 
of  the  prosperous  for  enjoyment  after  their 
labour  done.  Innumerable  considerations  of 


536 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conductedl>y 


a  character  like  this  ought  to  attend,  but  very 
rarely  do  attend,  deductions  drawn  from  facts 
merely  numerical.  Every  fact  in  numbers  has 
its  value  as  an  element  in  truth,  but  there  is 
scarcely  one  table  in  ten  which  contains  much 
more  than  one  step  in  ten  towards  the  fact  at 
which  it  helps  one  to  arrive.  Statistics  are 
a  finger-post  to  truth,  but,  sitting  on  the 
finger-post  which  points  to  it,  is  not  the  way 
to  reach  our  destination. 

The  facts  which  -we  shall  draw  from  M. 
Mallet's  calculations  will  be  only  such  as  are 
of  the  simplest  character :  comparison  in  the 
same  town  of  one  time  with  another,  not  year 
by  year,  but  half-century  with  half-century, 
plain  countings  of  heads  on  sundry  matters 
— from  all  which  we  shall  avoid  inferring  any- 
thing that  is  not  obvious  and  simple.  For 
example  :  in  the  year  1700  there  were  about 
seventeen  thousand  people  dwelling  in  Geneva; 
in  1834  there  were  twenty-seven  thousand  ; 
so  we  may  safely  conclude  that  the  population 
has  increased.  Going  upon  this  very  safe 
kind  of  ground,  let  us  look  now,  first,  for  a 
few  facts  concerning  marriages. 

The  majority  of  marriages  of  course  are 
those  which  take  place  between  bachelors 
and  spinsters.  Out  of  a  hundred  pairs  who 
knot  themselves  together,  eighty-one  or  eighty- 
two  are  bachelor  and  spinster;  about  four  are 
bachelors  who  marry  widows,  so  that  caution 
is  extremely  prevalent ;  only  two  pairs  are 
widowers  and  widows,  but  twelve  or  thirteen 
widowers  take  to  themselves  a  second  spinster. 
In  fact,  research  proves  that  in  Geneva,  and 
perhaps  everywhere,  either  Uncle  Toby  is 
right  in  his  opinion  of  widows — but  his  caution 
to  the  world  is  needless,  their  allurements 
are  avoided — or  that  gentleman  had  been 
misled  by  the  exceptional  nature  of  his  own 
experience.  Out  of  the  whole  number  of 
marriages,  the  second  marriages  of  men  were 
one  in  seven,  the  second  marriages  of  women 
only  one  in  seventeen.  With  a  ludicrous 
determination  to  be  scientific,  over  which  not 
a  few  learned  men  keep  him  in  countenance, 
M.  Mallet  searches  his  Greek  lexicon,  and 
calls  the  desire  to  marry  again,  from  Greek 
words  signifying  "  again  "  and  "  marry,"  the 
Palingamic  Force  !  The  Palingamic  Force, 
therefore,  is  weak  in  widows,  strong  in 
widowers  ;  unless  the  Gamic  force — the  im- 
pulse to  get  married — spends  itself  on  spinsters, 
and  the  widows' /hands  remain  free  through 
the  paucity  of  applicants. 

In  contrast  to  the  Palingamic,  we  must  put 
a  Misogamic  force.  When  Geneva  was  sub- 
ject to  the  laws  of  France,  divorces  were 
easily  obtained,  and  that  common  consequence 
of  marriage  known  to  wives  and  husbands  as 
repentance,  was  carried  to  the  extreme  point 
of  divorce,  as  often  as  once  in  every  seven  or 
eight  marriages.  But  since  divorces  have 
been  made  less  easy,  only  one  couple  in  forty- 
eight  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  obtain  one. 
The  average  period  during  which  pairs  re- 
mained together  before  they  divorced  was 


twelve  years.  One  couple,  as  an  extreme 
case,  separated  in  three  years,  and  another 
couple  parted  after  they  had  lived  thirty-two 
years  together. 

The  average  age  at  which  they  marry  in 
Geneva  is,  for  men,  twenty-nine  ;  for  women, 
twenty-seven  :  in  such  marriages  the  chances 
are  as  eleven  to  nineteen  in  favour  of  the 
wife's  surviving.  The  consequent  numerical 
preponderance  of  widows  over  widowers, 
renders  still  more  remarkable  their  want  of 
Palingamic  Force.  The  average  age  of 
marriage  being,  however,  as  we  have  said,  it 
is  still  a  fact  that  in  Geneva  thirty  spinsters 
in  a  hundred  marry  husbands  younger  than 
themselves.  This  is  attributed  to  the  thrifty 
habit  which  retains  women  in  domestic 
service  unmarried,  until  they  have  laid  by 
money  to  assist  their  future  household.  Each 
household  is  blessed,  on  an  average,  with 
about  three  children ;  the  average  family 
used  to  be  five  in  the  old  days  of  dirt,  and 
sickness,  and  mortality.  It  is  a  curious  fact 
in  nature,  that  as  health  and  strength  in- 
creases, and  early  dying  has  become  less 
common  in  a  community,  the  number  of 
births  will  decrease.  The  multitude  of  children 
born  among  the  wretched,  illustrate  one  of 
those  mysterious  and  admirable  laws  of 
nature  founded  for  the  maintenance  and  pre- 
servation of  our  race,  if  it  indeed  be  true,  as 
most  writers  affirm,  and  the  statistics  of 
Geneva  certainly  assert,  that  where  the  drain 
of  life  is  greater,  new  creatures  are  more 
rapidly  supplied. 

The  old  days  of  dirt  and  squalor,  called  the 
good  old  times,  are  illustrated  charmingly  by 
these  Geneva  tables.  The  registers  of  births,, 
and  deaths,  and  population,  in  Geneva,  were 
established,  as  we  said,  so  early  as  the  six- 
teenth century.  We  enjoy,  therefore,  in  this 
instance,  the  peculiar  power  of  making  strict 
and  literal  comparison  between  century  and 
century  in  one  and  the  same  town.  The 
averages  now  to  be  given  are  struck  upon 
periods  of  fifty  and  a  hundred  years,  and 
therefore  may  be  trusted  fairly.  Now  let  us 
observe. 

At  Geneva,  out  of  every  hundred  people 
born,  there  died,  during  the  first  year  of 
infancy,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  twenty- 
five  ;  in  the  seventeenth,  twenty- four ;  in  the 
eighteenth,  twenty  ;  and  there  die  now  in  our 
own  century,  fifteen.  Within  the  second  year 
of  life,  there  died  out  of  a  hundred  children,  in 
the  sixteenth  century,  nine ;  in  the  seven- 
teenth, seven ;  in  the  eighteenth,  five ;  and 
now  in  the  nineteenth,  there  die  four. 
Between  th<*  ages  of  three  and  fifteen,  the 
gain  of  life  by  children  in  the  nineteenth,  as 
compared  with  the  sixteenth  century,  is  in 
the  proportion  of  three  to  one.  Between  the 
ages  of  sixteen  and  twenty-five,  the  odds 
against  the  good  old  times  are  two  to  one  ; 
from  twenty-six  to  forty,  they  are  three  to 
one ;  from  forty-one  to  fifty,  two  to  one. 
Infancy  excepted,  the  high  rates  of  death  in 


Cbailc:  Cickeu?,] 


NEWS  OF  AN  OLD  PLACE. 


Geneva  are  now — as  they  ought  to  be — 
among  people  aged  between  fifty  and  eighty. 
These  were  the  lusty  men,  from  whom  we 
are  said  to  be  degenerated.  The  advantage 
gained  over  the  nineteenth  by  the  sixteenth 
century,  was  this  :  that  if  a  man  or  woman 
scraped  on  through  filth,  and  epidemics  and 
exposure  to  the  age  of  seventy,  he  or  she 
must  have  been  very  strong,  and  therefore 
was  more  likely  to  wear,  and  did  wear, 
through  another  twenty  years,  more  fre- 
quently than  is  done  among  the  men  of 
seventy  in  our  day,  who  are  men  not  pecu- 
liarly strong,  not  picked  veterans.  In  the 
old  days,  it  is  even  partly  true  that  the  men 
who  lived  were  more  robust  than  we  are, 
because  now  delicate  health  is  not  sure 
death  ;  but  then  few  who  were  weak  escaped 
an  early  death,  as  the  high  rate  of  mortality 
in  youth  and  childhood,  and  the  low  rate 
of  mortality  after  the  age  of  forty,  in  the 
sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  very  well 
testify. 

For  the  abrupt  and  sudden  diminution  of 
death  among  very  young  children,  in  the 
nineteenth  century,  we  are  indebted  to  Jeuner's 
discovery  of  vaccination.  Twenty -five  in 
twenty-six  deaths,  by  small-pox,  occur  during 
the  first  ten  years.  The  gain  in  the  nineteenth 
century,  of  children  under  ten  years  old,  as 
compared  with  the  century  preceding,  is  (ac- 
cording to  the  Geneva  tables),  that  where 
thirty-nine  in  a  hundred  used  to  be  the 
number  of  such  children  dying,  there  die  now 
but  twenty-eight.  A  large  proportion  of  this 
gain  is,  as  we  have  said,  due  to  a  single 
medical  discovery. 

The  average  duration  of  life  in  Geneva,  at 
the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  was  twenty- 
one  years  and  two  months  ;  in  the  seventeenth 
century,  it  was  twenty-five  years  and  eight 
months.  In  the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  the  average  length  of  life  had  risen 
to  thirty-two  years  and  seven  months ;  while, 
in  the  next  half  century,  improvement  still 
continuing,  the  average  of  life  was  thirty-four 
years  and  six  months.  Between  1801  and 
1813,  the  average  still  rose,  and  had  become 
thirty- eight  years  and  six  months.  Between 
1814  and  1833,  the  average  length  of  life 
became  nearly  forty-one  years.  Here  the 
tables  stop ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that 
the  improvement  has  continued.  Thus  we 
see  that  by  the  amendment  in  house,  food, 
and  habits,  made  during  the  last  three  cen- 
turies, the  average  duration  of  life  has  become 
absolutely  doubled-  What  shall  we  think 
now  of  the 

"  ancient  uncorrupted  times, 

When  tyrant  custom  bad  not  shackled  Man, 

But  free  to  follow  Nature  was  the  mode." 

Is  it  not  by  following  the  teaching  of  our 
human  nature,  and  by  studying  the  ways  of 
Nature  as  she  works  without  us,  that  we 
have  been  led  on,  century  by  century,  and 
still  are  working  on  to  better,  higher  things  ? 


Free  to  follow  Nature  is  the  mode  ;  and  tied 
to  stand  fast  by  those  ancient  times  would  be 
the  sorest  shackle  which  a  "  tyrant  custom  " 
could  impose  on  Man. 


NEWS  OF  AN  OLD  PLACE. 

IF  any  friend  of  ours  be  sad  and  sorry,  and 
desire  to  improve  the  occasion  by  solemn 
meditation  on  human  life  amidst  vast  rural 
solitudes,  we  advise  hiru  to  take  a  journey 
by  the  Caledonian  Eailway,  from  Carlisle  to 
Edinburgh.  We  have  seen  no  tracts  so 
unpeopled  since  we  emerged  from  the  deserts 
of  Arabia.  The  banks  of  the  Nile  in  Nubia, 
the  valleys  of  the  Lebanon,  the  plain  of 
Damascus,  are  populous  in  comparison.  There 
is  something  very  striking  in  being  carried, 
easily  and  rapidly,  through  that  great  district 
of  green  hills,  almost  bare  of  trees,  and  quite 
bare  of  houses  for  miles  together.  There  is 
something  striking  in  seeing  wide  tracts  of 
oats,  barley,  and  turnips  spreading  in  the 
levels,  without  discovering  who  can  have 
sown  them,  or  who  in  the  world  is  to  reap 
them.  Here  and  there  the  angle  of  a  house- 
roof  peeps  out  from  behind  the  profile  of  a 
hill.  Now  and  then,  when  there  is  a  long 
vista  into  the  mountains,  a  small  dark  island 
is  to  be  seen,  far  away  amidst  the  ocean  of 
green — an  oasis  in  this  verdant  desert,  in 
which  are  collected  the  little  kirk  and  manse, 
a  farmstead,  and  half-a-dozen  cottages,  under 
the  cover  of  as  many  trees.  Where  people  are 
seen  at  work,  awaiting  the  ripening  of  their 
barley  and  oats,  it  is  a  rather  piteous  kind  of 
work.  There  is  hay  in  nooks,  and  on  any  strip 
otherwise  useless  ;  and  such  hay  ! — over-ripe, 
long  ago,  yet  never  mellowed  by  true  ripening 
— with  sour  water  standing  in  among  the 
clumps,  and  so  many  weeds,  that  the  grass- 
part  can  hardly  be  seen.  In  some  of  these 
dank  and  dreary  enclosures  (one  wonders 
why  they  were  ever  enclosed),  three  or  four 
men  are  mowing  (one  wonders  why  in  the 
world  they  mow)  their  bog  hay,  rushes,  and 
ragwort,  and  all  together,  and  tie  up  the  crop 
in  sheaves,  and  set  up  the  sheaves  in  shocks — 
just  as  if  they  were  the  finest  wheat  grown  in 
the  Lincolnshire  beds.  On  the  top  of  the 
railway  banks  stand  large  cocks  of  this  hayt 
which  looks  like  damp  straw.  The  stranger 
wonders  what  species  of  animal  is  to  eat  it. 
If  he  inquire,  he  is  told  that  it  is  a  welcome 
and  needful  resource  for  the  sheep,  in  time  of 
snow-drifts.  One  is  glad  that  the  sheep  have 
something  better  to  eat  now.  There  they  are,. 
clean  from  a  late  shearing,  scattered  over  the 
brown  and  purple  fells,  or  thrusting  them- 
selves into  any  hand's  breadth  of  shade  that 
may  be  afforded  by  a  broken  sand-bank,  or 
any  little  quarry  cii  the  hill-side.  There  are 
patches  of  vivid  green  among  the  purple 
heather,  where  ewes  and  lambs  are  browsing 
tranquilly  to-day,  without  a  thought  of  the 
snow-drifts  which,  six  months  hence,  will 


538 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Conducted  by 


doom  them  to  emaciation  on  the  coarse 
fodder  which  is  in  preparation  for  them 
below.  Here  and  there,  a  few  cattle  are  seen, 
and  a  young  horse,  in  some  distant  field,  may 
fling  up  his  heels  at  the  train.  A  group  of 
bare-headed  and  bare-footed  children  may  be 
at  play  on  some  tiny  bridge  over  a  pretence 
of  a  burn  or  rivulet,  and  a  hen  and  her 
chickens  may  scratch  up  the  sand  below  in 
defiance  of  the  intrusion  of  the  strangers 
from  the  south,  with  their  steam  and  their 
noise.  But  this  is  nearly  all  that  is  seen, 
between  station  and  station,  unless  where  the 
hills  have  been  laid  open  for  stone,  slate, 
or  ore. 

The  most  obvious  thought  suggested  by  this 
scene — so  strange  in  our  busy  islands — is, 
that  it  will  not  long  be  to  be  seen.  If  our 
capitalists  and  labourers  are  emigrating  to 
new  lands  for  the  sake  of  more  space,  a 
district  of  this  extent  will  not  remain  so 
scantily  peopled.  Along  the  railway,  at  least, 
there  will  be  a  fringe  of  producers  and 
traffickers,  who  will  essentially  alter  the 
character  of  the  landscape.  The  next  conside- 
ration which  will  occur  to  most  people  is,  that 
they  here  see — what  is  not  a  very  common 
thing  to  see — a  large  district  which  must  be, 
in  the  main,  very  much  like  what  it  was 
hundreds  or  thousands  of  years  ago.  One  of 
the  railway  stations  is  at  Abington,  a  rather 
pretty  hamlet,  with  one  or  two  good  houses 
near ;  and  more  wood,  more  cultivation,  a 
more  modern  aspect  than  many  of  the  stations 
before  and  after  it.  From  this  place,  a  valley 
runs  up  among  the  hills,  away  from  the  sound 
of  the  railway  whistle,  and  of  the  din  of 
human  life  altogether.  In  this  valley  the 
Romans  certainly  were,  once  upon  a  time. 
A  military  road  of  theirs  passes  near ;  and 
in,  and  near  this  valley,  are  the  tokens  of  their 
encampment.  Whether  the  valley  was  wooded 
then  and  cleared  by  them,  we  cannot  under- 
take to  say.  but  the  probability  seems  to  be, 
that  it  must  have  looked  to  the  Eoman  eye, 
on  entering,  much  as  it  now  looks  to  the  eye 
of  any  modern  foreigner.  Its  hills,  green  and 
bare,  with  metallic  indications,  showing  them- 
selves in  places,  with  heather  on  the  higher 
slopes,  and  bog  in  the  bottoms — these  features 
appear  to  be  about  as  primitive  as  any 
natural  scenery  can  well  be.  That  it  was 
much  like  what  it  now  is,  midway  between 
the  Roman  period  and  ours,  is  known. 

At  the  time  when  Edward  the  Third  of 
England  was  watching  his  son,  the  Black 
Prince,  winning  his  spurs,  or  was  trying  to 
make  his  way  safely  out  of  some  very  difficult 
and  dangerous  valleys  in  France  ; — at  the 
time  when  Scotland  was  mourning  her 
David  Bruce,  a  prisoner  in  the  Tower ;  or, 
perhaps,  rejoicing  at  the  sight  of  him,  returned 
on  his  parole  ; — at  that  time,  when  the  nations 
were  so  busy  with  war  as  not  to  be  able  to 
look  closely  after  what  lay  round  about  them 
at  home — a  foreigner  was  poking  about  in 
this  valley  to  see  what  he  could  find.  A 


German,  named  Bulmer,  was  looking  for 
gold  amidst  these  Scottish  hills  ;  and  he  came 
into  this  valley,  and  found  something  else 
besides  gold.  He  found  LEAD  ;  and  the  fate 
of  the  valley  has  been  ruled  by  that  dis- 
covery of  his,  ever  since.  The  valley  we 
speak  of  is  that  which  contains  the  curious 
village  of  Leadhills,  at  its  highest  end  ;  a 
settlement  six  miles  from  Abington,  and  as 
wild  a  place  as  can  well  be  seen  in  our 
islands. 

Having  a  fancy  to  see  so  odd  a  place,  and 
having  heard  much,  twenty  years  ago,  of  the 
intelligence  and  other  good  qualities  of  the  in- 
habitants, we  recently  determined  to  go.     At 
Abingtou,  a  carriage  was  to  have  met  us  ; 
but  there  was  a  mistake  about  it,  and  no 
carriage  was  foi'thcoming.     The  morning  was 
hot,  and  the  hours  were  precious  ;  so  that 
we  were  glad  to  obtain  any  sort  of  vehicle 
that  would  save  our  strength  and  our  time. 
The  vehicle   proposed  was  a  cart — such  as 
had  probably  conveyed  in  its  day  more  pigs 
and  calves  than  human  beings.     It  was  half 
filled  with  straw,  on  which  was  laid  a  bolster, 
and  over  the  bolster  was  laid  a  clean  plaid. 
Off  we  went,  under  the  care  of  an  intelligent 
labourer,  whose  Scotch  dialect  was  of  so  mode- 
rate a  character  that  conversation  would  have 
been  easy,  but  for  the  slow  trot  of  the  horse, 
which  made  our  words  come  out  like  puffs  of 
steam  from  the  engine  which  had  just  left  us 
behind.     By  a  gradual  ascent,  on  a  good  road, 
we  penetrated  the  recesses  of  the  hills,  seeing 
nobody  but  two  men  eating  oat-cake  and 
drinking  milk  at  the  mouth  of  their  little 
quarry,    and    two    women    at    the    cottage 
beside  the  toll-bar  where  the  carts  of  coke 
pay  toll  on  their  way  up  to  the  mines.     During 
the  journey  of  six  miles  we  saw  three  trees  ; 
one  in  a  field  on  the  upland,  looking  rather 
sad,  all  by  itself;  and  two  more  down  in  a 
field  at  the  bottom,  marking  the  spot  where 
Bulmer  found  his  gold  five   hundred   years 
ago.     A  woman,  down  in  the  bog,  had  her 
arms  full  of  what  appeared  to  be  rushes  ;  and 
a  solitary  man,  high  up  on  the  steep,  was 
cutting  heather — no  doubt  to  mend  his  own 
or   some    neighbour's    thatch.      Grass,    and 
groundsel,  and  hemlock  grew  to  the  height 
of  a  foot  along  the  ridge,  and  down  the  sides 
of  two  or  three  of  the  first  cottages  we  saw. 
We   inquired  why,   as  'slate    was    quarried 
(under   the   name   of  Edge-metal,  from   the 
layers  standing  on  edge)  in  this  very  valley, 
the  cottages  were  so  wretchedly  roofed.     The 
answer  was,  that  there  had  never  been  any 
thought  of  using  so  good  a  material  as  even 
this  very  poor  slate.     Without  this  remark, 
we  should  have  discovered  that  the  people  at 
Leadhills  were  very  very  poor. 

From  far  below,  we  had  seen  smoke  hanging 
about  an  opening  before  us.  This  was  from 
the  smelting-houses,  the  driver  informed  us  ; 
and  the  village  lay  a  mile  and  a  half  further 
on.  The  road  crossed  the  valley  near  the 
smelting-houses  ;  and  they  lay  below  us  on 


Ciisirlcs  Dickens  J 


NEWS  OF  AN  OLD  PLACE. 


53!) 


the  riglit — the  turbid  little  stream,  oozing 
away  from  the  works,  and  men  and  boys, 
with  hoes,  spades,  and  scrapers,  washing  the 
soil,  on  stage  below  stage,  so  that  what 
escaped  from  one  set  of  channels  might  run 
into  the  one  below.  It  seemed  a  piece  of  un- 
necessary toil  to  place  the  square  tower  of 
the  smelting-house — the  tower  whence  the 
smoke  belched  forth — so  high  up  the  steep 
and  stony  breast  of  the  hill.  It  after- 
wards appeared  that  nobody  had  occasion  to 
go  up  there.  The  smoke  was  driven,  by  the 
blast  of  the  furnace,  through  the  interior  of 
the  hill,  to  issue  forth  from  that  top  of 
its  chimney  which  looks  like  a  tower  from 
below. 

A  succeeding  ascent  hid  from  us  what  we 
were  now  looking  for  with  some  anxiety,  as 
our  ride  had  occupied  nearly  an  hour  and 
three-quarters,  and  we  had  been  churned 
enough  for  one  day.  The  village,  we  were 
told,  was  "just  behind  there,"  and  there  it 
was — the  strangest  of  British  villages.  The 
valley  suddenly  opens  out  into  an  area  of  un- 
dulating character,  bounded  by  more  distant 
hills.  Rows  of  cottages  stand  on  all  available 
platforms,  turned  in  all  directions.  Many — 
sadly  too  many — are  dismantled  and  ruinous, 
roofless  and  grass-grown — the  first  evidence 
that  meets  the  eye  of  the  mischief  wrought 
by  the  protracted  litigation  which  has  half 
ruined  a  place  even  so  remote  as  this.  Beside 
one  of  these  ruins  may  be  a  roof  just  fresh 
thatched  with  heather ;  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  may  be  a  roof  bristling  with  weeds,  and 
with  grass  that  sways  in  the  wind.  Scattered 
about,  amidst  the  wild  vegetation  of  the  moor- 
land, up  and  down,  turned  this  way  and  that, 
are  little  oblong  patches  of  cabbages,  turnips, 
or  potatoes.  Formerly,  in  the  better  days  of 
the  settlement,  the  miners  were  allowed  to 
appropriate  from  the  moorland  as  much  as 
they  could  cultivate  with  the  spade  in  over- 
hours.  This  is  no  longer  permitted  ;  but  the 
extent  of  ground  thus  under  tillage  is  nearly 
four  hundred  acres. 

Glancing  over  the  neighbouring  slopes, 
we  saw  a  man  mowing  some  most  un- 
promising grass.  Another  was  coming  up 
from  a  boggy  place  with  an  enormous 
bundle  of  rushes  on  his  head.  High  up 
on  a  ridge,  a  man's  figure  was  seen,  digging 
peat.  Three  sheep  were  within  sight,  and 
several  cows.  It  was  a  comfort  to  see  so 
good  a  supply  of  cows  for  the  number  of 
persons.  The  number  of  persons  is  pre- 
petually  diminishing,  under  the  curse  of  the 
litigation  before  spoken  of. 

There  are  some  old  books  on  the  shelves 
of  the  agent's  office,  which  give  the  informa- 
tion that  in  the  eaiiy  half  of  the  last  century 
the  population  at  Leadhills  amounted  to 
upwards  of  fourteen  hundred.  Twenty  years 
ago,  it  was  about  eleven  hundred  ;  it  is  now 
between  eight  and  nine  hundred.  Of  these, 
one  hundred  and  ten  are  able-bodied  men. 
There  are  some  old  men  able  to  do  some 


work,  or  none.  Such  as  these  were  formerly 
maintained  by  their  sons  ;  but,  under  the 
present  rate  of  wages  (which  average  nine 
shillings  per  week)  the  reluctance  to  look  to 
the  parish  for  an  ultimate  support  is  fast 
diminishing.  There  is  a  baker  in  the  place, 
of  course,  and  there  are  no  less  than  three 
tailors.  Some  few  men  are  employed  in 
blanket-weaving.  Here  and  there  we  saw 
some  old  men  sitting  in  the  sun,  smoking  and 
chatting ;  and  one  or  two  were  returning 
from  their  morning's  task,  who  were  still 
capable,  at  the  age  of  seventy  and  upwards, 
of  doing  some  hours'  work  in  the  day  at 
washing  the  ore.  But  a  man  who  can  do 
this  at  such  an  age,  may  be  safely  supposed 
not  to  have  worked  under  ground  in  his 
earlier  days.  There  are  no  less  than  from 
eighty  to  ninety  cows  in  this  village — a  very 
large  proportion  for  the  number  of  people. 
It  is  explained  by  the  fact,  that  the  customary 
diet  of  the  population  is  that  which  we  saw 
the  two  quarrymen  enjoying  by  the  roadside 
— oat-cake  and  milk.  Meat  is  an  almost  un- 
known luxury,  even  in  the  form  of  bacon. 
We  had  not  before — nor  have  we  now — a 
high  opinion  of  the  wholesomeness  of  oatmeal 
diet ;  but  it  is  certainly  the  fact,  that  the 
people  of  Leadhills,  living  on  a  poor  soil,  in 
the  midst  of  metallic  works,  at  a  height  of 
one  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty-six 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  have  a  remark- 
ably healthy  appearance,  notwithstanding  the 
presence  of  the  fumes  of  the  smelting,  and 
the  absence  of  a  meat  diet.  There  is  a  tomb- 
stone in  the  cemetery,  which  is  shown  with 
pride  to  the  stranger,  recording  as  it  does 
the  death  of  a  man,  a  miner,  who  had  lived 
one  hundred  and  thirty-seven  years.  He  must 
have  been  a  brave  old  fellow  ;  for  he  used  to 
go  a  fishing  among  the  hills,  all  alone,  when 
he  was  one  hundred  and  twenty  years  old. 
What  a  strange  meditation  must  his  have 
been,  in  such  a  solitude — supposing  him  to 
have  retained  his  faculties — which  he  seems 
to  have  done.  As  he  walked  slowly  along 
playing  his  line,  as  men  do  in  those  mountain 
streams,  was  he  tired  of  life,  looking  back  on  a 
succession  of  generations,  with  whom  he  ought, 
in  natural  course,  to  have  gone  to  the  grave  'I 
Did  he  fear  in  his  heart,  as  an  aged  woman  once 
did  openly,  that  God  had  forgotten  him  ?  Or 
did  it  seem  to  him,  as  it  does  to  some  who 
have  outlived  all  they  once  knew,  a  perfectly 
natural  thing  that  they  should  have  died,  and 
that  he  should  be  there  to  tell  the  history  of 
their  deaths  1  Did  he  think  of  the  armies 
that  had  come  that  way  marching  over  the 
hills  with  music  and  shouts,  every  man  of 
whom  had  become  dust  1  What  did  he  think 
of  the  greybeards  of  the  village,  getting  past 
their  work,  when  he  remembered  that  he  had 
dandled  some  of  them  as  infants  after  he 
himself  had  reached  threescore  years  and  ten  ? 
The  everlasting  hills,  with  their  inexhaustible 
streams,  were  the  same  as  ever  ;  and  he  pro- 
bably thought  himself  the  same  as  ever.  But, 


510 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


what  a  mere  procession  he  must  have  con- 
sidered all  the  rest  of  human  life  ; — a  proces- 
sion of  companies — now  a  set  of  proprietors  of 
the  mines,  and  a  chaplain,  and  an  Earl  ot 
Hopetoun,  and  a  population  of  grandparents, 
working  men  and  women,  and  children  ;  and 
presently,  another  set  of  proprietors,  another 
chaplain,  another  Earl  of  Hopetoun,  another 
population  of  old,  middle-aged,  and  young  ; 
and  he,  at  first  walking  with  them  in  the 
procession,  but  long  ago  standing  by  to  see 
them  pass,  as  naturally  as  if  it  was  his 
business  to  observe  them,  and  theirs  to  pass 
on  towards  their  graves. 

Perhaps  it  was  all  less  striking  to  him  than 
to  us  ;  the  grass,  and  the  rocks,  and  the  sky, 
being  what  he  had  already  known  them,  and 
the  fish  leaping  to  his  bait  as  they  had  done 
iu  his  youth.  One  day,  when  he  was  one 
hundred  and  twenty  years  old,  the  snows 
came  upon  him  when  he  was  up  in  the  hills, 
and  blocked  up  his  way  on  every  side.  He 
gave  himself  up  for  lost.  Perhaps  he  felt  it 
hard  to  be  thus  cut  off  untimely,  instead  of 
dying  in  his  bed.  He  stuck  his  fishing-rod 
upright  in  the  snow,  and  made  another 
struggle  for  life.  He  struggled  through  to  a 
place  where  he  was  found.  When  he  had 
recovered,  he  went  back,  plucked  his  rod  out 
of  the  snow,  and  returned  to  begin  his  new 
lease  of  seventeen  years  of  life.  To  us,  all 
this  seems  very  sad  and  fearful.  We  feel  that 
we  had  rather  die  to-night,  than  run  the  risk 
of  living  so  long  ;  but,  we  may  have  found,  in 
the  course  of  our  lives,  that  some  things 
which  we  would  rather  have  died  than 
encounter,  have  turned  out  very  endurable, 
after  all ;  and  so  may  this  John  Taylor,  of 
the  Leadhills,  have  found  it  with  his  burden 
of  years.  There  must  be  some  who  remember 
John  Taylor  ;  for  he  died  about  seventy 
years  ago.  And  he  must  have  remembered 
something  of  the  trouble  in  Scotland,  when 
Charles  the  First  afflicted  the  church,  and 
went  to  war  with  his  Scottish  subjects.  He 
must  have  heard  of  the  fearful  death  of  that 
king  ;  and  of  the  pious  soldier  who  ruled  in 
his  place,  without  the  name  of  king.  Strange 
rumours  of  the  Fire  of  London  and  of  the 
great  Plague  must  have  floated  up  to  the 
head  of  his  valley  when  he  was  a  well-grown 
young  man.  And  what  a  succession  of 
sovereigns — Stuarts,  William  of  Orange,  Anne 
of  Denmark,  and  one,  two,  three  Georges — 
George  the  Third  having  become  a  familiar 
king  when  the  old  man  stuck  his  rod  in  the 
snow,  and  thought  he  was  going  to  be  cut  oif 
by  an  accident !  It  is  almost  bewildering, 
so  we  will  see  what  younger  people  are 
about. 

Old  as  he  lived  to  be,  John  Taylor  had 
been  a  miner — had  worked  under  ground. 
In  his  day,  as  now,  the  gallows-like  apparatus 
erected  over  the  shafts  of  the  mines  stood  up 
against  the  sky,  on  a  ridge  here,  on  the  summit 
of  a  knoll  there.  Down  the  ladders  he  went, 
fathoms  deep,  to  a  resting  place  ;  and  then, 


turning  aside  a  little,  down  many  more — ten 
times  as  many — to  where  he  had  to  work  six 
hours  a  day,  hewing  away  at  the  vein  of  ore, 
sending  up  the  rubbish,  sending  up  the  ore, 
toiling  in  darkness,  heat,  damp,  and  often 
up  to  the  knees  in  the  turbid  water  of  the 
mine. 

The  men  work,  as  in  Cornwall,  on  tribute 
— sharing  the  success  or  failure  of  their  enter- 
prises with  the  proprietors.  They  change 
the  name  of  a  mine,  quaintly  enough,  accord- 
ing to  their  approbation  or  displeasure 
towards  it.  We  saw  one  which  had,  till 
lately,  been  called  the  "  Labour  in  Vain  Vein." 
After  a  lucky  turn  which  disclosed  new  riches 
(more  lead  with  a  little  gold),  it  was  called 
California,  which  is  its  present  title — a  title, 
by  the  way,  which  shows  that  some  tidings 
from  the  world  without  reach  this  secluded 
spot.  The  residents  say,  that  even  fewer 
strangers  come  now  than  before  the  opening 
of  the  Caledonian  Railway  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  find  reason  to  believe  that  there  has 
been  enough  of  intercourse  with  the  navvies 
of  that  railway,  to  work  anything  but  good 
to  the  habits  of  the  miners,  who  must  be  very 
like  children  in  their  impressibleness,  and  in 
the  precarious  character  of  the  innocence 
which  has  been  maintained  in  the  absence  of 
temptation.  One  other  kind  of  intercourse  is 
provided  by  the  annual  arrival  of  Lord  Hope- 
toun, or  his  sporting  friends,  in  August  and 
onwards.  We  saw  an  elegant  moor-hen 
moving  tamely  on  in  the  heather,  not  far 
from  the  smelting-houses  ;  and  this  game  so 
abounds  on  the  hills,  that  the  sportsmen 
come  home  to  dinner  at  "  the  Ha' "  with 
their  thirty  or  forty  brace  each.  Looking 
round  on  the  very  small  cabbage  patches  of 
Jhe  miners,  remembering  their  oatmeal  diet, 
without  even  a  smell  of  bacon  to  their  bread, 
pondering  also  the  average  of  nine  shillings  a 
week,  which  leaves  so  many  with  only  six, 
we  inquired  whether  poaching  could,  in  such 
a  wild  scene,  be  kept  within  bounds.  The 
answer  was,  that  poaching  is  a  thing  never 
heard  of ;  and  the  reason  given  was,  that  the 
poacher  would  forfeit  everything,  if  detected. 
It  is  wonderful,  and  must  be  the  result  of 
strong  compulsion  of  circumstance,  that 
hungering  men  can  see  wild  creatures  flutter- 
ing in  the  herbage  on  far  spreading  moors, 
away  from  every  human  eye  but  their  own, 
and  can  abstain  from  taking  what  can  hardly 
appear  like  property,  and  can  never  be  missed. 
If  there  is  something  fine — as  there  certainly 
is — in  the  obedience  to  law,  there  is  some- 
thing mournful,  too,  in  the  subservience,  so 
customary  as  to  have  become  a  second  nature, 
which  secures  the  grouse  and  the  sport  to 
the  aristocracy,  and  keeps  the  labourer,  who 
has  no  sport,  within  the  arbitrary  limit  of  his 
oat  bread  and  milk. 

Perhaps  we  should  not  say  that  the  la- 
bourer has  no  sport,  for  we  heard  of  a  novelty 
in  that  way  having  been  lately  introduced — 
an  occasional  game  at  quoits.  There  is  a 


Charles  Dickens.] 


NEWS  OF  AN  OLD  PLACE. 


541 


library,  supported  by  seventy  miners,  paying 
two  shillings  a  year  each.  The  works  seemed 
to  be  chiefly  Scotch  divinity,  with  a  very  few 
voyages,  and  a  volume  of  narrative,  or  fiction, 
here  and  there.  What  a  blessing  it  would 
be  to  these  people  if  some  kind  person  would 
send  them  a  good  assortment,  and  a  plentiful 
one,  of  works  of  fiction  !  What  a  new  world 
it  would  open  to  them  during  the  long  snows 
of  winter,  and  in  the  light  evenings  of 
summer,  when  the  men  are  exhausted  by 
their  hot  toil  under  ground,  or  at  the  furnaces ; 
and  the  women  and  girls  are  stooping  over 
their  "  hand-sewing,"  and  wealing  their  eyes 
out,  ay,  even  little  children,  with  embroider- 
ing for  twelve  hours  every  day  ! 

This  embroidery  is  done  for  sale  in  Glasgow. 
The  muslin,  ready  stamped  for  working,  and 
the  cotton  are  sent  from  Glasgow,  and  the 
women  have  it  in  hand  wherever  they  go — 
the  bit  that  they  are  at  work  upon  being 
stretched  in  a  little  hoop  of  wood,  to  prevent 
its  curling  and  puckering.  You  see  a  woman 
standing  in  her  doorway,  a  child  sitting  with 
her  back  against  the  house-wall  (the  poor 
back,  which,  in  a  growing  child,  needs  not 
this  monotonous  needlework  for  twelve  hours 
a  day  to  weaken  it !)  sewing  away,  at  skilled 
work,  for  what  1  The  dexterous  woman 
could  once,  when  such  work  was  at  the 
highest,  earn  a  shilling  a  day.  She  earned 
that  for  a  little  while  last  year,  when  the 
Exhibition  induced  the  Glasgow  people  to 
send  a  vast  quantity  of  goods  to  London. 
Now  she  earns  by  the  same  labour,  sixpence, 
or  at  most,  sevenpence.  Her  little  girl, 
aged  nine,  but  so  small  as  to  look  younger, 
earns,  by  her  daily  twelve  hours'  work,  two- 
pence halfpenny.  On  inquiring  whether  the 
little  creature  has  the  comfort  of  laying  by 
twopence,  or  even  a  penny  a  week  on  her 
own  behalf,  we  find  that  this  has  never  been 
thought  of ;  that  there  is  no  opportunity  or 
inducement  to  do  it,  and  thus  to  the  child  is 
her  whole  young  life,  with  its  repressed 
activities,  devoted  to  toil,  she  does  not  know 
why,  nor  for  what  aim.  She  fulfils  her 
destiny,  as  the  French  would  say. 

There  is  a  school,  and  there  are  girls  in  it 
younger  than  this  little  needlewoman.  Boys 
and  girls  looked  thoroughly  healthy  ;  the 
room  was  airy,  and  the  master  intelligent- 
looking  and  kind,  though  his  appearance  did 
not  lessen  our  impression  of  the  melancholy 
poverty  of  the  place.  The  members  of  the 
school  have  fallen  off  sadly,  more  than  in 
proportion  to  the  diminished  population  of 
the  place.  The  average  attendance  is  eighty 
in  summer,  and  one  hundred  in  winter.  The 
scholars  pay  from  one  shilling  and  sixpence 
to  two  shillings  and  sixpence  per  quarter  ; 
and  it  is  a  proof  of  the  value  that  the  parents 
set  upon  education  that,  out  of  a  population 
which  falls  short  of  nine  hundred,  earning, 
on  an  average,  nine  shillings  per  wfek,  there 
should  be  one  hundred  children  paying  for 
their  schooling  at  this  rate.  Some  of  the 


oldest  boys  could  show  arithmetical  exercises 
which  justify  their  hopes  of  getting  to  be 
clerks  in  Glasgow  warehouses,  and  two  have 
learned  a  little  Latin — that  darling  pride  of 
the  humble  Scotch  !  They  think,  and  talk  of 
Allan  Ramsay,  who  was  a  native  of  these 
hills  ;  and  somebody  has  painted  outside  the 
library  something  which  is  called  a  portrait 
of  the  poet.  Whatever  may  be  the  taste 
of  the  painting,  we  like  the  taste  of  putting 
it  there. 

At  the  very  top  of  the  settlement,  when 
we  have  passed  all  the  cottages,  and  "  the 
Ha',"  and  the  potato  patches,  and  the  heaps 
of  lead  ore,  we  come  to  a  place  which  takes 
all  strangers  by  surprise  :  a  charming  house, 
embowered  in  trees,  with  honeysuckle  hang- 
ing about  its  walls,  flowers  in  its  parterres, 
and  a  respectable  kitchen-garden,  where  the 
boast  is  that  currants  can  be  induced  to 
ripen,  and  that  apples  have  been  known  to 
form,  and  grow  to  a  certain  size,  though  not 
to  ripen.  This  is  the  agent's  house,  and  here 
are  the  offices  of  the  Mining  Company.  The 
plantation  is  really  wonderful,  at  such  an 
elevation  above  the  sea  ;  and  it  is  a  refresh- 
ing sight  to  the  stranger  arriving  from  below. 
There  may  be  seen,  growing  in  a  perfect 
thicket,  beech,  ash,  mountain  ash,  elm,  plane, 
and  larch,  shading  grass-plats,  and  enclosed 
walks,  so  fresh  and  green  that,  on  a  hot  day, 
one  might  fancy  oneself  in  a  meadow-garden, 
near  some  ample  river.  In  this  abode  there 
is  a  carriage,  and  a  servant  in  livery ; — a 
great  sight,  no  doubt,  to  the  people,  who  can 
hardly  have  seen  any  other,  except  when 
sportsmen  come  to  "  the  Ha',"  with  all  their 
apparatus  of  locomotion  and  of  pleasure.  In 
connexion  with  this  abode  is  the  office  of  the 
Company,  where  the  books  are  preserved  as 
far  back  as  1736.  There  may  be  seen  spe- 
cimens of  the  ores  found  in  the  valley  ;  and, 
among  other  curiosities,  a  small  phial  of 
water,  about  half-filled  with  gold  from  the 
Californian  vein  before-mentioned.  There  it 
is,  in  rough  morsels,  just  like  the  specimens 
from  California  and  Australia,  which  may  be 
seen  everywhere  now.  The  water  in  the 
phial  is  to  make  the  gold  look  brighter ;  and, 
for  the  same  purpose,  the  owner  lays  it  upon 
some  dark  surface, — as  the  sleeve  of  a  coat, — 
that  strangers  may  see  it  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage. Here  is  only  about  ten  pounds' 
worth ;  so  there  is  no  fear  of  the  miners 
choosing  the  wrong  casket,  out  of  the  three 
that  Nature  has  placed  before  them. 

Our  cart  had  been  dismissed  long  ago  ;  and 
we  were  to  return  to  Abington  in  the  car- 
riage, and  driven  by  the  servant  in  whom  the 
worldly  splendour  of  the  place  is  concen- 
trated. We  were  to  stop  by  the  way  and  see 
the  smelting  ;  and  we  saw  it  accordingly.  De- 
scending from  the  successive  platforms  where 
the  bruised  ore  is  washed,  till  it  is  almost 
pure  dust  of  lead,  we  put  our  heads  into  the 
noisy  vault,  where  the  great  water-wheel  was 
revolving  and  lettino1  fall  a  drip  which  filled 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKD8. 


[Conducted  by 


the  place  with  the  sound  of  mighty  splashings. 
The  blast  of  the  furnaces  roared  under  our 
feet,  and  all  around  about  us,  every  light  sub- 
stance, such  as  coal  dust  and  shreds  of  peat, 
was  blown  about  like  chaff.  At  the  furnace 
were  men,  enduring  the  blaze  of  the  red  heat 
on  this  sultry  day.  They  work  for  five  or  six 
hours ;  but  only  for  five  days  in  the  week. 
They  were  piling  up  the  glowing  coals  upon 
the  bruised  and  washed  ore  in  its  receptacle 
in  the  furnace  ;  and  from  under  the  front  of 
the  fire,  we  saw  the  molten  lead  running 
down  its  little  channels  into  its  own  reser- 
voir, leaving  behind  the  less  heavy  dross, 
which  was  afterwards  to  be  cast  out  in  a  heap 
in  the  yard.  The  mould  for  the  pig  stood 
close  by,  at  a  convenient  height  from  the 
floor.  We  waited  till  there  was  lead  enough 
in  the  reservoir  to  make  a  pig.  One  man 
ladled  out  the  molten  metal  into  the  mould, 
while  another  skimmed  off  the  ashes  and 
scum  with  two  pieces  of  wood.  It  was  curious 
to  see  this  substance,  which  looked  exactly 
like  quicksilver,  treated  like  soup.  It  was 
curious  to  see  the  process  of  cooling  begin 
from  the  edges,  and  the  film  spreading  slowly 
towards  the  centre,  till  all  was  solid.  It  was 
curious  to  see  the  pigs  set  on  end  against  the 
wall,  looking  light  and  moveable  from  their 
lustre,  when  just  out  of  the  mould,  and  to 
remember  that  one  might  as  well  try  to  lift 
up  the  opposite  mountain  as  to  move  one  of 
them  unaided. 

It  was  curious,  too,  in  travelling  down  the 
valley  again,  to  be  more  than  ever  struck  with 
its  deep  solitude.  The  peat-cutter  on  the 
ridge,  the  mower  on  the  slope,  the  two 
women  at  the  toll-gate,  and  the  two  quarry- 
men,  were  again  all  whom  we  saw.  The  two 
trees  below,  and  the  one  tree  before  us, 
seemed  more  forlorn  than  before,  when  we 
remembered  what  a  cluster  of  people,  and 
what  a  plantation  of  forest  trees  we  had  left 
up  in  the  wilds.  No  visitor  to  the  Leadhills 
can  help  speculating  on  what  will  become  of 
that  singular  colony  ;  whether  its  numbers 
will  continue  to  diminish,  and  its  poverty  to 
increase,  till  the  long-standing  quarrel  shall 
have  caused  complete  ruin  all  round ;  or 
whether,  by  making  up  matters,  the  pro- 
prietors will  invite  prosperity  to  return. 
Whether  the  whole  concern  dies  out,  or  the 
other  issue  is  decided  upon  in  time,  and  the 
ruined  cottages  are  destined  to  be  rebuilt, 
forsaken  works  resumed,  and  the  people 
cheered  with  improved  earnings ;  it  seems  that 
the  settlement  cannot  long  be  any  thing  like 
the  spectacle  that  it  is  now.  In  the  one  case, 
some  wayfarer,  exploring  his  course  over  the 
hills,  may,  in  another  century  or  two,  come 
upon  the  grass-grown  ruins  of  the  abodes  and 
labours  of  a  thousand  people  ;  he  may  stumble 
over  the  weedy  grave-stones,  and  mark  a 
household  vegetable  growing  here  and  there 
among  the  rushes  ;  and  the  yawning  jaws  of 
the  mines  may  warn  him  to  look  well  to  his 
footing  :  and,  at  his  next  stage,  he  may  in- 


quire for  some  tradition  of  what  this  sti- 
place  may  be.  In  the  other  and  better  case, 
the  seclusion  of  the  settlement  cannot,  one 
would  think,  be  preserved.  The  railway 
whistle  has  told  of  the  outer  world  to  some 
ears  there  already.  Improved  production 
and  traffic  will  bring  people  up  and  down  the 
valley  ;  and  the  time  may  come  when  the 
inhabitants  of  Leadhills  will  talk  of  the  pre- 
sent as  of  the  primitive  days  of  their  settle- 
ment, when  manners  were  simple  and  rude  ; 
and,  if  that  time  should  come,  the  commonest 
names  of  to-day  will  have  taken  a  saintly 
sound  to  the  ears  of  descendants,  as  ancestral 
names  are  apt  to  do  ;  and  it  will  be  said,  that 
those  were  privileged  travellers  who  went  out 
of  their  way  to  visit  Leadhills,  in  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 


SHADOWS. 

THE   SHADOW   OF  THE   ISLAND   OF  MADEIRA. 

WHO  is  Gonzalves  Zarco  ? 

It  is  the  beginning  of  June  :  the  year  1419. 
Two  small  vessels  are  leaving  the  port  of 
Lisbon.  The  Infant  Dom  Henry  waves  his 
hand  from  the  quay,  as  the  commander  of  the 
little  expedition  bows  profoundly  from  the 
deck  of  the  leading  ship.  That  commander 
is  Gonzalves  Zarco.  Let  us  pursue  his  shadow 
in  companionship  with  that  of  Juan  de 
Morale's,  his  pilot. 

Where  is  Gouzalves  sailing  when  he  trusts 
his  ships  to  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Atlantic  ? 
Where,  without  the  guides  of  modern  navi- 
gation 1  Charts  he  has  none.  He  has  heard 
that  Marco  Polo  brought  from  China  to 
Europe  the  knowledge  of  an  instrument  that 
invariably  pointed  to  the  North — but  he 
doubts.  He  will  hug  the  landas  long  as  he  can. 
The  meridian  sun  and  the  polar  star  must 
direct  him  in  his  need.  His  business  is  to 
find  the  Isles  of  the  West,  of  which  ancient 
tradition  imperfectly  whispers.  In  1418, 
Gonzalves  was  engaged  in  exploring  the 
coasts  of  Africa.  He  was  shipwrecked  on  a 
little  island,  which  he  will  now  endeavour 
again  to  reach. 

The  seas  are  calm  ;  the  days  are  bright  and 
long.  If  the  nights  are  dark,  Gouzalves 
anchors.  He  is  pretty  certain  of  the  course. 
In  due  time  he  reaches  the  small  island  of 
Porto  Santo,  in  which,  last  year,  he  left  two 
or  three  of  his  crew. 

What  is  this  strange  relation  which  soon 
meets  the  ear  of  Gonzalves — a  relation  which 
is  to  give  new  ardour-to  his  sagacious  courage, 
but  which  has  terrors  for  his  superstitious 
seamen  ?  On  the  north-east  of  the  isle,  there 
appears,  at  a  long  distance,  a  thick  darkness — 
a  motionless  cloud — which  hangs  over  the  sea, 
and  reaches  to  the  sky.  That  region  of  dark- 
ness— is  it  not  the  abyss  1  There,  is  the 
boundary  of  this  earth  ;  and  beyond,  is  the 
entrance  *o  the  Shades.  Sometimes  a  distant 
murmur,  as  of  troubled  waters,  comes  across 
the  sea.  It  is  the  rush  of  the  mournful  river 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SHADOWS. 


543 


of  Acheron.  Some  say,  that  when  the 
Christians  fled  from  the  oppression  of  the 
Moors  and  Saracens,  they  found  an  island  of 
refuge  in  this  ocean ;  and  that  from  that 
time  a  mysterious  cloud  covered  that  island, 
so  that  no  enemy  could  come  near  to  harm 
them.  Who  shall  dare  to  pierce  that  cloud, 
and  solve  these  mysteries  1 

Gonzalves  sits  on  the  beach  of  Porto  Santo, 
and  looks  again  and  again  in  the  direction  of 
that  cloud.  When  the  morning  sun  shines 
bright  in  the  East,  the  cloud  is  there.  "When 
the  moon  climbs  the  sky,  the  cloudy  distance 
is  still  visible.  It  never  changes  its  place  ; 
its  form  is  always  the  same.  Gonzalves  will 
take  counsel  of  Juan  de  Morales. 

Juan  is  many  years  younger  than  Gonzalves ; 
yet  his  forehead  is  wrinkled  with  cares  that 
scarcely  belong  to  the  young.  He  has  passed 
his  boyhood  in  captivity  in  Morocco.  He 
has  done  servile  offices  up  to  the  period  of 
manhood.  He  has  been  chained  to  the  oar, 
and  rowed  his  taskmasters  through  many  a 
perilous  surf.  There  is  something  strange 
and  mysterious  about  him.  His  messmates 
shun  him,  for  they  say  he  is  a  Castilian,  and 
an  enemy  to  Portugal.  He  has  the  Castilian 
steadiness,  with  more  than  Castilian.  reserve. 
Misfortune  has  not  abased  him :  he  carries 
himself  as  loftily  as  the  proudest  of  his  coun- 
trymen ;  and  yet  he  is  of  a  fairer  complexion 
than  those  countrymen,  and  he  speaks  their 
language  with  a  singular  mixture  of  other 
dialects,  and  even  of  other  tongues.  But  that 
may  come  of  his  long  captivity  amongst 
Christian  slaves  of  all  lands.  Juan  is  not 
popular :  but  Gonzalves  has  unbounded  con- 
fidence in  his  pilot. 

"  Juan,"  says  Gonzalves,  "  we  will  wait  no 
longer.  Hold  you  still  your  opinion  ?  " 

"  My  belief  is  ever  the  same.  That 
dark  mass,  so  defined  and  unchanging,  is  a 
mountainous  land,  seen  through  a  constant 
mist." 

"  You  have  the  confidence  of  knowledge, 
rather  than  of  conjecture.  Did  you  ever  hear 
speak  of  such  a  mountainous  land  ?  In  that 
quarter,  leagues  off,  must  lie  the  African 
deserts." 

"I  have  no  knowledge — except  my  dreams 
be  knowledge.  I  dream  of  mountains,  rising 
from  the  sea,  covered  with  trees  to  the  very 
summits;  of  ravines,  where  rivers  come  dash- 
ing down  out  of  the  mountain  mists,  and  rush 
brightly  to  the  ocean ;  of  a  narrow  beach 
under  the  mountains,  where  the  waves  break 
wildly,  and  yet  how  beautifully  !  " 

"  Juan  !  you  must  have  seen  such  a  land  !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  it  is  a  dream — a  dream  of  the 
poor  ship-boy's  loneliness." 

"  We  will  sail  to-morrow,  Juan." 

"Good." 

"  Say  nothing  ;  but  steer  us  right  to  the 
cloud." 

The  anchors  are  weighed  in  the  dawn  of  a 
summer  morning.  A  brisk  breeze  soon 
carries  them  away  from  Porto  Santo.  There 


is  a  man  of  importance  on  board,  Francis  Al- 
caforado,  a  squire  of  Dom  Henry's  chamber. 
He  is  keeping  a  diary  of  that  voyage — a  busy 
inquisitive  man." 

"  Captain,  where  are  you  steering  ?  " 
"  To  look  for  the  Isles  of  the  West." 
"  But   you  are  sailing   towards  the   dark- 
ness ! " 

"  I  think  they  lie  beyond  the  darkness." 
"  You  are  tempting  Heaven.     See,  we  are 
in  the  bosom  of  a  mist.     There  is  no  sun  in 
the  sky.     Change  your  course,  Gonzalves." 
"  Sir,  I  must  obey  my  commission." 
"  Look  !  there  is  something  darker  still  in 
the  distance." 

"  I  have  seen  it  before — it  is  land." 
Juan  is  at  the  helm.  He  steers  boldly 
through  the  mist.  It  is  land.  The  sun  is 
behind  that  mass  of  mountains.  Juan  must 
be  cautious  ;  there  are  rocks  in  that  sea. 
Gonzalves  orders  out  the  boats.  There  is  a 
loud  murmuring  of  surf  upon  &  shore  not 
very  distant.  The  sun  is  mounting  out  of  the 
exhalation.  The  mist  is  rolling  off.  There 
are  trees  on  the  hills.  The  boats  may  near 
the  shore.  Gloi-y  to  Saint  Lawrence  !  That 
eastern  cape  first  seen,  and  now  doubled, 
shall  be  the  Cape  San  Lourengo  !  All  are 
joyful  but  Juan  de  Moralds.  It  is  not  the 
land  of  his  dreams.  The  crew  gather  round 
the  pilot — and  greet  him  well.  But  he  is 
silent. 

There  is  a  streamlet  gushing  down  to  the 
sea.  Gonzalves  commands  the  crew  to  dis- 
embark. A  priest  goes  with  them.  The 
water  is  blessed.  The  shore  is  blessed.  The 
commander  of  the  expedition  proclaims  that 
the  mysterious  cloud-land  is  a  veritable 
possession  of  the  King  of  Portugal. 

And  now  they  coast  carefully  along  in  their 
boats.  They  peer  into  the  dark  ravines, 
covered  with  everlasting  forests.  Again  and 
again  they  land.  Are  there  any  inhabitants  ? 
Not  a  trace  of  human  dwelling,  not  a  foot- 
print, not  a  token  that  man  has  ever  abided 
here.  Birds  of  bright  plumage  fly  fearlessly 
about  them.  They  come  to  a  point  where 
four  rivers  join  in  their  course  to  the  sea. 
They  fill  their  flasks  to  carry  that  sparkling 
water  to  the  banks  of  the  yellow  Tagus.  They 
bri7ig  provisions  on  shore,  and  sit  down  in  a 
green  valley  where  gentle  waterfalls  are 
sparkling  around.  They  penetrate  a  wood  ; 
the  rough  gales  have  torn  up  some  trees. 
They  elevate  one  tree,  and  form  a  cross  ;  they 
kneel,  and  the  priest  gives  his  benediction. 
This  point  is  Santa  Cruz.  They  coast  on  ;  a 
tongue  of  land  stretches  far  out — a  shady 
covert.  Suddenly  a  flight  of  jays  darkens  the 
air.  This  shall  be  Punta  dos  Gralhos,  the  point 
of  jays.  Further  on,  another  tongue  of  land  is 
covered  with  cedars,  and  this,  with  the  Punta 
dos  Gralhos,  forms  a  wooded  bay.  It  shall 
be  the  bay  of  cedars.  Another  valley  is 
reached,  and  here  Gonzalves  makes  an.  at- 
tempt to  ascend  the  high  ground  :  he  sees 
enough  to  satisfy  him  that  what  he  has 


544 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


discovered  is  an  island.  Again  Gonzalves  leads 
the  way  in  his  boat,  and  reaches  an  open 
space,  where  the  land  is  not  encumbered  with 
the  dense  growth  of  timber  that  has  every- 
where else  met  their  view.  The  sea  beach  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountains  is  covered  with 
fennel,  the  funcho  of  the  Portuguese.  This 
beach  shall  be  called  Punched '. 

What  has  happened  to  Juan  de  Morale's  ? 
He  stirs  not — he  speaks  not.  He  looks  upon 
the  sea — he  looks  up  the  ravine.  Then  he 
rushes  to  gaze  upon  the  islets  which  the  rivers 
of  that  valley  have  formed  in  their  perennial 
courses :  he  smiles,  he  weeps  ;  he  sees  some- 
thing very  like  the  land  of  his  dreams. 

The  ships  have  followed  the  course  of  the 
boats  ;  but  at  a  wide  berth  from  the  land. 
They  now  come  into  the  bay  of  Funchal,  and 
anchor  in  the  river ;  here  will  the  crew  next 
day  take  in  wood  and  water.  They  cannot 
have  a  pleasanter  harbour.  They  will  sleep 
in  security.  The  sea  is  smooth  ;  the  air  is 
balmy.  The  watch  is  set ;  and  Juan,  though 
his  duty  is  ended,  is  amongst  the  watchers. 
The  ripple  of  the  river  seems  a  familiar  sound. 
He  listens,  as  if  he  expected  some  human 
voice  to  mingle  with  that  murmur  of  waters. 
The  moon  rises.  The  wooded  ravine  lies 
before  him  in  deep  shadow ;  but  here  aud 
there  is  a  breadth  of  silvery  light.  Is  that 
the  figure  of  a  man  moving  on  the  bright 
greensward  1  The  sea  breeze  stirs  the  top- 
most branches  of  the  cedars,  and  their 
shadows,  Juan,  make  up  the  semblance  of 
humanity. 

On  the  morrow  the  island  is  again  ex- 
plored. No  sign  of  cultivation — no  trace  of 
man.  In  the  heart  of  the  mountains  there 
are  mighty  chasms,  into  which  the  torrents 
rush,  and  form  gentle  rivers.  Cedars  and 
chesnut  trees  rise  into  the  foggy  summits  of 
the  highest  peaks.  Myrtles  clothe  the  pre- 
cipitous declivities.  Deep  caverns  have  been 
dug  into  the  sides  of  the  rocks  by  the  untiring 
sea.  Hush  !  there  is  a  noise  as  of  the  tread 
of  men.  A  multitude  of  seals  rush  out  from 
that  hollow,  with  a  sudden  cry,  and  plunge 
into  the  waves.  That  point  shall  be  Camara 
dos  Lobos,  the  cave  of  seals.  The  navigation 
becomes  more  difficult.  The  surf  is  more 
dangerous  on  that  rocky  coast.  Gonzalves 
will  return  to  his  ships  in  the  bay  of  Funchal. 
He  is  eager  to  be  once  more  in  the  Tagus :  he 
has  brave  tidings  for  Dom  Henry.  One  such 
discovery  is  enough  for  a  summer.  But  what 
shall  he  call  this  noble  island  ?  He  takes 
counsel  of  the  squire  Alcaiorado,  who  has 
been  busy  with  his  tablets  incessantly.  He 
will  write  a  narrative  of  this  prosperous 
voyage,  which  shall  be  deposited  in  the  -ar- 
chives of  Portugal.*  The  island  shall  be 
called  Madeiro — the  island  of  Wood. 

*  In  107?.  was  published,  at  Paris,  "Kiilation  Ilistorique 
<1e  la  deconverte  de  1'isle  de  Made-re,"  which  professes  to 
be  a  translation  from  a  Portuguese  book,  of  which  the  ma- 
nuscript then  existed.  An  abstract  of  this  French  work, 
which  is  the  narrative  of  Francis  Alcaforado  has  been 
given  in  a  new  "  Biographic  Universelle,"  135-'.  The 


It  is  the  summer  of  1421,  and  Gonzalves 
Zarco  is  again  embarking  in  the  port  of  Lisbon. 

The  preparations  for  this  voyage  are  very 
different  from  those  of  the  expedition  of  1419. 
One  ship,  of  considerable  tonnage,  is  now  em- 
ployed. Large  stores  of  provisions  are  taken 
into  the  hold — raisins,  and  olives,  and  casks 
of  wine  from  Xeres  and  Oporto.  There  are 
live  animals  too  in  considerable  numbers — 
sheep  and  goats,  and  a  few  mules.  Cuttings 
of  the  choicest  vines,  and  small  plants  from 
the  orange  groves,  are  carefully  stowed,  and 
duly  watered.  There  are  implements  of  hus- 
bandry, and  artificers'  tools — spades  and  axes, 
anvils  and  hammers.  Tents  are  there  for 
shelter  ;  spears  and  bows  for  defence.  There 
are  the  nets  of  the  fisherman  and  of  the 
fowler.  But,  in  greater  abundance  than  all, 
packages  of  clothing.  A  colony  is  to  be 
founded. 

Gonzalves  comes  on  board  with  his  two 
sons.  They  carefully  inspect  a  little  cabin, 
that  is  fitted  up  with  unusual  luxury.  They 
are  satisfied — they  go  on  shore.  Presently  a 
litter  appears,  borne  by  four  of  the  crew,  who 
tread  briskly  under  their  load.  Gonzalves 
walks  before  them.  The  litter  is  set  down  on 
the  deck,  and  a  delicate  girl  is  lifted  out  by 
the  sons  of  Gonzalves,  and  carried  to  the 
decorated  cabin.  She  scarcely  speaks — she  is 
ill  and  exhausted.  The  ship  is  under  weigh. 
Juan  de  Morale's  is  again  at  the  helm. 

The  heat  of  the  day  is  over.  The  ship 
has  dropped  down  the  Tagus,  and  passed  the 
bar.  The  distant  vesper  bell  is  sounding  into 
the  quiet  evening.  Anna  Zarco  is  refreshed, 
and  begs  to  be  brought  upon  deck.  A  couch 
is  made  up  at  the  stern.  The  sick  girl  speaks 
cheerfully  to  her  father,  as  she  watches  the 
stars  coming  softly  out  of  the  blue  sky. 
There  is  a  light  in  the  fort  of  St.  Julian, 
which  grows  fainter  and  fainter  as  they  sail 
on.  Anna  has  fixed  her  lustrous  eyes  on  that 
light.  It  is  the  last  object  that  marks  her 
native  land.  It  is  gone.  It  mingles  with  the 
stars.  She  looks  in  her  father's  face.  A 
thought  comes  across  him  which  forces  a  tear 
or  two.  Will  Anna  ever  again  see  her  birth- 
place 1  Will  she  reach  her  new  home  ? 

The  ship's  course  is  now  direct  to  Madeiro. 
Every  evening  the  feeble  girl  is  brought  upon 
the  deck,  and  lies  peacefully  there,  with  her 
thin  hand  resting  in  the  large  rough  palm  of 
her  father's.  She  listens  with  interest  as  the 
commander  talks  to  his  pilot.  They  talk  of 
the  beautiful  island  to  which  they  are  sailing, 
of  its  pleasant  climate,  its  green  woods,  its 
sparkling  streams.  They  will  land  at  Funchal. 
They  will  run  up  their  houses  on  that  shel- 
tered beach ;  their  sheep  and  goats  shall 
pasture  in  the  green  valley  between  the 
mountains.  They  will  find  clear  sunny  spots 
on  the  hill-sides  to  plant  their  vines  ;  they 
will  have  an  orange  grove  sheltered  from  thu 

French  work  is  stated  to  be  a  book  of  the  most  extreme 
rarity,  and  lib  copy,  it  appears,,  is  kiiowu  to  exist  of  the 
Portuguese  original. 


ChailesIT'ckcns.] 


SHADOWS. 


545 


north,  and  will  water  their  plants  by  channels 
from  the  river,  whose  streams  will  never  fail. 
"Quintas  "  of  olive  and  maize  shall  flourish  in 
that  genial  soil.  They  will  have  everything 
for  comfort  soon  around  them.  Gonzalves 
has  the  command  of  the  island — he  will  be 
a  kind  viceroy  over  few  but  happy  subjects. 

We  see  the  shadow  of  Gonzalves,  after  he 
has  landed,  without  storm  or  pirate  to  harm 
him  during  his  passage.  He  has  dwelt  with 
his  sons  and  his  daughter  for  a  short  while 
in  tents  ;  but  a  house  strong  enough  to  stand 
against  the  Atlantic  gales  is  soon  built ;  it 
has  abundance  of  conveniences  ;  other  houses 
are  growing  up  around  them.  Friends  have 
come  with  t>onzalves  to  settle  with  him.  An 
ecclesiastic  is  here  to  teach  and  to  console. 
Before  the  equinox  the  good  ship  is  to  return 
to  Lisbon  with  a  diminished  crew, — and  a 
freight  of  native  curiosities  for  Dona  Henry, 
their  patron. 

Let  us  look  at  the  shadow  of  Juan  de 
Morales  in  this  interval  of  his  sea-life.  He 
comes  on  shore  daily  to  assist  his  captain  ;  he 
works  at  the  buildings ;  he  cuts  timber ;  he 
dries  the  reeds  and  rushes  of  the  water- 
courses for  a  ready  thatch.  Juan  is  handy  ; 
and  seems  to  have  an  almost  instinctive 
knowledge  of  the  sweetest  pastures  for  the 
sheep  and  the  best  soil  for  the  corn  and 
olives.  But  Juan  has  a  gentler  task  to  per- 
form. Anna  Zarco  is  grown  strong  enough 
to  take  exercise.  Juan  •'daily  leads  her  mule 
up  into  the  shady  hills,  or  along  the  margin 
of  the  sea.  Sometimes,  when  thei'e  is  not  a 
cloud  in  the  sky,  and  there  is  a  gentle  ripple 
in  the  bay,  Juan  strews  sweet  rushes  in  his 
boat,  on  which  Anna  placidly  lies,  breathing 
the  soft  air  with  a  sense  of  delight  that  is  the 
herald  of  renovated  health.  Juan,  then,  tells 
her  the  seamens'  stories  of  storm  and  wreck  ; 
of  pirates  who  lie  in  wait  for  the  defenceless 
merchant-ship — the  enemies  of  all  nations  ; 
of  Moors,  who,  in  their  hatred  of  Christian 
people,  fiercely  attack  every  vessel  that  comes 
near  their  inhospitable  coasts,  and  carry  their 
crews  to  a  life-long  slavery.  Juan  tells  her, 
too,  of  distant  lands,  for  in  his  own  captivity 
he  has  gathei'ed  much  knowledge  from  other 
captives — of  England,  especially,  and  its  great 
King  Edward,  and  his  wars  in  France.  Of 
England  Juan  delights  to  talk  ;  and  when 
Anna  asks  him  of  his  own  life,  before  he  was 
in  slavery  at  Fez,  he  has  a  confused  story,  with 
something  English  in  his  recollections,  which 
makes  her  think  that  he  is  not  a  Castilian, 
as  the  sailors  say  he  is.  Gonzalves  is  happy 
that  his  daughter  is  gaining  such  health  in 
this  daily  life,  and  willingly  does  he  spare 
his  pilot  to  be  her  guide  and  companion  ;  for 
in  a  few  weeks  Juan  will  return  to  Lisbon, 
and  then,  when  the  house  is  finished,  and  the 
quinta  planted,  he  will  lead  her  mule  himself, 
and  himself  will  row  her,  in  bright  autumn 
days,  under  the  shade  of  the  mountains.  There 
is  a  place  about  three  miles  off,  where  Anna's 
mule  is  often  led  by  the  pilot.  He  conducts 


her  through  a  narrow  defile,  when  suddenly 
they  are  in  a  valley — a  mere  chasm  between 
the  loftiest  mountains — a  solemn  place,  but 
one  also  of  rare  loveliness — for  the  basaltic 
rocks  are  clothed  with  evergreens,  and  the 
narrow,  level  plain  has  a  smiling  river  run- 
ning through  its  entire  length.  Juan  delights 
to  bring  his  tender  charge  to  this  secluded 
spot ;  but  here  he  is  ever  more  than  usually 
silent. 

One  day,  Anna  looks  in  Juan's  face,  and 
sees  that  he  has  been  weeping.  There  is  one 
spot  in  that  valley  which  he  often  stops  at — a 
spot  marked  by  a  pile  of  stones.  On  this. day 
Juan  suddenly  falls  on  his  knees  at  this  spot 
and  prays  for  a  minute.  Anna  is  scarcely  sur- 
prised, for  Juan  is  a  mysterious  man — quite 
unlike  other  seamen.  She  questions  him. 

"  Juan,  my  kind  nurse,  for  you  have  been 
as  a  nurse  to  me  in  my  feebleness,  why  did 
you  kneel,  and  why  have  you  been  weeping '] " 

"  Senora  !  forgive  me.  I  must  not  tell  you. 
The  knowledge  that  makes  me  weep  is  now 
little  more  than  a  vain  memory.  It  has 
nothing  in  common  with  my  present  fortune. 
I  shall  sail  again  to  Lisbon — perhaps  never  to 
come  back.  Do  not  ask  me." 

"  But,  Juan  !  I  look  on  you  as  a  brother. 
I  am  getting  well  under  your  care.  Will  you 
not  confide  in  your  sister  ?  " 

"  Nay,  lady  !  Yet  I  must  speak.  You  will 
keep  my  secret.  I  believe  that  I  knelt  at  my 
mother's  grave  !  " 

"  Your  mother's  grave  ?  How,  Juan,  could 
your  mother  ever  come  to  this  island,  where 
never  ships  touched  before  my  father's  ship  ?" 

"  It  is  a  wild  story,  an  almost  improbable 
story.  But  you  shall  hear  it.  My  earliest 
memories,  I  once  thought,  were  of  my  task- 
masters in  Morocco,  of  whom  I  have  before 
told  you.  I  became  a  slave  when  I  was  four 
or  five  years  old,  as  near  as  I  may  guess. 
There  was  a  companion  in  my  fate,  who  was 
kind  to  me — an  English  sailor.  He  taught 
me  his  language  :  he  said  he  would  one  day 
tell  me  my  own  history.  All  that  I  knew 
was,  that  the  ship  in  which  he  and  I  were 
sailing  was  captured  by  a  corsair,  and  carried 
into  Fez.  I  was  in  captivity  twelve  years  ; 
but  I  then  escaped,  and  got  to  Spain.  The 
infidels  had  made  me  a  skilful  seaman,  and  I 
had  good  knowledge  of  their  coasts.  After 
some  time  I  went  to  Lisbon.  I  became  your 
father's  pilot.  The  Englishman  and  I  had 
been  soon  separated ;  but  he  had  told  me 
something  about  an  island  in  the  west  ;  and  I 
gladly  went  with  your  father  in  quest  of 
those  western  islands.  When  we  came  here 
two  years  ago,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  every 
thing  were  familiar ;  but  yet  confused.  I  was 
in  a  dream.  In  the  spring  of  this  year 
an  English  vessel  came  into  the  Tagus.  I 
talked  with  some  of  the  crew.  I  spoke  of 
our  discovery  of  Madeiro,  and  of  the  prize 
it  might  be  to  the  Crown  of  Portugal.  An  old 
sailor  said,  that  the  Portuguese  were  not 
the  first  discoverers.  I  grew  angry  ;  but  the 


546 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Englishman  was  confident.  I  will  repeat 
what  lie  said  : — 

"  '  The  discoverer  of  that  island  was  Robert 
Machin,  my  countryman.  Robert  Machin,  a 
bold  adventurer,  won  the  love  of  Anne  Arfet, 
the  daughter  of  a  Bristol  merchant.  His  suit 
was  rejected  by  the  father  ;  but  Robert  mar- 
ried her,  and  carried  her  off  in  his  ship. 
They  were  bound  for  the  Mediterranean,  but 
missed  their  course.  Their  vessel  foundered 
in  the  Atlantic  ;  Machin  and  his  wife  were 
saved.  They  reached  the  wooded  island, 
which  you  Portuguese  have  named  Madeiro. 
They  abode  there  three  or  four  years  ;  in 
utter  solitude,  but  contented  and  happy.  The 
Avife,  then,  sickened  and  died.  They  had  a 
little  boy ;  but  Robert  could  not  endure  that 
loneliness,  and  he  dreaded  now,  that  lie  might 
die,  and  that  the  boy  should  perish.  He  re- 
solved to  leave  the  island  as  he  had  come  to 
it.  He  stowed  his  boat  with  chesnuts,  and 
with  fish  dried  in  the  sun — the  food  on  which 
lie  and  his  wife  had  always  subsisted.  It  was 
a  calm  season,  and  he  made  good  way.  Off 
the  coast  of  Morocco  an  English  ship  picked 
him  up.  I  was  the  mate  of  that  ship.  Poor 
fellow !  his  toil  and  his  grief  had  been  too 
much  for  him.  He  died  in  a  few  weeks — his 
boy  was  my  charge.  I  was  little  use  to  him, 
for  we  were  soon  taken  by  a  rover,  and  carried 
into  Fez.  I  wish  I  could  meet  with  that 
orphan  boy.  But  that  will  never  be  !  " 

Anna  Zarco  blushes  and  trembles  : — "  I 
know  the  rest.  You  were  that  little  boy ; 
and  this  island  is  your  inheritance,  and  not 
ray  father's  discovery." 

"  Keep  my  secret,  Anna.  I  love  your  fa- 
ther, and  would  not  rob  him  of  an  atom  of 
his  honour." 

Anna  Zarco  does  not  keep  the  secret  from 
her  father,  who  is  a  just  man,  and  not  un- 
mindful of  his  daughter's  happiness. 

Juan  de  Morale's  does  not  return  to  Lisbon. 

In  a  few  years  there  is  a  pretty  cottage,  and 
a  vineyard  in  the  "  Corral,"  where,  not  far 
from  the  tomb  of  stones,  dwell  other  Machins, 
John  and  Anne,  whose  shadows  are  pleasant 
to  look  on. 


A  GREAT  IDEA. 


"  SHOULD  this  meet  the  eye  of  any  gentle- 
men or  ladies  who  are  stouter  or  thinner, 
taller  or  shorter,  stronger  or  weaker,  hungrier 
or  more  abstemious  than  the  generality  of 
people,  by  addressing  Podgy  Dick,  to  the 
care  of  Mr.  Backer,  Flute  and  Fidgets,  Liver- 
pool, they  may  hear  of  something  to  their 
advantage." 

I  am  Podgy  Dick.  My  height  is  five  foot 
four,  and  I  have  a  decided  tendency  to  cor- 
pulence. Not  having  prospered  in  the  world 
up  to  the  present  time, — having,  in  fact, 
slipped  down  from  a  respectable  condition 
owing  to  circumstances  over  which,  it  is 
needless  to  say,  I  hud  no  control, — I  am 
desirous  of  going  into  some  business  which 


requires  no  capital,  and  returns  a  certain 
income.  With  this  view  I  have  answered 
several  advertisements  in  the  Times,  and  been 
informed  in  reply  that  my  fortune  was  to  be 
made  by  taking  lessons  in  handwriting,  or 
learning  how  to  make  wax  flowers.  I've 
my  doubts.  At  any  rate  I  declined  to  assure 
myself  a  fortune  by  such  means,  and  after 
much  reflection  I  decided  that  my  safest  way 
to  wealth  was  greatness.  England  rewards 
with  money  her  great  men.  I  do  not  mean 
such  shadowy  great  men  as  your  lean  scholars, 
your  poets,  and  your  naturalists,  but  real 
substantial  greatness,  of  the  Lambert  sort. 

Having  a  tendency,  as  I  have  said,  to 
corpulence,  it  occurred  to  me  to  feed  myself. 
I  am  convinced  that  a  man  may,  if  he  has 
proper  perseverance,  fatten  himself  for  a 
show,  and  being  once  so  fortunate  as  to 
become  a  show,  nothing,  methought,  would 
remain  for  me  but  to  establish  a  pay  box  at 
my  door,  to  sit  at  home  and  let  the  capital 
flow  into  my  pocket  of  its  own  accord  ;  some 
trifle  being  of  course  paid  to  a  literary  man 
for  handbills.  Food  is  unhappily  expensive, 
and  when  I  had  eaten  through  my  credit 
without  much  consequent  increase  of  bulk,  I 
saw  no  other  hope  for  myself  than  to  borrow 
five  shillings  for  the  publication  of  the  adver- 
tisement above  written  in  a  country  paper. 
Having  paid  for  it  once  I  opened  an  account, 
and  caused  the  advertisement  to  be  repeated 
four  or  five  times.  My  design  was  to  establish 
a  community  of  fat  men,  living  skeletons, 
giants,  dwarfs,  strong  men,  hungry  men, 
fasten,  cripples,  and  deformed  men  ;  and  to 
establish  with  them,  on  participating  terms, 
a  Grand  Combined  Entertainment,  at  the 
Theatre  Royal,  Drury  Lane,  which  is  now, 
luckily  for  my  design,  to  let.  The  numerous 
answers  to  my  advertisement  proceeded 
exclusively  from  hungry  men  who  were 
desirous  of  hearing  anything  to  their  ad- 
vantage. 

I  wish  now,  again  to  call  the  attention  of 
all  persons  suffering  from  curious  bodily 
affliction  to  my  plan,  to  point  out  its  advan- 
tages, and  to  define  the  sort  of  people  that 
I  want. 

I  hear  it  said,  that  owing  to  the  increase  of 
civilisation  and  its  humanising  influence,  the 
number  of  the  vulgar  who  are  to  be  depended 
upon  for  paying  a  shilling  to  stare  at  an 
affliction  is  very  much  decreased.  I  do  not 
know.  It  may  lie  so,  but  the  little  fellow 
humorously  called  General  Tom  Thumb,  was 
a  great  favoiirite  for  his  smallness,  and  grew — 
if  growth  may  be  named  in  reference  to  the 
poor  atomy — quite  proud  of  his  bodily  defect. 
It  was  not  an  affliction  but  a  boast  to  him  ; 
and  if  it  gratified  the  pride  of  people  who 
have  not  much  consciousness  of  mind,  to 
compare  bodies  to  their  own  advantage  with 
a  poor  monster,  why  should  they  not  ?  How 
can  the  monster  be  called  poor  \vho  is  paid 
for  showing  himself,  whose  mind  is  pampered 
by  admiration,  and  trained  up  into  a  vain 


A  GREAT  IDEA. 


547 


engrossment  over  the  contemplation  of  his 
own  bodily  defect.  It  may  be  good,  as  the 
familiar  quotation  says, 

"  Never  to  blend  our  pleasure  or  our  pride 
With  sorrow  of  the  meanest  tiling  that  feels" — 

but  who  shall  say  that  the  lady,  who  lives  at 
this  moment  behind  a  curtain  and  a  barrel 
organ  iu  one  of  the  main  thoroughfares  of 
London,  is  not  proud  of  the  admiration 
excited  by  her  whiskers,  and  flattered  by  the 
pains  taken  to  convince  men  of  her  sex. 

Besides,  what  does  it  matter  whether  we 
ought  to  treat  with  kindness  and  consideration 
men  and  women  who  are  afflicted  with  some 
strangeness  in  their  bodies,  to  lighten  their 
own  consciousness  of  defect,  to  remove  all 
greedy  stare  from  them  in  private  life,  and 
with  a  human  readiness  lighten  for  them  the 
burden  of  their  toil  wherever  it  may  press 
severely  on  an  infirm  frame, — what  does  it 
matter  whether  we  ought  to  do  all  this  ?  We 
do  not  do  it.  The  fat  boy  or  the  small  boy 
is  exhibited  by  his  friends,  because  it  is  well 
known  that  there  are  plenty  who  will  pay  for 
liberty  to  stare.  Attendance  at  such  exhibi- 
tions is  not  peculiar  to  the  untrained  rabble 
that  has  only  pence  to  pay,  there  is  a  trained 
rabble  ready  with  shillings  and  half-crowns. 
The  classes  that  excel  in  social  courtesy  set 
little  example  to  the  rude  ;  they  do  not  dis- 
courage by  their  absence  these  displays  which 
may  or  may  not  be  unsocial  and  uncivilized  ; 
that  question  does  not  concern  Podgy  Dick. 
"Whenever  I  get  together  my  Grand  Combined 
Entertainment,  at  the  Theatre  Eoyal,  there 
will  be  quite  as  good  attendance  in  the  dress 
boxes  as  in  the  gallery. 

I,  therefore,  invite  all  men  who  are  uncom- 
monly fat,  uncommonly  lean,  uncommonly 
tall,  uncommonly  small,  or  uncommonly 
anything  at  all  as  to  their  persons,  to .  come 
forward  and  establish  an  entertainment  under 
my  directions.  I  am  prepared  to  become 
lessee  of  her  Majesty's  Theatre  in  addition 
to  Drury  Lane,  and  hold  both  houses,  for  I 
will  fill  them  both,  if  curiously-bodied  men 
and  women  will  only  b'e  kind  enough  to  come 
forward  and  accept  engagements. 

But  I  must  have  real  wonders :  no  dwarf 
under  fifty  years  of  age  and  over  two  feet 
high  ;  no  stout  man  under  fifty  stone  ;  no 
hungry  man  who  has  a  smaller  appetite  than 
Domerz,  the  Pole.  Perhaps,  to  make  things 
clear  and  prevent  unnecessary  trouble,  I  had 
better  describe  by  an  example  or  two,  the 
sort  of  men  I  want. 

To  begin  with  the  person  just  mentioned, 
Charles  Domerz  the  Pole.  He  was  a 
prisoner  of  war  confined  at  Liverpool  in  the 
year  1799,  and  the  account  of  his  appetite 
was  sent  to  Dr.  Gilbert  Blane  by  Dr.  J. 
Johnston,  Commissioner,  at  that  time,  of  sick 
and  wounded  seamen.  At  the  age  of  thirteen, 
while  hungering  in  a  besieged  town,  Domerz 
began  to  feel  the  pangs  of  morbid  appetite, 
and  he  crossed  over  to  the  enemy  for  the  sake 


of  food.  His  craving  for  food  soon  became 
wolfish  ;  cooked  meat  of  any  kind  his  stomach 
rejected,  but  raw  meat  of  all  kinds  he  omitted 
no  opportunity  of  seizing.  In  one  year  it 
was  said  that  he  had  seized  and  picked  the 
bones,  after  no  other  preparation  than  a  rapid 
skinning,  of  one  hundred  and  seventy-four 
cats,  and  dogs,  and  rats,  as  he  could  find  them, 
in  addition  to  his  rations.  He  was  allowed 
double  rations  in  the  army,  and  fed  beyond 
that,  to  him  very  insufficient  allowance,  by 
the  contributions  of  his  comrades.  When 
his  craving  could  not  otherwise  be  stilled, 
he  would  eat  grass,  but  for  all  vegetable 
food  he  had  but  little  liking.  During  the 
action  in  which  he  was  taken  prisoner,  a 
man's  leg  was  amputated  or  shot  off  on  board 
his  ship ;  he  was  found  gnawing  it,  and 
torn  from  it  like  a  hyaena  from  his  prey. 
In  the  prison  hospital  the  misei'able  man's 
craving  extended  to  the  taking  of  doses  of 
medicines  for  patients  who  desired  to  cheat 
the  doctor. 

In  the  prison  an  experiment  was  tried 
upon  the  power  of  his  appetite.  After 
breakfasting  at  four  in  the  morning — his 
stomach  would  not  let  him  rest  at  night 
without  a  meal — after  breakfasting  upon  four 
pounds  of  raw  udder,  he  was  supplied  with 
food  during  the  day,  under  the  inspection  of 
Dr.  Johnston,  Admiral  Child  and  his  son, 
Mr.  Forster,  agent  for  prisons,  and  other 
gentlemen.  He  ate  ten  pounds  of  raw  beef 
and  two  pounds  of  candles,  drinking  five 
bottles  of  porter.  The  candles — twelve  to 
the  pound — were  taken  with  the  meat,  and 
used  to  lubricate  his  throat  when  it  became 
dry,  the  tallow  of  each  being  taken  in  three 
mouthfuls,  and  the  wick  sent  after,  rolled  up 
as  a  pill.  This  man  had  eaten  the  prison  cat 
and  about  twenty  rats,  that  he  found  in  his 
cell. 

Now,  it  is  my  opinion,  that  a  man  like  this, 
dining  in  public  on  the  stage  of  Drury  Lane, 
would  draw  much  better  than  a  mere  tra- 
gedian, who  chews  unsubstantial  words  in- 
stead of  wholesome  beef.  Domerz  was  not 
particularly  stout,  though  a  tall  man  of  six 
feet  three. 

For  the  stout  man,  who  should  repre- 
sent the  heavy  father  of  my  company,  I 
would  have  somebody  like  Daniel  Lambert. 
Lambert's  name  is  known  better  than  his 
history,  and  the  lives  of  great  men  should  not 
be  forgotten.  He  was  born  at  Leicester  in 
1770.  His  immediate  ancestors  in  the  pater- 
nal line  had  been  a  huntsman  and  a  cock- 
fighter.  His  father  became  a  prison-keeper, 
and  retiring  from  oifice,  was  succeeded  by  the 
son.  Daniel  was  then  a  strong  young  man. 
given  to  game  sports,  who  since  the  age  of 
nineteen,  had  promised  to  be  heavy.  A  year 
after  his  appointment  as  a  keeper  iu  the 
prison  the  great  increase  in  his  size  com- 
menced, but  he  remained  still  active,  was  a 
good  swimmer,  and  through  the  buoyancy  of 
his  fat  could  carry  two  men  on  his  back  across 


548 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


the  river.  In  1805,  by  new  arrangements  of 
the  magistrates,  Daniel's  occupation  in  the 
prison  went,  and  Daniel,  though  a  young  man, 
received  a  compensating  pension  of  fifty 
pounds  a  year  for  life.  He  retired  upon  his 
other  occupations  in  the  breeding  of  game- 
cocks, terriers,  and  such  matters  as  suited 
his  hereditary  taste  ;  his  bulk,  however,  had 
increased  so  much  that  he  decided  in  1806 
to  remove  to  London,  where  he  took  rooms 
in  Piccadilly,  and  made  a  show  of  his  body  at 
the  small  charge  of  one  shilling  from  each 
visitor.  His  rooms  were  well  filled,  many 
coming  more  than  once  to  stare  ;  a  banker  in 
the  city  boasted  that  he  had  indulged  himself 
in  a  pound's  worth  of  the  edifying  spectacle. 
When  it  was  not  the  London  season,  Lambert 
made  provincial  tours,  or  rested  at  home 
among  game-chickens  and  dogs,  studying  his 
one  volume  of  literature,  the  Racing  Calen- 
dar. He  kept  at  one  time  thirty  terriers, 
and  his  setters  and  pointers  fetched  prices  at 
Tattersall's  varying  from  twelve  to  forty-one 
guineas.  Nine  of  his  dogs  were  sold  for  two 


hundred  and  eighteen  guineas. 
Lambert  was  a   cheerful  and 


temperate 


man,  a  strict  water-drinker.  He  was  an 
exhibition  only  for  three  years.  In  1809  he 
was  found  dead  in  his  room  one  morning  at 
Stamford,  at  which  town  he  had  arrived  in 
apparent  health  the  day  before.  On  his 
arrival  he  had  sent  for  the  printer,  and  en- 
trusted to  him  a  handbill  announcing  his 
appearance  the  next  day  before  an  enlightened 
public.  He  was  buried  in  St.  Martin's  burial- 
ground,  and  his  virtues  were  carefully  mus- 
tered on  a  monumental  tablet  in  the  following 
inscription : — 

"  In  remembrance  of  that  prodigy  in  nature 
Daniel  Lambert,  a  native  of  Leicester,  who 
was  possessed  of  an  excellent  and  convivial 
mind,  and  in  personal  greatness  he  had  no 


competitor, 
inch  round 


He  measured    three   feet    one 
the  leg,  nine  feet  four    inches 


round  the  body  and  weighed  fifty-two  stone 
eleven  pounds  (fourteen  pounds  to  the  stone). 
He  departed  this  life  on  the  2ist  of  June  1809, 
aged  tlm-ty-nine  years.  As  a  testimony  of 
respect  this  stone  was  erected  by  his  friends 
in  Leicester." 

Daniel  Lambert  was  not  a  monster  in  tall- 
ness — five  feet  eleven  only  ;  but  I  will  say 
nothing  of  giants  and  dwarfs.  Only  a  well- 
known  friend  of  Lambert's  may  be  mentioned, 
Count  Borulawski,  who,  it  is  said,  expressed 
no  grief  at  his  wife's  death,  because  when 
they  had  a  domestic  difference  she  used  to 
put  him  on  the  mantel-piece.  I  mention 
this  circumstance,  because  it  may  suggest  a 
little  comic  business  for  my  projected  enter- 
tainment. 

For  the  real  low  comedy  business,  however, 
I  should  like  to  find  such  a  man  to  depend  upon 
as  Old  Boots,  who  was  a  celebrated  character 
at  Ripon  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century. 
He  died,  aged  70,  in  1762.  He  was  boots  at 
an  inn,  and  when  he  brought  gentlemen  their 


slippers  they  were  in  the  habit  of  paying  him 
with  shillings  on  condition  that  he  held  them 
between  his  nose  and  his  chin  ;  those  features? 
both  projected  greatly,  and  their  tips  very 
nearly  touched  one  another.  A  man  with 
such  a  nose  and  chin  would  be  the  Cciuse  of 
great  mirth  to  the  public. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  last  century — he  was 
born  in  1710 — there  wasasti'ong  man  named 
Thomas  Topham,  who  attained  great  popu- 
larity. He  was  bred  as  a  carpenter,  but  his 
taste  led  him  to  turn  publican,  and  he  became 
host  of  the  Red  Lion,  near  the  ring  in  Moor- 
fields,  a  situation  chosen  for  the  sake  of  the 
gymnastic  exercises  of  which  the  ring  in  Moor- 
fields  was  the  theatre.  Topham  failed  in  his 
public-house  business,  but  succeeded  as  a 
sporting  character,  attended  races,  and  ex- 
hibited his  strength  in  towns.  He  heaved  his 
horse  over  a  turnpike  gate  ;  he  stretched  his 
arm  out  and  squeezed  a  pewter  quart  pot  in 
his  fingers  as  though  it  had  been  made  of 
egg-shell.  Being  annoyed  by  the  ostler  at  an 
inn  in  Derby,  he  seized  the  kitchen  spit  and 
wrapped  it  round  his  neck  after  the  fashion 
of  a  comforter.  Still  in  Derby,  he  took  up 
a  watchman  asleep  in  his  box,  and  put  him, 
box  and  all,  over  the  wall  into  Tiudall's  bury- 
ing ground.  On  board  a  West  Indiaman  he 
alarmed  a  sailor  by  crumpling  a  cocoa-nut  at 
his  ear,  breaking  the  shell  with  his  fingers  as 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  breaking  pewter  pots. 
At  a  race  in  the  Hackney  Road,  being 
annoyed  by  a  man  in  a  cart,  he  went  behind 
and  dragged  the  cart  backwards  out  of  the 
crowd,  in  spite  of  the  struggles  of  the  horse 
to  drag  it  on.  Topham  limped,  for  he  once 
laid  a  wager  that  if  his  legs  were  clasped 
about  a  tree,  three  horses  could  not  drag  him 
from  it.  The  experiment  was  tried,  and  the 
horses  being  whipped,  swerved  suddenly  aside, 
so  that  Tom's  leg  was  broken.  But  what  a 
fine  fellow  he  was.  He  was  the  man  to  draw. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  three  such  men  would 
draw  a  house  if  I  could  get  them  into  Drury 
Lane.  The  success  of  the  whole  combined 
entertainment  would  be  something  altogether 
monstrous. 

I  need  not  say,  that  if  my  plan  should 
prosper  I  shall  be  happy  to  offer  good  terms 
to  the  whiskered  lady  now  in  London,  though 
I  suspect,  that  the  manufacturers  of  hair 
balms,  oils,  and  greases  will  outbid  me. 
Instead  of  bears — if  I  am  clairvoyant — we 
shall  have  whiskered  ladies  kept  by  hair- 
dressers in  testimony  to  the  value  of  their 
grease.  Another  great  idea  ! 


In  Monthly  Numltrs,  Price  2d.  (or  Stamped  for  Post,  3d.),  and 
in  Yearly  Volumes,  Price  3s., 

THE    HOUSEHOLD    NARRATIVE 

OF    CURRENT    EVENTS; 

Which  being  declared,  l>y  the  judgment  of  the  Court  of 
Exchequer,  a  legal  publication  not  comang  within  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Stamp  Act,  will  be  regularly  contiuued  aud 
much  improved. 


Published  »t  the  Office,  No  16,  \TelIinSton  Street  Norttt,  Strand.    Printed  by  BHAI>BV»T  &  Kviin,  Whitefriars.  London. 


Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS"— 


IAKESPBARE. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


127.] 


SATURDAY,  AUGUST  28,  1852. 


OUR  VESTEY. 


WE  have  the  glorious  privilege  of  being 
always  in  hot  water  if  we  like.  We  are  a 
shareholder  in  a  Great  Parochial  British 
Joint  Stock  Bank  of  Balderdash.  We  have 
a  Vestry  in  our  borough,  and  can  vote  for  a 
vestryman — might  even  be  a  vestryman,  may- 
hap, if  we  were  inspired  by  a  lofty  and  noble 
ambition.  Which  we  are  not. 

Our  Vestry  is  a  deliberative  assembly  of 
the  utmost  dignity  and  importance.  Like  the 
Senate  of  ancient  Eorne,  its  awful  gravity 
overpowers  (or  ought  to  overpower)  barbarian 
visitors.  It  sits  in  the  Capitol  (we  mean  in 
the  capital  building  erected  for  it),  chiefly  on 
Saturdays,  and  shrikes  the  earth  to  its  centre 
with  the  echoes  of  its  thundering  eloquence,  in 
a  Sunday  paper. 

To  get  into  this  Vestry  in  the  eminent 
capacity  of  Vestryman,  gigantic  efforts  are 
made,  and  Herculean  exertions  used.  It  is 
made  manifest  to  the  dullest  capacity  at  every 
election,  that  if  we  reject  Snozzle  we  are 
done  for,  and  that  if  we  fail  to  bring  in 
Blunderbooze  at  the  top  of  the  poll,  we  are 
unworthy  of  the  dearest  rights  of  Britons. 
Flaming  placards  are  rife  on  all  the  dead 
walls  in  the  borough,  public-houses  hang  out 
banners,  hackney-cabs  burst  into  full-grown 
flowers  of  type,  and  everybody  is,  or  should 
be,  in  a  paroxysm  of  anxiety. 

At  these  momentous  crises  of  the  national 
fate,  we  are  much  assisted  in  our  deliberations 
by  two  eminent  volunteers ;  one  of  whom 
subscribes  himself  A  Fellow  Parishioner, 
the  other,  A  Rate-Payer.  Who  they  are, 
or  what  they  are,  or  where  they  are,  nobody 
knows  ;  but,  whatever  one  asserts,  the  other 
contradicts.  They  are  both  voluminous  writers, 
inditing  more  epistles  than  Lord  Chesterfield 
in  a  single  week  ;  and  the  greater  part  of  their 
feelings  are  too  big  for  utterance  in  anything 
less  than  capital  letters.  They  require  the 
additional  aid  of  whole  rows  of  notes  of  admi- 
ration, like  balloons,  to  point  their  generous 
indignation ;  and  they  sometimes  communicate 
a  crushing  severity  to  stars.  As  thus  : 

MEN  OF  MOONEYMOtJNT. 

Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a  *  *  *  to  saddle  the 
parish  with  a  debt  of  =£2,745  6s.  9d.,  yet 
claim  to  be  a  RIGID  ECONOMIST  ? 


Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a  *  *  *  to  state  as  a  fact 
what  is  proved  to  be  both  a  moral  and  a 

PHYSICAL   IMPOSSIBILITY  I 

Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  a  *  *  *  to  call  £2,745  6s.  Qd. 
nothing  ;  and  nothing,  something  ? 

Do  you,  or  do  you  not  want  a  *  *  *  *  TO 

REPRESENT  YOU  IN  THE  VESTRY  ? 

Your  consideration  of  these  questions  is 
recommended  to  you  by 

A  FELLOW  PARISHIONER. 

It  was  to  this  important  public  document 
that  one  of  our  first  orators,  MR.  MAGG 
(of  Little  Winkling  Street),  adverted,  when  he 
opened  the  great  debate  of  the  fourteenth  of 
November  by  saying,  "  Sir,  I  hold  in  my 
hand  an  anonymous  slander" — and  when  the 
interruption,  with  which  he  was  at  that  point 
assailed  by  the  opposite  faction,  gave  rise  to 
that  memorable  discussion  on  a  point  of  order 
which  will  ever  be,remembered  with  interest 
by  constitutional  assemblies.  In  the  animated 
debate  to  which  we  refer,  no  fewer  than 
thirty-seven  gentlemen,  many  of  them  of 
great  eminence,  including  MR.  WIGSBY  (of 
Chumbledon  Square),  were  seen  upon  their 
legs  at  one  time  ;  and  it  was  on  the  same 
great  occasion  that  DOGGINSON — regarded  in 
our  Vestry  as  "  a  regular  John  Bull :"  we 
believe,  in  consequence  of  his  having  always 
made  up  his  mind  on  every  subject  without 
knowing  anything  about  it — informed  another 
gentleman  of  similar  principles  on  the  opposite 
side,  that  if  he  "  cheek'd  him,"  he  would  resort 
to  the  extreme  measure  of  knocking  his 
blessed  head  off. 

This  was  a  great  occasion.  But,  our  Vestry 
shines  habitually.  In  asserting  its  own  pre- 
eminence, for  instance,  it  is  very  strong.  On 
the  least  provocation,  or  on  none,  it  will  be 
clamorous  to  know  whether  it  is  to  be 
"dictated  to,"  or  "trampled  on,"  or  "ridden 
over  rough-shod."  Its  great  watchword  is 
Self-government.  That  is  to  say,  supposing 
our  Vestry  to  favor  any  little  harmless 
disorder  like  Typhus  Fever,  and  supposing 
the  Government  of  the  country  to  be,  by 
any  accident,  in  such  ridiculous  hands,  as 
that  any  of  its  authorities  should  consider  it 
a  duty  to  object  to  Typhus  Fever — obviously 
an  unconstitutional  objection  —  then,  our 
Vestry  cuts  in  with  a  terrible  manifesto  about 
Self-government,  and  claims  its  independent 


127 


550 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Coadacled  by 


right  to  have  as  much  Typhus  Fever  as 
pleases  itself.  Some  absurd  and  dangerous 
persons  have  represented,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  though  our  Vestry  may  be  able  to  "  beat 
the  bounds"  of  its  own  parish,  it  may  not  be 
able  to  beat  the  bounds  of  its  own  diseases  ; 
which  (say  they)  spread  over  the  whole  land, 
in  an  ever-expanding  circle  of  waste,  and 
misery,  and  death,  and  widowhood,  and 
orphanage,  and  desolation.  But,  our  Vestry 
makes  short  work  of  any  such  fellows  as 
these. 

It  was  our  Vestry — pink  of  Vestries  as  it  is 
— that  in  sunport  of  its  favorite  principle  took 
the  celebrated  ground  of  denying  the  existence 
of  the  last  pestilence  that  raged  in  England, 
when  the  pestilence  was  raging  at  the 
Vestry  doors.  Dogginson  said  it  was  plums  ; 
Mr.  Wigsby  (of  Chumbledon  Square)  said  it 
was  oysters  ;  Mr.  Magg  (of  Little  Winkling 
Street)  said,  amid  great  cheering,  it  was 
the  newspapers.  The  noble  indignation  of 
our  Vestry  with  that  tin-English  institution 
the  Board  of  Health,  under  those  circum- 
stances, yields  one  of  the  finest  passages  in  its 
history.  It  wouldn't  hear  of  rescue.  Like 
Mr.  Joseph  Miller's  Frenchman,  it  would  be 
drowned  and  nobody  should  save  it.  Trans- 
ported beyond  grammar  by  its  kindled  ire,  it 
spoke  in  unknown  tongues,  and  vented  unin- 
telligible bellowings,  more  like  an  ancient 
oracle  than  the  modern  oracle  it  is  admitted 
on  all  hands  to  be.  Rare  exigencies  produce 
rare  things ;  and  even  our  Vestry,  new  hatched 
to  the  woful  time,  came  forth  a  greater  goose 
than  ever. 

But  this,  again,  was  a  special  occasion. 
Our  Vestry,  at  more  ordinary  periods,  de- 
mands its  meed  of  praise. 

Our  Vestry  is  eminently  parliamentary. 
Playing  at  Parliament  is  its  favourite  game. 
It  is  even  regarded  by  some  of  its  members 
as  a  chapel  of  ease  to  the  House  of  Commons : 
a  Little  Go  to  be  passed  first.  It  has  its 
strangers'  gallery,  and  its  reported  debates 
(see  the  Sunday  paper  before-mentioned),  and 
our  Vestrymen  are  in  and  out  of  order,  and 
on  and  off"  their  legs,  and  above  all  are 
transcendantly  quarrelsome,  after  the  pattern 
of  the  real  original. 

Our  Vestry  being  assembled,  Mr.  Magg 
never  begs  to  trouble  Mr.  Wigsby  with 
a  simple  inquiry.  He  knows  better  than 
that.  Seeing  the  honorable  gentleman, 
associated  in  their  minds  with  Chumbledon 
Square,  in  his  place,  he  wishes  to  ask  that 
honorable  gentleman  what  the  intentions 
of  himself,  and  those  with  whom  he  acts, 
may  be,  on  the  subject  of  the  paving  of  the 
district  known  as  Piggleum  Buildings  ? 
Mr.  Wigsby  replies  (with  his  eye  on  next 
Sunday's  paper),  that  in  reference  to  the 
question  which  has  been  put  to  him  by 
the  honorable  gentleman  opposite,  he  must 
take  leave  to  say.  that  if  that  honorable 
gentleman  had  had  the  courtesy  to  give  him 
notice  of  that  question,  he  (Mr.  Wigsby) 


would  have  consulted  with  his  colleagues 
in  reference  to  the  advisability,  in  the  pre- 
sent state  of  the  discussions  on  the  new 
paving-rate,  of  answering  that  question.  But, 
as  the  honorable  gentleman  has  NOT  had 
the  courtesy  to  give  him  notice  of  that 
question  (great  cheering  from  the  Wigsby 
interest),  he  must  decline  to  give  the  honor- 
able gentleman  the  satisfaction  he  requires. 
Mr.  Magg,  instantly  rising  to  retort,  is 
received  with  loud  cries  of "  Spoke  !"  from 
the  Wigsby  interest,  and  with  cheers  from 
the  Magg  side  of  the  house.  Moreover, 
five  gentlemen  rise  to  order,  and  one  of  them, 
in  revenge  for  being  taken  no  notice  of, 
petrifies  the  assembly  by  moving  that  this 
Vestry  do  now  adjourn;  but,  is  persuaded  to 
withdraw  that  awful  proposal,  in  considera- 
tion of  its  tremendous  consequences  if  per- 
severed in.  Mr.  Magg,  for  the  purpose  of 
being  heard,  then  begs  to  move,  that^'ou, 
Sir,  do  now  pass  to  the  order  of  the  'day  ; 
and  takes  that  opportunity  of  saying,  that 
if  an  honorable  gentleman  whom  he  has  in 
his  eye,  and  will  not  demean  himself  by  more 
particularly  naming  (oh,  oh,  and  cheers), 
supposes  that  he  is  to  be  put  down  by  clamour, 
that  honorable  gentleman  —  however  sup- 
ported he  may  be,  through  thick  and  thin, 
by  a  Fellow  Parishioner,  with  whom  he  is 
well  acquainted  (cheers  and  counter-cheers, 
Mr.  Magg  being  invari.ibly  backed  by  the 
Bate-Payer) — will  find  himself  mistaken. 
Upon  this,  twenty  members  of  our  Vestry 
speak  in  succession  concerning  what  the  two 
great  men  have  meant,  until  it  appears,  after 
an  hour  and  twenty  minutes,  that  neither  of 
them  meant  anything.  Then  our  Vestry 
begins  business. 

We  have  said  that,  after  the  pattern  of  the 
real  original,  our  Vestry  in  playing  at  Parlia- 
ment is  transcendantly  quarrelsome.  It 
enjoys  a  personal  altercation  above  all  things. 
Perhaps  the  most  redoubtable  case  of  this 
kind  we  have  ever  had — though  we  have  had 
so  many  that  it  is  difficult  to  decide — was 
that  on  which  the  last  extreme  solemnities 
passed  between  Mr.  Tiddypot  (of  Gumtion 
House)  and  Captain  Banger  (of  Wilderness 
Walk). 

In  an  adjourned  debate  on  the  question 
whether  water  could  be  regarded  in  the  light 
of  a  necessary  of  life  ;  respecting  which  there 
were  great  differences  of  opinion,  and  many 
shades  of  sentiment ;  Mr.  Tiddypot,  in  a 
powerful  burst  of  eloquence  against  that 
hypothesis,  frequently  made  use  of  the  ex- 
pression that  such  and  such  a  rumour  "  had 
reached  his  ears."  Captain  Banger,  following 
him,  and  holding  that,  for  purposes  of  ablution 
and  refreshment,  a  pint  of  water  per  diem 
was  necessary  for  every  adult  of  the  ]<•• 
classes,  and  half  a  pint  for  every  child,  •. 
ridicule  upon  his  address  in  a  sparkling 
speech,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  instead 
of  those  rumours  having  reached  the  ears  ui 
the  honorable  gentleman,  he  rather  thought  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


OUR  YESTEY. 


551 


honorable  gentleman's  ears  must  have  reached 
the  rumours,  in  consequence  of  their  well- 
known  length.  Mi\  Tiddypot  immediately 
rose,  looked  the  honorable  and  gallant  geutle- 
inan  full  in  the  face,  and  left  the  Vestry. 

The  excitement,  at  this  moment  painfully 
intense,  was  heightened  to  an  acute  degree 
when  Captain  Banger  rose,  and  also  left  the 
Vestry.  After  a  few  moments  of  profound 
silence — one  of  those  breathless  pauses  never 
to  be  forgotten — Mr.  Chib  (of  Tucket's  Terrace, 
and  the  father  of  the  Vestry)  rose.  He  said 
that  words  and  looks  had  passed  in  that 
assembly,  replete  with  consequences  which 
every  feeling  mind  must  deplore.  Time 
pressed.  The  sword  was  drawn,  and  while  he 
spoke  the  scabbard  might  be  thrown  away. 
He  moved  that  those  honorable  gentlemen  who 
had  left  the  Vesti'y  be  recalled,  and  required 
to  pledge  themselves  upon  their  honor  that 
this  aifair  should  go  no  farther.  The  motion 
being  by  a  general  union  of  parties  unani- 
mously agreed  to  (for  everybody  wanted  to 
have  the  belligerents  there,  instead  of  out  of 
sight :  which  was  no  fun  at  all),  Mr.  Magg 
was  deputed  to  recover  Captain  Banger, 
and  Mr.  Chib  himself  to  go  in  search  of 
Mr.  Tiddypot.  The  Captain  was  found  in  a 
conspicuous  position,  surveying  the  passing 
omnibuses  from  the  top  step  of  the  front- 
door immediately  adjoining  the  beadle's  box  ; 
Mr.  Tiddypot  made  a  desperate  attempt  at 
resistance,  but  was  overpowered  by  Mr.  Chib 
(a  remarkably  hale  old  gentleman  of  eighty- 
two),  and  brought  back  in  safety. 

Mr.  Tiddypot  and  the  Captain  being  re- 
stored to  their  places,  and  glaring  on  each 
other,  were  called  upon  by  the  chair  to 
abandon  all  homicidal  intentions,  and  give 
the  Vestry  an  assurance  that  they  did  so. 
Mr.  Tiddypot  remained  profoundly  silent. 
The  Captain  likewise  remained  profoundly 
silent,  saving  that  he  was  observed  by  those 
around  him  to  fold  his  arms  like  Napoleon 
Buonaparte,  and  to  snort  in  his  breathing — 
actions  but  too  expressive  of  gunpowder. 

The  most  intense  emotion  now  prevailed. 
Several  members  clustered  in  remonstrance 
round  the  Captain,  and  several  round  Mr. 
Tiddypot ;  but,  both  were  obdurate.  Mr. 
Chib  then  presented  himself  amid  tremendous 
cheering,  and  said,  that  not  to  shrink  from 
the  discharge  of  his  painful  duty,  he  must 
now  move  that  both  honorable  gentlemen  be 
taken  into  custody  by  the  beadle,  and  conveyed 
to  the  nearest  police-office,  there  to  be  held  to 
bail.  The  union  of  parties  still  continuing, 
the  motion  was  seconded  by  Mr.  Wigsby — on 
all  usual  occasions  Mr.  Chib's  opponent — and 
rapturously  carried  with  only  one  dissentient 
voice.  This  was  Dogginson's,  who  said  from 
his  place  "  Let  'em  fight  it  out  with  fistes ;  " 
but  whose  coarse  remark  was  received  as  it 
merited. 

The  beadle  now  advanced  along  the  floor 
of  the  Vestry,  and  beckoned  with  his  cocked 
hat  to  both  members.  Every  breath  was 


suspended.  To  say  that  a  pin  might  have 
been  heard  to  fall,  would  be  feebly  to  express 
the  all-absorbing  interest  and  silence.  Sud- 
denly, enthusiastic  cheering  broke  out  from 
every  side  of  the  Vestry.  Captain  Banger 
had  risen — being,  in  fact,  pulled  up  by  a 
friend  on  either  side,  and  poked  up  by  a 
friend  behind. 

The  Captain  said,  in  a  deep  determined 
voice,  that  he  had  every  respect  for  that 
Vestry  and  every  respect  for  that  chair ;  that 
he  also  respected  the  honorable  gentleman  of 
Gurntion  House  ;  but,  that  he  respected  his 
honor  more.  Hereupon  the  Captain  sat 
down,  leaving  the  whole  Vestry  much  affected. 
Mr.  Tiddypot  instantly  rose,  and  was  received 
with  the  same  encouragement.  He  likewise 
said — and  the  exquisite  art  of  this  orator 
communicated  to  the  observation  an  air 
of  freshness  and  novelty — that  he  too  had 
every  respect  for  that  Vestry ;  that  he  too 
had  every  respect  for  that  chair.  That  he 
too  respected  the  honorable  and  gallant 
gentleman*  of  Wilderness  Walk  ;  but,  that  he 
too  respected  his  honor  more.  "Hows'ever," 
added  the  distinguished  Vestryman,  "  if  the 
honorable  and  gallant  gentleman's  honor 
is  never  more  doubted  or  damaged  than  it  is 
by  me,  he's  all  right."  Captain  Banger  im- 
mediately started  up  again,  and  said  that 
after  those  observations,  involving  as  they 
did  ample  concession  to  his  honor  without 
compromising  the  honor  of  the  honorable 
gentleman,  he  would  be  wanting  in  honor  as 
well  as  in  generosity,  if  he  did  not  at  once 
repudiate  all  intention  of  wounding  the  honor 
of  the  honorable  gentleman,  or  saying  any- 
thing dishonorable  to  his  honorable  feelings. 
These  observations  were  repeatedly  inter- 
rupted by  bursts  of  cheers.  Mr.  Tiddypot 
retorted  that  he  well  knew  the  spirit  of  honor 
by  which  the  honorable  and  gallant  gentle- 
man was  so  honorably  animated,  and  that  he 
accepted  an  honorable  explanation,  offered  in 
a  way  that  did  him  honor ;  but,  he  trusted 
that  the  Vestry  would  consider  that  his  (Mr. 
Tiddypot's)  honor  had  imperatively  demanded 
of  him  that  painful  course  which  he  had  felt 
it  due  to  his  honor  to  adopt.  The  Captain 
and  Mr.  Tiddypot  then  touched  their  hats  to 
one  another  across  the  Vestry,  a  great  many 
times,  and  it  is  thought  that  these  proceed- 
ings (reported  to  the  extent  of  several  columns 
in  next  Sunday's  paper)  will  bring  them  in  as 
churchwardens  next  year. 

All  this  was  strictly  after  the  pattern  of 
the  real  original,  and  so  are  the  whole  of  our 
Vestry's  proceedings.  In  all  their  debates, 
they  are  laudably  imitative  of  the  windy  and 
wordy  slang  of  the  real  original,  and  of  nothing 
that  is  better  in  it.  They  have  headstrong 
party  animosities,  without  any  reference  to 
the  merits  of  questions;  they  tack  a  surprising 
amount  of  debate  to  a  very  little  business ; 
they  set  more  store  by  forms  than  they  do  by 
substances  : — all  very  like  the  real  original ! 
It  has  been  doubted  in  our  borough  whether 


552 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


our  Vestry  is  of  any  utility  ;  but  our  own  con- 
clusion is,  that  it  is  of  the  use  to  the  Borough 
that  a  diminishing  mirror  is  to  a  Painter,  as 
enabling  it  to  perceive  in  a  small  focus  of 
absurdity  all  the  surface  defects  of  the  real 
original.  We  wish  our  Vestry  long  life,  there- 
fore, in  continuing  to  play  at  Parliament. 
One  of  these  days,  when  it  gets  a  very  good 
subject  for  the  game,  we  may  become,  for 
the  occasion,  its  faithful  Hansard. 


SHAWLS. 


IN  that  part  of  Asia  where  some  of  our 
brave  countrymen  have  penetrated  only  to 
die — in  that  country  where  Charles  Stoddart 
and  his  friend  Conolly,  whose  faces  will 
never  be  forgotten  by  some  of  us,  and  whose 
voices  still  sound  in  our  ears,  consoled  each 
other  through  a  loathsome  imprisonment, 
and  went  out  together  to  lose  their  heads 
in  the  market-place  of  the  capital ;  in  that 
distant  and  impracticable  country  of  Bokhara, 
which  we  are  ready  to  say  we  will  rfever  have 
any  connexion  with — there  are  people  always 
employed  in  our  service.  We  are  not  now 
thinking  of  the  Bokhara  clover,  which  is 
such  a  treat  to  our  cows  and  horses.  We 
owe  that,  and  lucerne,  and  others  of  our 
green  crops,  to  the  interior  of  Asia ;  but  we 
are  thinking  of  something  more  elaborate. 
In  Bokhara,  the  camel  is  watched  while  the 
fine  hair  on  the  belly  is  growing :  this  fine 
hair  is  cut  off  so  carefully  that  not  a  fibre 
is  lost ;  it  is  put  by  until  there  is  enough  to 
spin  into  a  yarn,  unequalled  for  softness; 
and  then  it  is  dyed  all  manner  of  bright 
colours,  and  woven  in  strips  eight  inches 
wide  of  shawl  patterns  such  as — with  all  our 
pains  and  cost,  with  all  our  Schools  of  Design 
and  study  of  nature  and  art — we  are  not  yet 
able  to  rival.  These  strips  are  then  sewn 
together  so  cunningly  that  no  European  can 
discover  the  joins.  The  precious  merchandise 
is  delivered  to  traders  who  receive  it  on 
credit.  On  their  return  from  market  they 
pay  the  price  of  the  shawls  at  the  Bokhara 
value,  with  30  per  cent,  interest :  or,  if  they 
cannot  do  this  in  consequence  of  having  been 
robbed,  or  of  any  other  misfortune,  they  stay 
away,  and  are  never  seen  again  in  their  native 
land. 

Where  is  this  market  ?  So  far  away 
from  home  that  the  traders  wear  out  their 
clothes  during  their  journey  ;  and  their  fair 
skins  become  as  brown  as  mulattoes.  On, 
on.  on  they  go,  day  after  day,  month  after 
month,  on  their  pacing  camels,  or  beside 
them,  over  table-lands,  mounting  one  above 
another ;  over  grass,  among  rocks,  over  sand, 
through  snows ;  now  chilled  to  the  marrow  by 
icy  winds ;  now  scorched  by  sunshine,  from 
which  there  is  no  shelter  but  the  flat  cotton 
caps,  with  which  they  thatch  their  bare 
crowns :  on,  on,  for  fifteen  thousand  miles,  to 
the  borders  of  Russia,  to  sell  the  shawls  which 
are  to  hang  on  ladies'  shoulders  in  Hyde  Park, 


and   where  beauties  most  do  congregate  in 
Paris  and  Vienna. 

The  passion  for  shawls  among  all  women 
everywhere  is  remarkable.  In  one  country, 
the  shawl  may  flow  from  the  head,  like  a 
veil ;  in  another,  it  hangs  from  the  shoulders ; 
in  another,  it  is  knotted  round  the  loins  as  a 
sash ;  in  yet  another,  it  is  swathed  round  the 
body  as  a  petticoat.  Wherever  worn  at  all, 
it  is  the  pet  article  of  dress.  From  a  time 
remote  beyond  computation,  the  sheep  of 
Cashmere  have  been  cherished  on  their  hills, 
and  the  goats  of  Thibet  on  their  plains,  and 
the  camels  of  Tartary  on  their  steppes,  to 
furnish  material  for  the  choicest  shawls. 
From  time  immemorial,  the  patterns  which 
we  know  so  well  have  been  handed  down 
as  a  half-sacred  tradition  through  a  Hindoo 
ancestry,  which  puts  even  Welsh  pedigrees 
to  shame.  For  thousands  of  years  have  the 
bright  dyes,  which  are  the  despair  of  our 
science  and  art,  been  glittering  in  Indian 
looms,  in  those  primitive  pits  under  the 
palm-tree  where  the  whimsical  patterns  grow, 
like  the  wild  flower  springing  from  the  soil.  For 
thousands  of  years  have  Eastern  potentates 
made  presents  of  shawls  to  distinguished 
strangers,  together  with  diamonds  and  pearls. 

At  this  day,  when  an  Eastern  prince  sends 
gifts  to  European  sovereigns,  there  are  shawls, 
to  the  value  of  thousands  of  pounds,  together 
with  jewels,  perfumes,  and  wild  beasts,  and 
valuable  horses  ;  just  as  was  done  in  the  days 
of  the  Pharaohs,  as  the  paintings  on  Egyptian 
tombs  show  us  at  this  day.  And  the  subjects 
of  sovereigns  have  as  much  liking  for  shawls 
as  any  queen.  At  the  Russian  Court,  the 
ladies  judge  one  another  by  their  shawls  as 
by  their  diamonds.  In  France,  the  bride- 
groom wins  favour  by  a  judicious  gift  of 
this  kind.  In  Cairo  and  Damascus,  the  gift 
of  a  shawl  will  cause  almost  as  much  heart- 
burning in  the  harem  as  the  introduction  of 
a  new  wife.  In  England,  the  daughter  of  the 
house  spends  the  whole  of  her  first  quarter's 
allowance  in  the  purchase  of  a  shawl.  The 
Paris  grisette,  and  the  London  dressmaker 
go  to  their  work  with  the  little  shawl  pinned 
neatly  at  the  waist.  The  lost  gin-drinker 
covers  her  rags  with  the  remnants  of  the 
shawl  of  better  days.  The  farmer's  daughter 
buys  a  white  cotton  shawl,  with  a  gay 
border,  for  her  wedding ;  and  it  washes  and 
dyes  until,  having  wrapped  all  her  babies 
in  turn,  it  is  finally  dyed  black  to  signalise 
her  widowhood.  The  maiden-aunt,  growing 
elderly,  takes  to  wearing  a  shawl  in  the 
house  in  mid-winter';  and  the  granny  would 
no  more  think  of  going  without  it  at  any 
season  than  without  her  cap.  When  son  or 
grandson  comes  home  from  travel,  far  or 
near,  his  present  is  a  new  shawl,  which  she 
puts  on  with  deep  consideration  ;  parting  with 
the  old  one  with  a  sigh.  The  Manchester 
or  Birmingham  factory  girl  buys  a  gay  shawl 
on  credit,  wears  it  on  Sunday,  puts  it  in  pawn 
on  Monday  morning,  and  takes  it  cut  again 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SHAWLS. 


553 


on  Saturday  night,  for  another  Sunday's 
wear,  and  so  on,  until  she  has  wasted  money 
that  would  have  bought  her  a  good  ward- 
robe. Thus,  from  China  round  the  world 
to  Oregon,  and  from  the  queen  down 
to  the  pauper,  is  the  shawl  the  symbol  of 
woman's  taste  and  condition.  Whence  come 
all  these  shawls  ?  For  it  is  clear  that  the 
supply  which  arrives  from  Asia  over  bleak 
continents  and  wide  oceans,  can  be  only  for 
the  rich  and  great.  Some  of  the  shawls  from 
Bokhara  sell,  in  the  market  on  the  Russian 
frontier,  for  two  thousand  four  hundred 
pounds  each.  Whence  come  the  hundred 
thousand  shawls  that  the  women  of  Great 
Britain  purchase  every  year  ? 

Some  of  the  richest  that  our  ladies  wear 
are  from  Lyons ;  and  the  French  taste  is 
so  highly  esteemed  that  our  principal  manu- 
facturers go  to  Lyons  once  or  twice  a  year, 
for  specimens  and  patterns.  Some  of  our 
greatest  ladies  of  all,  even  the  Queen  and 
certain  duchesses  and  countesses,  offer  to 
our  chief  manufacturers  a  sight  of  their 
treasures  from  India,  their  Cashmeres,  and 
other  shawls,  from  a  patriotic  desire  for  the 
improvement  of  our  English  patterns.  From 
these,  the  manufacturers  of  Norwich  and 
Paisley  devise  such  beautiful  things  that, 
but  for  the  unaccountable  and  unrivalled 
superiority  of  the  Orientals  in  the  produc- 
tion of  this  particular  article,  we  should  be 
all  satisfaction  and  admiration.  The  common 
cotton  shawls,  continually  lessening  in  number, 
worn  by  women  of  the  working  classes,  are 
made  at  Manchester,  and  wherever  the 
cotton  manufacture  is  instituted.  In  order 
to  study  the  production  of  British  shawls 
in  perfection,  one  should  visit  the  Norwich  or 
Paisley  manufactories. 

If  any  article  of  dress  could  be  immutable, 
it  would  be  the  shawl  ;  designed  for  eternity 
in  the  unchanging  East ;  copied  from  pat- 
terns which  are  the  heirloom  of  a  caste,  and 
woven  by  fatalists,  to  be  worn  by  adorers 
of  the  ancient  garment,  who  resent  the  idea 
of  the  smallest  change.  Yet  has  the  day 
arrived  which  exhibits  the  manufacture  of 
three  distinct  kinds  of  shawls  in  Paisley. 
There  is  the  genuine  woven  shawl,  with  its 
Asiatic  patterns  ;  and  there  is  that  which  is 
called  a  shawl  for  convenience,  but  which  has 
nothing  Asiatic  about  it :  the  tartan — which 
name  is  given  not  only  to  the  checks  of  divers 
colours  which  signify  so  much  to  the  Scottish 
eye,  but  to  any  kind  of  mixed  or  mottled 
colours  and  fabric — woven  in  squares  or 
lengths  to  cover  the  shoulders.  The  third 
kind  is  quite  modern  ;  the  showy,  slight  and 
elegant  printed  shawl,  derived  from  Lyons, 
and  now  daily  rising  in  favour.  The  woven 
kind  is  the  oldest  in  Paisley.  The  tartan 
kind  was  introduced  from  Stirlingshire — 
without  injury  to  Stirlingshire — which  makes 
as  many  as  ever,  but  to  the  great  benefit  of 
Paisley.  The  printed  kind  has  been  made 
about  six  years  ;  and  it  is  by  far  the  greatest 


and  most  expanding  manufacture.  The  most 
devoted  worshippers  of  the  genuine  shawl  can 
hardly  wonder  at  this,  considering  the  love  of 
change  that  is  inherent  in  ladies  who  dress 
well,  and  the  difference  of  cost.  A  genuine 
shawl  lasts  a  quarter  of  a  lifetime.  Ordi- 
nary purchasers  give  from  one  pound  to  ten 
pounds  for  one,  and  can  give  more  if  they 
desire  a  very  superior  shawl :  a  process 
which  it  is  not  convenient  to  repeat  every 
two  or  three  years.  The  handsomest  printed 
shawls,  meantime,  can  be  had  for  two  pounds, 
and  they  will  last  two  years ;  by  the  end  of 
which  time,  probably,  the  wearer  has  a  mind 
for  something  new.  The  time  required  for 
the  production  answers  pretty  accurately  to 
these  circumstances.  It  takes  a  week  to 
weave  a  shawl  of  the  genuine  sort ;  in  the 
same  time  ten  or  twelve  of  the  tartan  or  plaid, 
and  twenty  or  thirty  of  the  printed  can  be 
produced. 

The  processes  employed  for  these  three 
kinds  of  shawls  are  wholly  different ;  and  we 
will  therefore  look  at  them  separately,  though 
we  saw  them,  in  fact,  under  the  same  roof. 
As  for  the  tartan  shawls,  there  is  no  need  to 
enlarge  upon  them,  as  their  production  is 
much  like  that  of  any  other  kind  of  variegated 
cloth.  We  need  mention  only  one  fact  in 
regard  to  them,  which  is,  however,  very  notice- 
able ;  the  recent  invention  of  a  machine  by 
which  vast  time  and  labour  are  saved.  As 
we  all  know,  the  fringes  of  cloth  shawls  are 
twisted — some  threads  being  twisted  together 
in  one  direction,  and  then  two  of  these  twists 
being  twisted  in  the  opposite  direction.  Till 
a  month  ago  this  work  was  done  by  girls,  in 
not  the  pleasantest  way,  either  to  themselves 
or  the  purchaser,  by  their  wetting  their  hands 
from  their  own  mouths,  and  twisting  the 
threads  between  their  palms.  The  machine 
does,  in  a  second  of  time,  the  work  of  fourteen 
pairs  of  hands  :  that  is,  as  two  girls  attend  it, 
there  is  a  saving  of  twelve  pairs  of  hands  and 
some  portion  of  time,  and  the  work  is  done 
with  thorough  certainty  and  perfection  : 
whereas,  under  the  old  method,  for  one  girl 
who  could  do  the  work  well,  there  might  be 
several  who  did  it  indifferently  or  ill.  The 
machine,  invented  by  Mr.  Hutchison,  niust  be 
seen  to  be  understood  :  for  there  is  no  giving 
an  idea,  by  description,  of  the  nicety  with 
which  the  brass  tongues  rise  to  lift  up  the 
threads  and  to  twist  them  ;  then  throw  them 
together,  and  rub  them  against  the  leather- 
covered  shafts ;  which,  instead  of  human  palms, 
twist  them  in  the  opposite  direction.  In  see- 
ing this  machine  the  old  amazement  recurs 
at  the  size,  complication,  and  dignity  of  an 
instrument  contrived  for  so  simple  a  pur- 
pose. The  dignity,  however,  resides  not  in 
the  magnitude  of  the  office,  but  in  the  saving 
of  time  and  human  labour. 

Of  the  other  two  kinds  of  shawls,  which 
shall  we  look  at  first  ?  Let  it  be  the  true 
and  venerable  woven  shawl. 

The  wool  is  Australian  or  German — chiefly 


564 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conduct  oil  by 


Australian.  It  comes,  in  the  form  of  yarn, 
from  Bradford,  in  hanks  which  are  anything 
but  white,  so  that  they  have  first  to  be  washed 
Of  the  washing,  dyeing,  and  warping  we  need 
not  speak,  as  they  are  much  the  same  to  the 
observer's  and  therefore  to  the  reader's,  eye 
as  the  preparation  of  yarns  for  carpets  in 
Kendal,  and  of  silk  for  ribbons  in  Coventry. 
While  the  washing  and  drying,  and  the  dyeing 
and  drying  again  are  proceeding,  the  higher 
labour  of  preparing  the  pattern  is  advancing. 

But  how  much  of  the  lower  kind  of  work 
can  be  done  during  the  slow  elaboration  oi 
the  higher  !  It  really  requires  some  patience 
and  fortitude  even  to  witness  the  mighty  task 
of  composing  and  preparing  the  pattern  of  an 
elaborate  shawl.  Let  the  reader  study  any 
three  square  inches  of  a  good  shawl  border ; 
let  the  threads  be  counted,  and  the  colours, 
and  the  twists  and  turnings  of  the  pattern  ; 
and  then  let  it  be  remembered  that  the  general 
form  has  to  be  invented,  and  the  subdivisions, 
and  the  details  within  each  form,  and  the 
filling  up  of  the  spaces  between,  and  the 
colours — as  a  whole,  and  in  each  particular  ; 
and  that,  before  the  material  can  be  arranged 
for  the  weaving,  every  separate  stitch  (so  to 
speak)  must  be  painted  down  on  paper  in  its 
right  place.  Is  it  not  bewildering  to  think  of? 
Much  more  bewildering  and  imposing  is  it  to 
see.  As  for  the  first  sketch  of  the  design,  that 
is  all  very  pretty ;  and,  the  strain  on  the 
faculties  not  being  cognisable  by  the  stranger, 
is  easy  enough.  There  goes  the  artist-pencil 
tracing  waving  lines  and  elegant  forms,  giving 
no  more  notion  of  the  operations  within  than 
the  hands  of  a  clock  do  of  the  complication  of 
the  works.  Formerly,  the  employers  put  two 
or  three  good  foreign  patterns  into  the  artists' 
hands,  and  said,  "  Make  a  new  pattern  out  of 
these."  Now  that  we  have  Schools  of  Design, 
and  more  accessible  specimens  of  art,  the 
direction  is  given  without  the  aids.  "  Make  a 
new  pattern  ; "  and  the  artist  sits  down  with 
nothing  before  him  but  pencil  and  paper — 
unless,  indeed,  he  finds  aids  for  himself  in 
wild  flowers,  and  other  such  instructors  in 
beauty  of  form  and  colour.  By  degrees,  the 
different  parts  of  the  pattern  shape  themselves 
out,  and  combine — the  centre  groups  with  the 
ends,  and  the  ends  grow  out  into  the  sides 
with  a  natural  and  graceful  transition.  Then 
the  portions,  properly  outlined,  are  delivered 
to  the  colourers  ;  who  cover  the  drawing  with 
oiled  paper,  and  begin  to  paint.  It  would  not 
do  to  colour  the  outlined  drawing,  because 
there  are  no  outlines  in  the  woven  fabric. 
It  is  dazzling  only  to  look  upon.  Much  less 
minute  is  the  transferring  to  the  diced  paper 
which  is  the  real  working  pattern.  The  se- 
parate portions  of  the  finished  pattern  of  a 
single  shawl,  when  laid  on  the  floor,  would 
cover  the  carpet  of  a  large  drawing-room.  The 
taking  down  such  a  pattern  upon  paper  occu- 
pies four  months. 

The  weaving  is  done  either  by  "  lashing," 
or  from  Jacquard  cards.    The  Jacquard  loom 


answers  for  the  eternal  patterns,  and  the 
"lashing"  method  suffices  for  those  which  are 
not  likely  to  be  repeated.  The  man  seated  at 
the  "  piano-machine,"  playing  on  a  sort  of 
keys,  from  the  coloured  pattern  stuck  up 
before  his  eyes,  is  punching  the  Jacquard 
cards,  which  are  then  transferred,  in  their 
order,  to  the  lacing-machine,  where  they  are 
strung  together  by  boys  into  that  series  which 
is  to  operate  upon  the  warp  in  the  weaving, 
lifting  up  the  right  threads  for  the  shuttle  to 
pass  under  to  form  the  pattern,  as  in  other 
more  familiar  manufactures.  The  "  lashing  " 
is  read  off  from  the  pattern,  too,  in  the  same 
way  as  with  carpet  patterns  at  Kendal ;  so 
many  threads  being  taken  up  and  inter- 
laced with  twine  for  a  red  stitch,  and  then  so 
many  more  for  a  green,  and  so  on.  Boys  then 
fasten  each  symbol  of  a  hue  to  a  netting  of 
whipcord,  by  that  tail  of  the  netting  which, 
by  its  knots,  signifies  that  particular  hue  :  so 
that,  when  the  weaving  comes  to  be  done,  the 
boy,  pulling  the  symbolic  cord,  raises  the 
threads  of  the  warp, — green,  blue,  or  other, 
— which  are  required  for  that  throw  of  the 
shuttle.  Thus  the  work  is  really  all  done 
before-hand,  except  the  mere  putting  together 
of  the  threads ;  done,  moreover,  by  anybody 
but  the  weaver,  who  is,  to  say  the  truth,  a 
mere  shuttle-throwing  machine.  The  poor 
man  does  not  even  see  and  know  what  he  is 
doing.  The  wrong  side  of  the  shawl  is  upper- 
most ;  and  not  even  such  a  wrong  side  as  we 
see,  which  gives  some  notion  of  the  pattern 
on  the  other.  Previous  to  cutting,  the  wrong 
side  of  a  shawl  is  a  loose  surface  of  floating 
threads  of  all  colours  ;  of  the  threads,  in  fact, 
which  are  thrown  out  of  the  pattern,  and 
destined  to  be  cut  away  and  given  to  the 
paper-makers  to  make  coarse  grey  paper. 
One  pities  the  weaver,  who  sits  all  day  long 
throwing  the  shuttle,  while  the  boy  at  the  end 
of  his  loom  pulls  the  cords  which  make  the 
pattern,  and  throw  up  nothing  but  refuse  to 
the  eye.  He  has  not  even  the  relief  of  stopping 
to  roll  up  what  he  has  done ;  for  a  little 
machine  is  now  attached  to  his  loom,  which 
saves  the  necessity  of  stopping  for  any  such 
purpose.  It  is  called  "  the  up-taking  motion." 
By  it  a  few  little  cog-wheels  are  set  to  turn 
one  another,  and,  finally,  the  roller,  on  which 
the  woven  fabric  is  wound  as  finished. 

The  bundles  of  weaving-strings  and  netting 
which  regulate  the  pattern,  are  called 
"  flowers."  From  the  quantity  of  labour  and 
skill  wrought  up  in  their  arrangement,  they 
are  very  valuable.  A  pile  of  them,  on  a  small 
table,  were,  as  we  were  assured,  worth  one 
thousand  pounds.  We  may  regard  each  as 
the  soul  or  spirit  of  the  shawl, — not  creating 
its  material,  but  animating  it  with  character, 
personality,  and  beauty.  We  have  said  that 
it  takes  a  man  a  week  to  weave  a  shawl :  but 
this  means  a  "  long"  shawl,  and  not  a  "square." 
The  square  remain  our  favourites ;  but  the 
female  world  does  not  seem  to  be  of  our  mind. 
It  is  true  the  symmetry  of  the  pattern  is 


Charles  Dickens.] 


SHAWLS. 


555 


spoiled  when  the  white  centre  hangs  over  one 
shoulder.  It  is  true,  the  "  longs  "  are  heavy 
and  very  warm,  from  being  twice  doubled. 
But  they  have  one  advantage  which  ladies 
hold  to  compensate  for  those  difficulties  ;  they 
can  be  folded  to  any  size,  and  therefore  to 
suit  any  figure, — tall  or  short,  stout  or  thin. 
We  are  assured  that,  for  one  square  shawl 
that  is  sold,  there  are  a  hundred  "  longs." 

A  capital  machine  now  intervenes,  with 
its  labour-saving  power  ;  this  time,  of  French 
invention.  Formerly,  it  took  two  girls  a  whole 
day  to  cut  off  the  refuse  threads  from  the 
back  of  a  shawl.  But  this  machine,  superin- 
tended by  a  man,  does  it  in  a  minute  and  a 
half.  A  horizontal  blade  is  traversed  by 
spiral  blades  fixed  on  a  cylinder,  the  revolv- 
ing of  which  gives  to  the  blades  the  action  of 
a  pair  of  scissors.  The  man's  office  is  to  put 
in  the  shawl,  set  the  machine  going,  and  to 
beat  down  the  refuse  as  fast  as  it  is  cut  oif. 

The  upper  surface  of  the  shawl  remains 
somewhat  rough — rough  enough  to  become 
soon  a  rather  dirty  article  of  dress,  from 
the  dust  which  it  would  catch  up  and  retain. 
It  is  therefore  smoothed  by  singing.  This 
very  otfensive  process  is  performed  by  a 
man  who  must  have  gone  through  a  severe 
discipline  before  he  could  endure  his  busi- 
ness. He  heats  his  iron  (which  is  like  a 
very  large,  heavy  knife,  turned  up  at  the 
end)  red  hot,  spreads  the  shawl  on  a  table 
rather  larger  than  itself,  and  passes  the 
red-hot  iron  over  the  surface,  with  an  even 
and  not  very  rapid  movement.  What  would 
that  Egyptian  dragoman  have  said,  who, 
being  asked  to  iron  out  an  English  clergy- 
man's white  ducks,  burned  oif  the  right  leg 
with  the  first  touch  of  his  box-iron  1  That 
box-iron  was  not  red  hot,  nor  anything  like 
it  ;  yet  there  is  no  such  destruction  here. 
There  is  only  the  brown  dust  fizzing.  Pah  ! 
that 's  enough  !  let  us  go  somewhere  else. 

In  a  light,  upper  room,  women  and  girls 
are  at  work,  sitting  on  low  stools,  each  with 
a  shawl  stretched  tightly  over  her  knees. 
Some  of  these  are  darning,  with  the  utmost 
nicety,  any  cracks,  thin  places,  or  "  faults  "  in 
the  fabric  ;  darning  each  in  its  exact  colour. 
Some  are  putting  silk  fringes  upon  the  printed 
shawls,  tacking  them  in  with  a  needle,  mea- 
suring each  length  by  eye  and  touch,  and  then 
knotting,  or,  as  it  is  called,  "netting"  the 
lengths  by  cross-ties.  One  diminutive  girl  of 
nearly  ten,  is  doing  this  with  wonderful  quick- 
ness, as  she  sits  by  her  mother's  knee.  The 
girls  do  not  come  to  work  before  this  age  ; 
nor  the  boys  before  twelve.  In  other  rooms, 
women  are  seated  at  tables,  or  leaning  over 
them,  twisting  the  fringes  of  plaid  shawls,  or 
picking  out  knots  and  blemishes  with  pincers, 
and  brushing  all  clean,  and  then  folding  them, 
with  sheets  of  stiff  pasteboard  between,  ready 
for  the  final  pressure  in  the  hydraulic  press, 
which  makes  them  fit  for  the  shop. 

The  fabric  for  the  printed  shawls  is  light 
and  thin,  in  comparison  with  the  woven.  The 


thinness  is  various ;  from  the  barege  to  the 
lightest  gossamer  that  will  bear  the  pressure 
of  the  block.  The  whole  importance  of  the 
production  consists  in  the  printing  ;  for  the 
fabric  is  simple  and  common  enough.  A  man 
can  weave  ten  yards  per  day  of  the  barege  ; 
and  the  silk  gauze,  striped  or  plain,  requires 
no  particular  remark. 

The  designing  is  done  with  the  same  pains 
and  care  as  for  the  genuine  shawl,  but  the 
range  of  subjects  is  larger.  While  something 
of  the  Oriental  character  of  the  shawl  pat- 
terns must  be  preserved,  much  of  the  beauty 
of  French  figured  silks  and  brocades  and  em- 
broidery may  be  admitted.  Thus  the  design- 
ing and  colouring-rooms  contain  much  that 
pleases  the  eye,  though  one  does  not  see  there 
the  means  and  appliances  which  fill  some 
apartment  or  another  of  Birmingham  fac- 
tories— the  casts  from  the  antique,  the  volumes 
of  plates,  the  flower  in  water,  and  so  on. 
The  preparation  of  the  blocks  for  printing, 
and  yet  more  the  application  of  them,  re- 
minded us  of  the  paper-staining,  which  we 
had  certainly  never  thought  of  before  in  con- 
nexion with  shawls.  The  wood  used  is  lime- 
wood.  Some  of  the  blocks  are  chiselled  and 
picked  out,  like  those  of  the  paper-stainer. 
The  cast-blocks  are  more  curious.  A  punch 
is  used,  the  point  or  needle  of  which  is  kept 
hot  by  a  flame,  from  which  the  workman's 
head  is  defended  by  a  shield  of  metal.  He 
burns  holes  by  puncturing  with  this  hot 
needle  along  all  the  outlines  of  the  block  he 
holds  in  his  hands,  much  as  a  little  child 
pricks  outlhaes  on  paper  on  a  horse-hair  chair- 
bottom.  There  is  a  groove  along  the  face  of 
each  block,  to  allow  the  metal  to  run  in.  The 
burned  blocks  are  screwed  tight  in  a  press, 
their  joined  tops  forming  a  saucer,  into  which 
the  molten  metal  (composed  of  tin,  bismuth 
and  lead)  is  poured.  In  it  goes,  and  down  the 
grooves,  penetrating  into  all  the  burnt  holes  ; 
and,  of  course,  when  cool,  furnishing  a  cast  of 
the  patterns  desired,  in  the  form  of  upright 
thorns  or  spikes  on  a  metallic  ground  or 
plate.  These  plates  are  filed  smooth  at  the 
back,  and  fixed  on  wood,  and  you  have  the 
blocks  ready  to  print  from  ;  one  representing 
one  colour,  another  another,  and  so  on,  till 
the  plates  for  a  single  shawl  of  many  colours 
may  mount  up  in  value  to  a  very  large  sum. 

Before  printing,  the  fabric  has  been  well 
washed  ;  the  barejge  being  passed,  by  machi- 
nery, over  cylinders  which  apply  and  squeeze 
out  a  wash  of  soap,  soda  and  glue.  All 
roughnesses  had  previously  been  removed 
by  a  "  cropping "  machine.  After  drying, 
it  comes  to  the  printing-table,  where  it  is 
treated  much  like  a  paper-hanging.  This 
is  all  very  well ;  but  what  is  to  be  done  in 
case  of  a  shower  of  rain  1  a  not  improbable 
incident  in  the  life  of  a  shawl.  A  paper 
hanging  would  not  stand  a  driving  rain. 
Are  ladies  imposed  upon  in  this  matter,  when 
they  are  offered  a  gay -printed  shawl  as 
wearable  out  of  doors  ?  By  no  means.  Nobody 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


IConductedby 


knows  how  it  is,  but  the  fact  is  certain, 
that  a  good  steaming,  at  a  tremendous  heat, 
fixes  the  colours  by  some  chemical  action, 
without  in  the  least  hurting  their  lustre : 
so  the  shawls  go  into  the  steaming-box,  and 
come  out  of  it  able  to  bear  as  many  washings 
as  you  please,  without  any  change  of  colour. 
After  drying,  in  a  heat  of  one  hundred  and 
ten  degrees,  they  go  upstairs  to  be  surveyed, 
fringed,  folded  and  pressed. 

It  seems  a  pity  that  the  fat,  easy,  lazy 
Bokharian,  and  the  slim,  lithe,  patient  Hin- 
doo, should  not  come  to  Paisley,  and  see  how 
shawls  are  made  there.  To  the  one,  shaving 
his  camel  on  the  plain,  and  the  other,  throw- 
ing his  antique  shuttle  under  the  palm,  how 
strange  would  be  the  noise,  and  the  stench, 
and  the  speed,  and  the  numbers  employed, 
and  the  amount  of  production  !  To  the  one, 
it  may  be  the  work  of  years  to  furnish  to  the 
travelling  merchant  strips  of  eight  inches 
wide,  enough  to  make  a  shawl ;  and  to  the 
other,  the  production  of  such  an  article  is  an 
event  in  life  ;  while  here,  at  Paisley,  if  the 
pattern  requires  mouths,  the  weaving  of  the 
most  genuine  and  venerable  kind  occupies 
only  a  week.  "We  do  not  believe  that  the 
simple  and  patient  Oriental  will  be  driven 
out  of  the  mai-ket  by  us,  because  there  is  no 
promise,  at  present,  of  our  overtaking  their 
excellence.  We  hope  there  will  be  room  in 
the  world  of  fashion  for  them  and  us  for 
ever — (the  "for  ever"  of  that  world).  We 
shall  not  go  back  to  their  methods,  and  it  is 
not  very  likely  that  they  should  come  up  to 
ours  ;  so  we  shall  probably  each  go  on  in  our 
own  way,  which  is  what  everybody  likes  best. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  FLOWERS. 


THE  Coffee  Estate  on  which  I  resided  as 
manager,  was  situated  in  one  of  the  wildest 
and  most  beautiful  districts  of  the  island  of 
Ceylon,  elevated  far  above  the  burning  low- 
lands, where  fragrant  spices  and  waving 
palms  told  of  rich  soils  and  balmy  winds. 
The  plantation  was  on  a  broad  table-land, 
fully  three  thousand  five  hundred  feet  above 
the  sea-level,  forty  miles  removed  from  the 
only  European  town  in  the  interior,  and  at 
least  ten  miles  from  any  other  white  man's 
dwelling.  Within  a  short  walk  of  the  lower 
boundary  of  my  property  was  a  small  Kandyan 
village,  containing  within  itself  the  very  pith 
arid  marrow  of  Cingalese  society — a  true  type 
of  the  entire  community  of  the  island.  As  I 
mixed  so  unreservedly  and  frequently  with 
the  people,  and  saw  so  much  of  their  every- 
day-life, it  may  be  interesting  to  some  to  see  a 
faint  outline  drawn  of  this  place. 

Malwattie,  which  was  its  name,  signifies 
literally,  "  a  garden  of  flowers,"  and  such  in 
truth  it  was,  when  I  first  visited  it.  The 
reader  must  not  suppose  it  a  place  bearing 
the  most  remote  resemblance  to  any  collec- 
tion of  houses  in  this  country.  There  is  not 
such  a  thing  as  a  row  of  houses  or  huts  to  be 


seen  :  shops  are  unknown  in  that  primitive 
place,  and  until  later  years,  no  such  incubus 
as  a  tavern-keeper  or  arrack-renter  was 
known  there.  Every  little  hut  .or  cottage 
was  carefully  shaded  from  the  view  of  its 
neighbour ;  fairly  established  on  its  own 
account — so  much  so,  as  though  the  inmates 
had  written  up  in  barbarous  Cingalese 
characters,  "No  connexion  with  the  house 
next  door."  I  never  could  learn  that  there 
was  any  superstition  among  Cingalese  hut- 
builders  as  to  the  variation  in  the  aspects  of 
their  domiciles,  but  certain  it  was  that  no  two 
dwellings  faced  precisely  the  same  points  of 
the  compass.  One  would  be  north-east,  and 
the  nearest  to  it  would  be  north- east  and  by 
east :  you  might  fancy  you  had  found  another 
facing  a  similar  point,  but  on  a  careful  obser- 
vation you  would  see  that  you  could  not 
make  it  any  better  than  north-east  and  by 
east-half-east.  I  tried  the  experiment  for  a 
long  time,  but  was  compelled  at  length  to 
give  it  tip.  I  had  regularly  "  boxed  the 
compass"  round  the  entire  village. 

Partly  from  long  established  custom,  and 
partly  from  a  desire  of  shading  their  dwell- 
ings from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  the  Kandyans 
bury  their  isolated  huts  beneath  a  dense  mass 
of  the  rankest  vegetation.  At  a  short  dis- 
tance not  a  sign  of  human  habitation  could 
be  traced  were  it  not  for  the  thickly  growing 
topes  of  bananas,  areka  palms,  and  bread- 
fruit-trees, which  are  ever  found  around  and 
above  their  quiet  abodes. 

Malwattie  formed  no  exception  to  the 
general  rule  in  this  respect ;  it  was  as  snugly 
hedged  and  fenced,  and  grown  over,  as  was 
Robinson  Crusoe's  dwelling  after  the  visits  of 
the  savages.  Every  tiny  hut  appeared  to 
possess  a  maze  of  its  own  for  the  express 
purpose  of  perplexing  all  new-comers, 
especially  white  men.  The  entire  village  did 
not  cover  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  square 
mile,  yet  it  would  have  puzzled  any  living 
thing  but  a  bird  to  have  visited  all  the  cot- 
tages in  less  time  than  half  a  day,  and  very 
giddy,  tiring  work  it  would  have  been. 

Small  as  was  this  primitive  community,  it 
had  its  superiors.  The  leading  men  were  the 
priest  of  the  little  Buddhist  Vihara,  or  shrine  ; 
and  the  Korale  or  headman.  I  will  not  dis- 
tress the  reader  by  putting  the  names  of  these 
men  in  print,  as  they  would  be  perfectly 
unpronounceable,  and,  moreover,  as  lengthy 
as  the  approaches  to  their  own  dwellings. 
The  entire  names  of  one  Cingalese  community 
would  fill  a  moderately-sized  volume.  I  will 
therefore  only  speak  of  these  men  as  the 
Priest  and  the  Korale. 

The  latter  was  a  rather  respectable  man,  as 
things  go  in  Ceylon  ;  he  was  negatively  irre- 
proachable in  character.  He  had  certainly 
never  committed  murder  or  theft  on  the 
Queen's  highway.  Perjury  had  not  been 
charged  against  him,  and  as  for  the  faithful 
discharge  of  his  few  official  duties,  no  one 
had  ever  called  that  in  question,  though  there 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GARDEN  OF  FLOWERS. 


557 


were  some  rather  curious  tales  afloat  on  the 
subject  of  the  last  assessment  on  rice-lands. 
At  the  office  of  the  Government  agent  of  the 
district  he  was  believed  to  be  as  active  and 
honest  as  nine-tenths  of  the  native  headmen, 
though  to  be  sure,  that  was  not  saying  very 
much  for  him.  The  villagers  looked  up  to 
him  with  the  utmost  veneration  and  respect, 
and  no  wonder,  for  on  his  fiat  depended  the 
amount  of  rice-tax  their  lands  were  to  pay. 
He  was  a  venerable-looking  old  gentleman, 
with  a  flowing  white  beard,  a  keen  quiet  eye, 
and  an  easy-going  habit  that  might  have  been 
called  dignity  or  laziness.  It  was  his  duty 
to  render  to  the  Government  officers  a  just 
account  of  the  industry,  if  such  a  term  can  be 
applied  to  anything  Cingalese,  of  his  village  ; 
to  furnish  returns  of  the  increase  or  decrease 
of  the  population  ;  to  give  notice  of  all  crimes 
and  offences  committed,  and  in  short,  to 
represent  the  local  government  in  minor 
details.  For  all  this,  no  salary  was  paid  him. 
He  was  satisfied  with  the  honour  of  the 
office  ;  and  yet,  strange  to  tell,  this  Korale 
had  so  far  increased  his  property  by  gaining 
nothing,  that  he  was  a  man  of  some  substance 
when  I  left  the  place,  owning  some  hundreds 
of  cattle,  arid  rich  in  pasture  lands.  Educa- 
tion was  unknown  to  him  ;  he  could  scratch 
a  little  Cingalese  on  the  dried  leaves  used  in 
place  of  paper,  and  I  believe  could  count  as 
far  as  ten.  His  most  complicated  accounts 
were  all  on  a  decimal  system,  and  by  the  aid 
of  numerous  symbols  known  but  to  himself, 
and  the  erudition  of  the  friendly  priest,  he 
contrived  to  transact  a  multitude  of  statisti- 
cal business  with  the  authorities. 

The  abode  of  this  old  patriarch  would  have 
furnished  a  study  for  a  lover  of  the  antique. 
Everything  seemed  in  keeping  with  his  long 
white  beard.  The  doors  and  windows,  the 
couches  and  three-legged  table,  all  were  hoary 
with  years.  Even  the  atmosphere  had  a 
musty  smell  about  it,  as  though  it  had  been 
keeping  him  company  ever  since  he  was  a 
little  boy. 

In  the  midst  of  thick  foliage,  as  bright 
and  green  as  the  cottage  was  dark  and 
cankery,  it  seemed  at  a  distance  like  a  huge 
wart  on  the  rich  vegetation.  The  coffee,  the 
banana,  the  cotton,  the  jambo,  the  paw-paw, 
besides  an  infinity  of  other  useful  things, 
grew  in  wild  profusion.  Of  what  we 
should  call  garden  he  had  none,  nor  did  he 
need  any,  for  the  friendly  villagers  kept  his 
daily  wants  amply  supplied  from  their  own 
little  scanty  patches.  At  early  dawn,  the 
little  narrow  pathway  leading  circuitously 
to  his  door,  might  be  seen  tracked  by  men, 
women,  and  children,  laden  with  fruits, 
vegetables,  and  eggs,  for  the  Korale's  larder  ; 
he  might  well  grow  stout  and  glossy,  and 
contented  with  his  lot.  There  was  such  a 
supply  of  vegetable  diet  introduced  through 
his  crazy  old  doorway  each  morning,  as  might 
have  fully  satisfied  the  vegetarians  of  Great 
Britain,  Avith  something  to  spare  for  the  pigs. 


But  the  old  gentleman  disposed  of  it  all ;  for 
he  had  a  little  colony  of  feudal  dependants 
hanging  about  his  heels,  living,  or  rather 
existing,  in  low  cattle-sheds  behind  his  own 
barn  of  a  place.  These  serfs  tracked  him 
wherever  he  went ;  one  held  a  paper  um- 
brella or  a  talipot  leaf  over  him,  in  his  walks  : 
another  carried  his  stick  of  office  ;  one  beat 
off  the  musquitoes  ;  another  fanned  him  to 
sleep  with  a  punkah.  In  short  they  did 
everything  for  nim,  save  eat  and  sleep ;  and 
these  functions  he  performed  for  himself  to 
perfection. 

The  old  Korale  was  generally  pleased  with 
my  visits,  for  they  added  to  his  importance  in 
the  eyes  of  the  little  community.  He  lived 
quite  alone  ;  his  wife  had  been  dead  some 
years,  and  he  had  lost  his  only  child  by  feveiv 
His  days  were  mostly  passed  in  sleeping, 
smoking,  and  eating,  varied  occasionally  with 
a  stroll  round  his  rice-fields,  or  those  of  his 
neighbours.  It  was  seldom  that  he  visited 
Kandy,  the  ancient  capital :  as  for  Colombo, 
or  any  part  of  the  sea-coast,  the  wildest 
freaks  of  his  imagination  would  never  induce 
him  to  contemplate  a  journey  so  far  from  the 
spot  of  his  birth. 

It  was  a  curious  sight  to  behold  this  ancient 
being  leading  such  a  hedge-hog  existence : 
rolling  himself  up  in  indolence  after  every 
meal  of  rice  and  curry,  in  his  little,  darkened, 
cavern-like  verandah  ;  and  there,  if  no  guest 
arrived,  falling  asleep,  until  the  next  meal 
aroused  him  from  his  torpor.  I  have  found 
him  thus,  clad  in  semi-barbaric  pomp,  reeking 
with  dirt  and  swelled  with  importance,  in  a 
balloon-shaped  Kandyau  hat,  a  flowing  robe 
and  loose  jacket,  with  shoulder-of-mutton 
sleeves  fastened  by  silver  bangles ;  an  enor- 
mous mass  of  white  muslin,  wrapped,  foKi  upon 
fold,  around  his  waist.  A  pretty  little  moun- 
tain stream  fell  trickling  and  bubbling  past 
the  door,  over  stones  and  sticks,  and  flowers 
and  herbs,  until  it  was  lost  in  the  rice-fields 
below,  playing  and  gambolling  as  though  each 
tiny  wave  had  been  some  frolicsome  wood- 
nymph.  Little  could  be  seen  from  that  shady 
portal,  and  not  much  more  heard,  beyond  the 
lium  of  myriad  insects  and  the  distant  cry  of 
birds  of  the  jungle. 

Often  have  I  sat  with  the  Korale  chatting 
on  local  and  other  matters,  for  he  was  a  man 
of  gossip,  though  of  limited  ideas.  I  tried  in 
vain  to  make  him  understand  the  position 
and  importance  of  other  countries :  of  their 
great  superiority  to  the  Kandyaus,  and  of  the 
features  which  distinguished  us  people  of  the 
west  from  Orientals.  He  could  not  be  per- 
suaded that  Europe  was  larger,  or  a  better 
place  than  Ceylon ;  that  better  corn  and 
vegetables  were  grown  in  England  than  on 
the  Kaudyan  hills ;  or  that  a  modern  drawing- 
room  was  a  more  comfortable  sort  of  place 
than  a  Cingalese  Korale's  reception-room,  with 
earthen  floor  and  leafy  ceiling.  Of  some  de- 
scription of  politics  he  had  gleaned  a  faint  idea 
from  the  reported  contents  of  one  of  the  local 


558 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


newspapers,  very  democratic  in  its  principles. 
He  had  an  inkling  that  things  were  not  going 
on  as  they  should  do,  and  that  a  republic 
must  be  the  sort  of  government  suited  to  the 
present  wants  of  man.  Yet,  strange  to  say, 
he  connected  with  his  ideas  of  reform  a  return 
to  those  things  which  the  liberality  of  the 
British  Government  had  abolished,  forced 
labour  and  flogging  at  the  -discretion  of  the 
headmen ! 

The"  priest  was  of  a  far  different  stamp  : 
not  an  educated  man,  in  an  European  sense  of 
the  word ;  but  still  with  some  glimmering 
of  mind  within  ;  just  serving  to  render  in- 
ternal darkness  visible.  He,  of  course,  could 
read  fluently ;  for  it  was  a  portion  of  his 
duties  to  recite  verses  of  their  Pitakas  or 
sacred  writings,  morning  and  evening,  in 
the  Vihara.  He  possessed  a  fair  share  of 
curiosity,  and  a  desire  to  know  something 
of  other  places  and  things.  Nay,  more,  he 
frequently  heard  me  read  a  whole  chapter 
of  the  Scriptures,  with  which  he  was  much 
pleased,  and  frankly  admitted  that  Christianity 
was  the  best  religion  next  to  Buddhism. 

His  Vihara  and  dwelling  were  at  one  end  of 
the  range  of  little  hills,  on  the  slopes  of 
which  the  village  of  Malwattie  was  situated, 
though  above  them  considerably.  It  was  the 
only  roof  covered  by  tiles  ;  and,  unlike  the 
rest,  might  be  seen  at  some  distance,  peeping 
out  from  amidst  a  whole  bunch  of  foliage. 
To  arrive  at  it  the  traveller  had  to  wend  his 
way  along  a  weary  length  of  loose  stones 
that  led  over  low  swampy  ground,  round  the 
edges  of  rice-fields,  and  up  the  sides  of  rather 
steep  hills — a  slip  from  which  bid  fair  to 
plunge  the  wayfarer  down  some  very  ugly 
places.  It  was  a  path  that  should  be  trodden 
by  none  but  a  tight-rope  dancer,  or  a  native 
of  the  country. 

The  view  from  the  door  of  the  shrine  was 
highly  picturesque,  commanding  a  survey  of 
many  miles  of  mountain,  forest  and  prairie 
country,  through  which  herds  of  cattle  were 
dotted  like  so  many  very  small  mice.  His 
abode  was  mean  in  the  extreme,  with  scarce 
sufficient  to  make  life  supportable.  The  rules 
of  his  order  forbad  him  to  acquire  any  pro- 
perty, and  he  subsisted  from  day  to  day  on 
charity — just  as  did  his  friend  the  Korale, 
though  needing  it  much  more. 

The  priest  often  visited  me  in  the  plan- 
tation, and  examined  with  much  curiosity 
the  various  books  and  pictures  about  the 
bungalow.  On  one  of  these  occasions  an 
incident  occurred  which  threatened  at  first 
to  cut  short  our  intimacy  ;  but  was  even- 
tually forgotten  or  laughed  at.  I  had 
frequently  pressed  my  yellow-robed  friend  to 
partake  of  my  meat,  and  taste  a  little  port 
wine,  of  which  I  knew  most  of  these  people 
are  very  fond — but  in  vain  ;  he  professed  the 
utmost  dislike  to  any  strong  drink,  inde- 
pendently of  the  restriction  laid  on  them  by 
their  rules.  One  day,  while  conversing  with 
him,  I  was  called  away  to  the  coffee-store 


by  one  of  the  labourers,  and  left  him  alone, 
sitting  by  my  little  jungle  sideboard.  As  I 
was  returning  immediately  afterwards,  and 
when  near  the  door,  I  heard  a  great  coughing 
and  spluttering,  and  strange  choking  noises. 
Upon  entering,  I  found  the  priest  almost  dead 
with  a  fit  of  coughing.  He  had  staggered 
against  the  wall,  his  eyes  were  streaming 
with  water,  his  hands  clenched  together, 
while,  down  his  long  golden  robes,  a  jet  black 
stream  had  found  its  sable  way.  A  bottle 
lay  at  his  feet,  The  truth  flashed  across  me 
in  a  moment.  The  wary  priest  had  gone  to 
my  sideboard  to  steal  a  taste  of  the  forbidden 
wine,  and  had,  unfortunately,  taken  a  good 
draught  from  a  quart  bottle  of  ink. 

Next  in  village  importance  to  the  characters 
already  named  was  one  Ranghamy,  the  head 
constable,  deputy-sheriff,  tax-collector,  and 
there  is  no  saying  what  besides.  He  was 
right-hand  man  of  the  Korale,  not  quite  so 
stout,  but  more  thick-headed,  save  when  his 
own  interest  was  concerned,  and  then  it  was 
remarkable  how  his  faculties  brightened  up, 
and  illuminated  the  social  atmosphere  of 
Malwattie.  Ranghamy  was  not  a  native  of 
the  village,  nor  of  the  district  ;  nobody 
seemed  to  know  whence  he  came,  except  the 
Korale,  and  he  had  long  since  forgotten. 
The  hydra-headed  official  had  a  numerous 
progeny  of  Ranghamies  of  both  sexes,  besides 
a  large  herd  of  sleek,  well-favoured  cattle  ; 
yet,  oddly  enough,  he  had  neither  lands 
whereon  to  pasture  the  one,  nor  salary 
wherewith  to  feed  and  clothe  the  other.  Still 
they  were  all  fed,  and  clothed,  and  pastured. 
The  junior  head-constable,  and  the  little 
female  deputy-sheriffs,  and  the  tax-collectors 
in  arms,  were  clad  in  whiter  robes  than  any 
other  young  villagers.  As  for  the  cattle, 
they  might  have  been  exhibited  at  the  Smith- 
field  show,  and  won  all  the  prizes  by  several 
stone  of  fat.  Whether  they  grew  thus  corpu- 
lent from  any  miraculous  interference  of 
Buddha,  or  were  fattened  by  some  scientific 
process  upon  constables'  broken  staves  and 
collectors'  decayed  tax-books,  or  whether  they 
were  daily  driven  upon  other  people's  lands, 
who  dared  not  complain  to  the  Korale,  and 
if  they  did,  could  not  expect  the  head-con- 
stable to  impound  his  own  bullocks  ; — which 
of  these  might  have  been  the  case,  I  never 
learnt,  though  I  had  my  suspicions  in  the 
matter.  Ranghamy  was  said  to  have  realised 
considerable  sums  by  hiring  out  his  cattle  to 
the  moormen,  who  convey  rice  and  salt  from 
the  sea-coast  on  pack-bullocks  to  the  interior. 
Of  this  prosperity  his  dwelling  gave  abundant 
proof,  for  he  had  not  only  English  crockery 
and  cutlery,  but  a  decanter  mysteriously 
covered  up  with  a  floor  mat,  in  which  it  was 
whispered  wine  was  once  seen.  Two  pictures 
in  frames,  in  glaring  colours,  graced  the  walls  ; 
while  on  a  kind  of  shelf  was  placed,  by  way 
of  ornament,  a  chemist's  white  ointment  jar 
with  a  faded  gilt  label. 

Not  far  removed   from  the   constable  in 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  GARDEN.  OF  FLO  WEES. 


559 


locality  and  dignity  of  office,  was  the  village 
peon  and  post-holder,  as  graceless  and  lazy 
;is  any  within  the  central  province  of  the 
island,  and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal.  It 
would  have  been  a  difficult  thing  to  have 
shown  that  Puncheyralle,  the  post-holder,  did 
anything  to  entitle  him  to  the  name  beyond 
bestowing  an  occasional  kick  on  the  letter- 
carriers  or  runners  as  they  passed  through 
the  village  ;  yet  the  man  grumbled  at  re- 
ceiving no  more  than  five  rix-dollars,  or 
seven  shillings  and  sixpence  a  month,  for  the 
discharge  of  these  onerous  duties.  Punchey- 
ralle had  a  rather  bustling  little  wife,  who 
did  all  the  heavy  work  for  him,  except  the 
kicking  ;  the  pigs,  the  garden,  the  fowls,  all 
were  in  her  charge,  and  while  she  and  the 
very  small  children  cooked  the  meals,  and 
kept  the  house  in  order,  their  lord  and 
master  lay  on  his  back,  or  beat  the  tom-tom 
or  native  drum,  or  perhaps  gambled  with  a 
neighbour  for  a  few  copper  challies. 

The  remainder  of  the  village  was  made  up 
of  families  generally  poor  enough,  who  de- 
rived their  sole  support  from  the  produce  of 
their  patrimonial  lands.  In  several  instances 
the  domestic  arrangements  of  these  people, 
with  a  view  of  keeping  their  little  property 
from  dwindling  away  by  frequent  subdi- 
visions, were  singular  enough  to  an  English 
mind.  There  were  two  or  three  households 
in  which  several  brothers  had  but  one  wife 
amongst  them,  and,  more  singular  still,  they 
appeared  to  dwell  together  most  harmoniously. 

A  picture  of  one  of  these  groups  is  a  por- 
trait of  them  all.  Poor  to  abject  misery  in 
all  but  rice  and  a  few  fine  grains,  these  people 
are  invariably  landholders,  some  of  them  on 
an  infinitesimally  small  scale.  At  times  the 
family  will  be  large,  swelled  by  the  addition  of 
an  aged  grandfather  or  grandmother,  or  some 
such  relation,  and  with,  generally,  a  numerous 
progeny  of  all  ages.  Beyond  the  culture  of 
their  rice,  of  primary  importance,  the  space 
that  produces  their  few  additional  necessaries, 
such  as  chillies,  tobacco,  and  fine  grain,  is 
little  enough.  A  few  of  them  possessed  one 
or  two  buffaloes  ;  most  of  them  had  a  cari- 
cature of  a  pig  and  a  few  scarecrows  of  fowls  ; 
but  there  was  only  one  milch  cow  in  the 
entire  range  of  Malwattie. 

It  was  truly  astonishing  to  see  how  early 
the  young  children  were  put  to  tasks  of 
strength.  The  boys  were  made  to  look  after 
the  buffaloes  and  the  rice-fields,  while  the 

firls  were  set  to  weave  mats,  pound  the  rice 
:om  the  husk,  fetch  water,  and  such  work. 
Often  have  I  seen  a  little  delicate  child,  six 
or  seven  years  of  age,  staggering  up  a  tolerably 
steep  path,  with  an  infant  placed  astride 
across  its  little  hip,  and  a  huge  earthen  chattie 
of  water  on  its  head.  Such  early  toil  as  this, 
equally  early  marriage,  and  generally  poor 
and  scanty  diet,  lead  to  one  inevitable  result 
— premature  old  age,  and  hastened  death. 

There  was  but  one  exception  to  the  same- 
ness of  the  population  of  Malwattie  ;  it 


consisted  of  a  small  household,  not  far  from 
the  foot  of  the  hill  near  the  Vihara,  and 
closely  adjoining  the  bullock-track  or  bridle- 
path leading  past  my  estate  from  the  high- 
road. Here,  beneath  a  pretty  tope  of  never- 
fading  trees,  where  blossom,  and  •  fruit,  and 
sweetest  perfumes  played  their  part  all 
through  the  year,  dwelt  a  blind  old  man  and 
his  pretty  grand-daughter.  Of  their  history 
I  had  gleaned  but  little,  just  sufficient  to 
make  me  feel  an  interest  in  their'  welfare. 
The  tiny  hut  they  dwelt  in  was  not  more 
diminutive  than  neat :  so  clean,  and  white, 
and  fresh  within  ;  without,  all  was  beauty 
and  order.  Had  a  whole  legion  of  mountain 
sylphs  and  wood  nymphs  been  busily  employed 
about  the  place  all  night  long  and  every  night, 
it  could  not  have  been  kept  in  more  perfect 
and  picturesque  neatness.  The  little  fence 
around  the  cottage  was  so  nicely  trimmed  ; 
the  garden  in  front  so  well  swept  and  watered ; 
the  orange  and  lemon  trees  so  carefully 
tended,  and  always  so  delighted  to  bear 
plenty  of  fruit  for  dear  little  Dochie  to 
gather,  that  they  didn't  bend  and  droop  with 
the  heavy  clusters  of  golden  wealth  as  some 
trees  would  have  done,  but  actually  danced 
and  leaped  about  in  the  morning  and  evening 
breezes,  as  though  their  burden  were  no 
burden,  but  a  capital  joke. 

Pretty  little  Dochie,  gentle  little  Dochie, 
was  not  more  than  ten  years  of  age  when  I 
first  made  her  acquaintance,  one  hot  morning 
in  the  dry  season.  I  caught  her  gathering 
some  oleander  blossoms  and  roses,  and 
country  jessamine,  and  thought  I  had  never 
seen  anything  half  so  lovely,  barring  her 
colour.  I  reined  in  my  pony  and  asked  her 
for  a  draught  of  water  ;  instead  of  looking 
alarmed,  as  most  of  her  class  do  when  thus 
accosted,  she  smiled  good-naturedly,  and 
tripped  into  the  little  cottage.  I  was  off  my 
nag  and  in  the  pretty  flower-garden  when 
she  came  out  with  a  cocoa-nut  shell  of — not 
water  but,  bless  the  dear  child — foaming  rich 
white  goats'  milk.  I  am  not  quite  sure,  but 
I  rather  think  I  must  have  kissed  her  as  I 
returned  her  the  homely  flagon  ;  at  any  rate, 
we  became  the  best  of  friends,  and  it  ended 
in  Dochie  taking  me  to  see  her  old  blind 
grandfather,  who  was  busily  working  at  a 
net  of  some  sort,  and  then  to  inspect  one  of 
the  neatest  little  farm-yards  I  had  ever  seen 
out  of  old  England.  The  whole  place  was  a 
perfect  miracle  of  industry  and  neatness,  and 
I  could  not  help  asking  how  she  managed  to 
keep  it  so.  It  appeared  that  their  neighbours 
assisted,  at  certain  seasons,  in  woi'king  the 
garden  and  bringing  it  into  good  order,  and 
that  the  old  man  helped  her  to  carry  the 
water  from  the  little  bamboo  spout,  which 
the  villagers  had  fixed  for  them  to  convey  a 
supply  from  the  hill  stream  at  some  distance, 
to  the  extremity  of  their  property. 

They  appeared  to  be  in  want  of  nothing 
that  could  make  them  comfortable ;  as  to 
money,  they  had  little  enough,  their  sole 


860 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


earnings  being  from  the  sale  of  her  goats' 
milk,  flowers,  and  fruit,  to  wayside  travellers. 
She  assured  me,  that  when  the  pilgrims 
passed  on  their  way  to  the  sacred  foot- 
print on  Adam's  Peak,  she  sold  as  many 
flowers  and  as  much  fruit  as  the  garden 
could  produce,  and  enabled  them  to  be  quite 
extravagant  in  white  cloths  and  hand- 
kerchiefs. 

From  that  time  forward,  I  never  passed 
through  Malwattie  without  a  draught  of 
fresh  milk,  and  a  little  bouquet  gathered  by 
Dochie's  own  tiny  hand.  At  length,  it  came 
to  my  dismounting  regularly,  and,  in  course 
of  time,  amongst  other  things  we  talked  of, 
were  books  and  knowledge.  Her  dark, 
bright  eyes  sparkled  as  I  told  her  what 
wonders  she  might  learn  if  she  could  but 
read  English  books.  This  strange  art  was 
now  her  sole  thought,  and  one  day  she  found 
courage  to  ask  me  how  she  could  learn  it.  I 
hesitated,  for  I  did  not  quite  see  how  to  help 
her ;  but  when  I  offered  to  send  her  a  book 
with  the  English  alphabet,  and  moreover  to 
teach  her  to  read  the  letters,  her  joy  was  un- 
bounded. In  a  few  months  my  pupil  had  not 
only  mastered  the  alphabet,  but  could  spell 
small  words,  and  knew  several  short  sentences. 
Not  content  with  this,  I  talked  to  her  of 
religion,  and  explained  the  nature  and  history 
of  Christianity,  as  well  as  my  ability  allowed 
me.  I  was  not  quite  so  successful  here,  but 
I  was  content  to  pave  the  way  for  future 
labourers,  and  rejoiced  to  find  her  always 
anxious  for  truth. 

It  was,  I  think,  quite  a  year  after  my  first 
acquaintance  with  Dochie,  that  one  morning 
I  alighted  as  usual,  and  was  surprised  to  find 
my  pupil  absent,  and  in  her  place  a  young 
Cingalese  man,  evidently  of  the  low  country. 
My  surprise  was  equalled  by  his  own.  In  a 
minute  after,  Dochie  came  bounding  in  with 
eggs  and  milk,  and  some  little  light  cakes 
just  prepared  for  the  stranger,  who,  I  then 
perceived,  had  his  arm  bandaged,  and  alto- 
gether looked  fatigued  and  ill.  I  did  not 
remain  long  that  day ;  and  learned,  on  re- 
tiring to  mount  my  pony,  that  the  stranger 
had  sought  refuge  there  very  early  that 
morning,  having  in  vain  begged  through  the 
village  for  a  resting-place  ;  he  had  been  robbed 
and  beaten  during  the  previous  night  on  some 
lonely  track,  and  Dochie  hesitated  not  one 
moment  in  welcoming  him  within  their  little 
dwelling ;  and,  in  her  own  singleness  and 
purity  of  heart,  acting  the  good  Samaritan.  I 
could  but  admire  her  kindness  ;  and  yet, 
mixed  with  admiration,  was  a  feeling  akin  to 
jealousy.  I  wished  that  it  had  been  my  fate 
to  have  been  robbed  and  beaten,  if  only  for 
the  pleasure  of  being  tended  by  the  gentle 
Dochie. 

Again  months  rolled  on,  and  the  low- 
country  stranger,  and  the  robbers,  were  all 
forgotten.  Changes  had  been,  meanwhile, 
creeping  over  the  face  of  the  hitherto  change- 
less Malwattie,  and  those  not  for  the  better. 


The  worst  of  all  innovations  was  the  establish- 
ment of  an  arrack  tavern  in  the  very  heart  of 
the  village.  The  Government,  in  its  anxiety 
to  add  to  its  revenue,  and  increase  its  means 
of  developing  the  resources  of  the  country  (I 
think  that  was  what  they  termed  it),  had 
granted  permission  to  the  renter  of  the  arrack 
licenses  for  the  Kandyan  country  to  establish 
a  few  score  additional  taverns,  one  of  which 
novelties  was  located  in  Malwattie  ;  and  soon, 
where  before  had  been  quiet  contentment, 
was  nothing  but  brawling  riot.  It  is  true  the 
executive  presented  an  antidote  with  the 
poison,  by  establishing  a  free  school  opposite 
the  noisy  tavern  ;  but  education  stood  small 
chance  in  competition  with  arrack,  and  for 
every  new  pupil  at  the  desk,  there  was  a 
brace  of  fresh  drunkards.  This  led  to  an 
increase  in  the  duties  of  the  police,  and  soon 
after  to  a  salary  to  the  head-constable  ;  crime 
was  on  the  increase ;  law-suits  were  instituted ; 
families  at  peace  for  several  generations 
became  deadly  enemies  ;  and,  ere  a  year  had 
elapsed  since  the  introduction  of  the  tavern, 
the  whole  social  fabric  of  Malwattie  was  rent 
and  disrupted  into  ugly  masses. 

I  continued  to  visit  my  friends,  the  Korale 
and  the  priest,  both  of  whom,  especially  the 
latter,  spoke  bitterly  of  the  arrack  nuisance, 
and  looked  upon  the  establishment  of  the 
school  as  a  direct  attack  upon  Buddhism. 
I  saw  plainly,  however,  that  there  was 
another  and  deeper  feeling,  antagonistic  to 
the  educational  scheme,  in  the  bosoms  of 
these  leading  men  of  the  place.  They  felt 
that  by  diffusing  enlightenment  amongst  the 
poorest  of  the  villagers,  the  British  Govern- 
ment would  in  time  raise  the  masses  of  the 
people  above  the  level  of  the  head  men,  in 
which  case  their  influence  would  at  once  dis- 
appear. Their  unflinching  opposition  was 
but  little  needed,  for  the  native  peasants 
could  not  be  made  to  appreciate  that  know- 
ledge which  their  immediate  superiors  did 
not  possess.  Too  prone  to  take  as  their 
models  those  above  them,  the  villagers  were 
content  to  remain  as  they  knew  their  fathers 
had  been,  and  as  they  saw  their  Korales  and 
Dessaves  were.  Unfortunately  those  in 
charge  of  Government  schools  have  yet  to 
learn  that  they  have  been  toiling  with  the 
broad  end  of  the  educational  wedge  foremost ; 
that  in  Eastern  countries  enlightenment  can 
only  flow  downwards,  never  upwards  :  that  to 
elevate  the  Indian  serfs,  you  must  first  im- 
prove the  intellectual  capacities  of  those 
whom  they  ever  have,  and  ever  will  regard 
as  their  patterns. 

My  progress  with  the  flower-girl's  schooling 
was  satisfactory,  and  I  had,  besides,  the 
pleasure  of  finding  her  inclined  to  cast  aside 
the  superstitions  of  Buddha.  In  these  tasks 
I  was  at  this  time  aided  by  the  teacher  of  the 
Government  school,  a  Portuguese  burgher, 
who  seconded  my  efforts  most  zealously. 
The  months  flew  rapidly  past,  and  twice  a 
week  found  me  and  Dochie  seated  beneath 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  PATH  OF  FAITH. 


561 


the  shady  foliage  of  a  young  orange-tree  deep 
in  our  duties. 

It  was  quite  the  end  of  the  hot  season,  that 
I  was  compelled  to  leave  my  plantation  and 
journey  across  the  country  to  the  opposite 
coast  of  the  Indian  peninsula,  in  search  of 
Malabar  labourers  to  secure  the  coming  crop. 
I  was  absent  nearly  four  months,  and  found 
myself,  one  cool  pleasant  day  in  September, 
riding  homewards  across  the  broad  open 
prairie-lands  adjoining  Malwattie.  The 
rich  foliage  of  the  jungle  and  the  gardens 
shone  as  brightly  as  ever  in  the  afternoon 
sun.  The  hill-streams  rippled  as  pleasantly 
down  their  stony  courses.  Yet  the  village 
was  no  longer  the  spot  I  once  knew  it ; 
brawling  and  angry  words  were  easily  met 
with  ;  its  old  patriarchal  peace  and  simplicity 
had  departed  from  it.  I  rode  on  musingly, 
and  at  length  pulled  up  in  front  of  Dochie's 
little  garden  ;  I  started  in  my  saddle  at  ob- 
serving that  it  also  was  changed,  and  so  sadly 
changed.  The  friendly  orange-tree,  with  its 
yellow  fruit  and  its  pleasant  shade,  was  not 
there.  The  oleanders  were  drooping  to  the 
ground ;  some  of  the  fence  was  torn  down, 
and  a  vile  black  bullock,  that  I  could  have 
massacred  on  the  spot,  was  cruelly  browsing 
over  the  flower-beds.  The  door  was  closed  ; 
the  shutters  were  fastened.  I  imagined  all 
sorts  of  calamities  to  have  happened,  every- 
thing, in  short,  but  what  was  actually  the 
case.  I  made  one  brief  inspection  of  the 
now  neglected  place ;  then  mounted  my 
pony,  and  rode  homewards,  fearing  lest 
some  villager  should  break  to  me  the  tale 
of  sorrow. 

It  was  nearly  evening  when  I  rode  up  the 
winding  path  leading  to  my  bungalow, 
oppressed  with  a  feeling  of  I  know  not  what. 
The  old  building  stood,  as  it  ever  had  done, 
quietly  and  humbly  in  the  midst  of  the  coffee- 
fields,  but  I  saw  at  once  there  were  some 
changes.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  eyes, 
when  I  saw,  in  the  centre  of  the  little  grass- 
plot,  facing  my  front  verandah,  some  small 
flowering  shrubs,  and  an  orange-tree,  so  like 
the  one  I  had  missed  from  Dochie's  garden, 
that  I  began  to  fancy  I  was  still  down  in  the 
village,  and  that  the  little  flower-girl  was 
peeping  at  me  from  behind  some  of  the  coffee- 
bushes. 

As  I  stood  looking  at  the  orange-tree,  my 
servant  placed  in  my  hand  a  letter,  traced  in 
true  native  style  on  a  dry  leaf  in  Cingalese 
characters.  It  was  from  my  pupil  herself, 
and  told  me  in  a  few  simple  sentences  all  that 
had  occurred.  I  breathed  more  freely  to  find 
her  alive.  She  was  married,  she  said,  to  a 
young  and  rich  Cingalese  trader,  a  Christian 
and  inhabitant  of  Colombo.  She  hoped 
shortly  to  be  admitted  a  member  of  our 
church,  and  thanked  me  deeply  for  what  I 
had  done  for  her.  The  old  blind  man,  her 
grandfather,  was  with  them,  and  they  were 
all  happy.  They  trusted  I  should  always 
be  so.  In  my  garden,  she  said,  she  had 


caused  to  be  planted  the  orange-tree  I  had  so 
often  admired  and  sat  under,  with  a  few 
flowers  from  her  garden.  She  prayed  that, 
for  many  years  to  come,  the  tree  would 
yield  me  plentiful  crops  of  cool,  refreshing 
fruit. 

The  reader  will  perhaps  smile  when  I  say 
that,  after  reading  this  note,  I  shed  many 
tears,  tears  of  real  sorrow  and  pain.  Heaven 
knows  I  wished  the  poor  girl  well  and  happy ; 
but  though  I  never  could  have  looked  on  her 
other  than  as  a  gentle,  innocent  acquaintance, 
loveable  for  her  simple  purity,  I  felt  her 
departure  keenly.  To  the  many  dwellers 
in  the  thronged  cities  of  the  west,  the  loss  of 
such  a  companion  of  my  wild,  lonely,  jungle- 
life,  may  appear  trivial  enough  ;  yet  to  me  it 
was  an  event. 

My  servant  told  me  what  the  little  note 
had  omitted.  Dochie  had  been  wooed  and 
won  with  true  Cingalese  brevity,  by  the  same 
young  low-countryman  who  had  been  so 
kindly  sheltered  and  tended  by  her,  when 
robbed  and  beaten,  as  I  have  before  told. 
He  had  been  successful  in  trade,  and  had  now 
a  large  store  in  Colombo. 

It  was  long  before  I  ventured  again  near 
Malwattie.  To  me  it  was  no  more  a  "  garden 
of  flowers,"  and  least  of  all  did  I  care  to  pass 
by  the  green  fence  and  gate,  where  Dochie's 
pretty,  smiling  face  had  so  often  welcomed 
me.  At  last  I  persuaded  the  old  Korale  to 
set  some  of  the  villagers  to  work,  and  open  a 
new  path  for  me  nearer  his  own  bungalow,  by 
which  means  I  ever  after  avoided  a  spot,  the 
sight  of  which  served  but  to  fill  me  with  vain, 
regrets.  The  place  and  the  people  were  so 
changed  that  I  soon  became  a  stranger  in 
the  land. 


THE  PATH  OF  FAITH. 

PERCHANCE  thou  deemest  it  is  hard 
To  have  no  foresight  of  thy  life, 

Unwarned,  thy  doubtful  feet  to  guard 
From  wandering  in  the  paths  of  strife  ; 

But  though  thou  hast  no  prescient  sense 

Thou  hast  a  watching  Providence. 

With  trustful  labour  weave  the  web 
Of  high  emprise  and  noble  deed  ; 

Heedless  if  life  should  flow  or  ebb, 
Let  bravely  doing  be  thy  creed  ; 

That  Faith  will  make  tliee  happier  fur 

Than  if  thou  read'st  each  glistening  star. 

Should  stormy  fortune  lurk  behind 

Thy  curtain'd  Fate,  and  darkly  loom — 

Thank  God  thou  canst  not  feel  the  wind, 
Nor  hear  the  distant  thunder  boom ; 

The  tempest,  with  soft  breezes  blent, 

May,  ere  it  reaches  thee,  be  spent. 

Should  brilliant  sunshine  bursting  there 
Upon  thee,  sudden  and  sublime, 

Instant  reflection  of  its  glare 

Might  hnply  blind  thee  for  the  time, 

By  pouring  on  thy  dazzled  sight 

Rays  of  intolerable  light ; 


562 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


But  Faith  will  nerve  thee  for  the  light 
Against  misfortune's  darkening  power  ; 

And  flood  thy  road  with  tempered  light, 
Until  thou  reach,  in  Heaven,  that  hour 

When  Prescience  shall  be  thine  o,t  will — 

Prescience  of  good  unmixed  with  ill. 


A  CUP  OF  COFFEE. 


"RACINE  "  writes  lively  Madame  de  Sevigne 
to  Madame  de  Grignan — as  lively,  perchance, 
though  less  known — "  passera  comme  le  cafe." 
It  is  somewhat  difficult  to  find  a  satisfactory 
equivalent  for  this  verb  passer,  albeit  its 
literal  translation  into  English  is  easy.  Things 
in  England,  go  in  and  out  of  fashion ;  dogs 
have  their  day,  and  actors  strut  and  fret  their 
hour  here  ;  but  it  is  the  especial  privilege  of 
things  French — costumes,  governments,  lite- 
rary and  artistic  celebrities — to  pass,  to  pass 
clean  away,  out  of  sight,  out  of  mind  ;  to  sink 
down  below  the  very  lowest  Nathaniel,  to 
stick  in  the  mud  at  the  bottom  of  Lethe  till 
they  are  devoured  by  the  fishes  of  forget- 
fulness.  So  prophesied  the  sparkling  letter- 
writer  of  the  Grand  Si&de ;  and,  curiously, 
with  all  her  sparkle  and  all  her  wit,  the 
lively  Madame  de  Sevigne  has  been,  and  is  in 
greater  danger  of  passing  than  either  coffee 
or  Racine.  The  Cid,  the  Andromaque,  of  the 
meek  and  tender  dramatist  yet  keep  high 
state  on  the  time-honoured  boards  of  the 
Com6die  Franchise  ;  and  although  there  is  a 
little  too  much  powder  and  whalebone,  and 
Louis  Quatorze  pomp  and  vanity  about  them, 
it  will  be  long,  I  hope,  ere  we  cease  to  weep 
'  at  and  to  applaud  the  genius  of  Racine.  As 
for  coffee,  the  revenue  returns,  the  bills,  adver- 
tisements, and  pictorial  vans  of  that  enter- 
prising tradesman,  who  has  somehow  mixed 
up  St.  Paul's  Cathedral  with  the  coffee  ques- 
tion, and  the  extraordinary  number  of  esta- 
blishments to  which  I  am  indebted  for  the 
title  of  this  paper,  show  that  coffee,  at  any 
rate,  is  in  no  danger  of  passing  away.  It  is 
strong,  lusty,  and  well  to  do  just  now,  a  little 
put  upon  and  maligned  by  chicory  and 
roasted  corn,  but  still  thriving  and  full  of 
promise. 

It  is  puzzling  to  know  how  people  could 
have  managed  in  the  days  when  there  was 
neither  tea  nor  coffee.  How  could  they 
breakfast  ?  How  could  clerks  and  workmen 
come  home  to  their  tea,  when  there  was  no 
tea  for  them  to  come  to  1  What  did  the  old 
maidsandthe  do  wagers  talk  scandal  over?  But, 
as  the  discussion  of  this  question  would  lead 
us  into  all  sorts  of  by-roads  of  speculation 
respecting  what  people  eat  when  there  were 
no  potatoes,  what  they  smoked  before  the 
discovery  of  Virginia,  how  gentlemen  could 
have  existed  fifty  years  ago  without  soda- 
water,  express  trains,  and  Bell's  Life  in 
London,  and  ladies  without  eau  de  cologne, 
Berlin  wool,  or  crenoljne,  I  must  be  content 
to  assume  that  mankind,  not  yet  acquainted 
with  the  blessings  of  coffee  or  coffee-shops, 


were  contented  to  do  what  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Isle  of  Man  are  proverbially  reported  to 
do  now,  not  as  they  would,  but  as  they 
could. 

Does  any  one  know  for  a  certainty  who  first 
discovered  coffee,  or  first  found  out  the  means 
of  converting  it  into  the  beverage  we  drink  ? 
The  question  has  always  been  a  vexed  one  ; 
and  whole  libraries  of  abusive  erudition  have 
been  written  on  it.  Csesar,  with  all  the 
summa  diligentid  with  which  he  entered  Gaul, 
did  not  bring  coffee  with  him ;  nor  did  it 
come  over  to  England  with  the  Conqueror, 
with  whom  so  many  nice  little  agents  of 
civilisation,  including  primogeniture,  mort- 
main, the  game-laws,  and  law  French  came 
over.  The  origin  of  coffee  as  a  beverage  is 
enveloped  in  a  fog  of  amazing  thickness. 
Some  sages  have  declared  that  the  Nepenthes, 
of  which  Homer  speaks  in  the  Iliad  and 
which  Helen  served  to  Telemachus,  was  coffee. 
Nor  quite  so  unreasonable  is  the  supposition 
that  the  kali,  mentioned  in  Scripture,  of  which 
Abigail  offered  five  measures  to  the  warriors 
who  accompanied  King  David,  was  identical 
with  the  Icawa,  kapu,  or  cave,  afterwards 
known  to  the  Orientals,  and  familiar  to  us  as 
coffee.  The  rabbis,  however,  declare  the  kali 
to  have  been  burnt  barley,  which  assertion 
would  seem  at  first  to  be  fatal  to  the  preten- 
sions of  coffee ;  but,  considering  how  much  of 
the  coffee  of  the  present  day  is  burnt  beans, 
the  rabbis  may  not  have  been  so  far  wrong 
after  all.  According  to  the  Mahometan  tra- 
ditions, coffee  was  revealed  to  Mahomet  by 
the  angel  Gabriel :  but,  if  we  are  to  believe 
Ahmet  Effendi,  whose  antecedents  do  not 
give  me  any  reason  to  think  him  so  prodigious 
a  liar  as  Mahomet,  it  was  not  till  the  thir- 
teenth century,  and  by  a  dervish  of  the  order 
of  Schazilys,  (whatever  that  may  be,)  that  the 
coffee-tree  was  discovered  or  its  properties 
made  known.  Brillat  Savarin  attributes  the 
discovery  of  the  coffee-berry  to  an  Arabian 
farmer,  in  the  seventh  century,  who  re- 
marked that  his  cattle  were  always  more 
lively  and  excited  after  they  had  been 
browsing  on  a  certain  shrub ;  and  his  solu- 
tion of  the  question  has  been  the  generally 
received  one  in  our  modern  cyclopaedias, 
treasuries  of  information,  and  "  guides  to 
knowledge."  With  all  due  respect,  however, 
for  the  undoubted  authority  of  the  author  of 
the  Physiologic  du  Gout,  I  cannot  accord  to 
his  coffee  theory  any  greater  degree  of 
credence  than  to  Chaiies  Lamb's  account 
of  the  Origin  of  Roast  Pig.  Be  it  as 
it  may,  coffee  must  have  been  discovered, 
and  the  decoction  therefrom  invented,  at 
some  time  and  by  some  one.  It  is  not  im- 
possible that  the  Chinese  will  one  day  claim 
the  honour  of  the  discovery,  together  with 
that  of  gunpowder  and  the  printing  press : 
meanwhile,  we  will  continue  to  drink  coffee 
and  be  thankful. 

Of  the  history  of  coffee  and  coffee-shops  I 
am  enabled  to  speak  with  somewhat  more 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CUP  OF  COFFEE. 


563 


certainty.  The  Mufti  Djemel-Eddin,  sur- 
named  Dhabani,  brought  it  from  Persia  to 
Aden  in  the  straits  of  Babelmandel,  and  not 
far  from  Mocha.  He  performed  that  curious 
chronological  operation  known  as  "  flourish- 
ing "  towards  the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth 
century ;  and  in  1517  coffee  had  found  its 
way  from  Arabia  to  Egypt,  and  from  thence, 
after  the  conquest  of  that  country  by  Sultan 
Selini,  to  Constantinople.  At  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century  one  Doctor  Rauwolf,  a 
German  botanist,  mentioned  coffee  as  a  plant 
he  had  met  with  in  his  travels  in  Asia  ;  and 
in  1592,  Prosper  Alpini,  a  Venetian  phy- 
sician, in  a  treatise  "  De  plantis  Egypti,"  gives 
a  description  of  the  coffee-tree,  known  in 
Egypt  under  the  names  of  bourn,  boun,  or 
ban. 

Coffee  entered  Europe  by  Italy  (probably 
by  Venice)  in  1645,  and  in  1652  the  first 
coffee-house  was  established  in  London  by  a 
Greek,  and  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cornhill. 
Mr.  Peter  Cunningham  would  doubtless  be 
able  to  tell  with  delightful  minuteness  the 
pedigrees  and  histories  of  the  first  coffee- 
house keepers  ;  but,  necessarily  limited  as  I 
am  as  regards  space,  I  can  but  briefly  glance 
at  these  fathers  of  the  trade.  It  was  long  ere 
the  beverage  they  sold  was  brought  within 
the  means  of  the  humble  or  even  of  the 
middle  classes  of  the  population.  Coffee  was 
for  very  many  years  essentially  a  luxury,  just 
as  tea  is  now  in  France.  This  latter  beverage, 
so  common  with  us  as  to  be  almost  a  neces- 
sary of  life,  is  yet  looked  upon  as  something 
curiously  and  wonderfully  fashioned  by  our 
neighbours  d'outremanche.  They  serve  tea 
with  great  solemnity,  and  disguise  it  with 
rum  and  cognac,  after  the  manner  of  luxurious 
washerwomen  ;  and  to  show  how  little  tea,  as 
received  by  us,  is  understood  by  the  masses 
abroad,  I  need  but  refer  to  the  famous  history 
of  the  tea-party  given  by  Madame  Gibou  to 
Madame  Pochet,  where  tea  was  made  in  a 
saucepan,  was  seasoned  with  salt,  vinegar, 
and  spice,  and  finally,  with  a  petit  lout  de 
chandelle  or  candle  end  ! 

I  don't  think  that  the  sour  Puritans  who 
ruled  the  roast  in  England  when  coifee-houses 
were  first  established,  could  have  been  great 
admirers  or  partakers  of  the  fragrant  berry. 
I  do  not  find  it  on  record  that  either  Praise 
God  Barebones  or  Nalmm  Poundtext  es- 
chewed the  black-jack  and  brown  ale,  or,  at 
need,  a  sly  flask  of  strong  waters.  I  fancy 
that  the  buff-coated  Puritans  and  Inde- 
pendents must  have  found  coffee  at  best  but 
a  weak  and  unsatisfactory  beverage.  Among 
the  commonalty,  moreover,  there  was  an  in- 
veterate prejudice  in  favour  of  "jolly  good 
ale  and  old "  for  breakfast ;  and  I  do  not 
wonder  that  coffee  was  slow  in  progressing 
in  popular  favour.  It  was  of  foreign  origin, 
certainly,  and  had  consequently  some  un- 
deniable >  claims  to  the  patronage  of  English 
gentility,  but  it  was  not  French  (coffee  was 
not  introduced  in  Paris  till  1669),  which  was  a 


fatal  draw-back,  and  caused  it  to  be  branded 
as  '''outlandish."  Some  stout  old  true  blue 
Protestants  held  it  to  be  papistical. 

So  coffee-shops  vegetated  modestly  in  out- 
of-the-way  city  alleys,  till  in  1660  King 
Charles  the  Second,  that  most  worthless  of 
good  fellows,  came  back  from  his  travels 
with  a  swarm  of  good  fellows  as  worth- 
less as  himself  behind  him,  to  enjoy  his  own 
(and  a  little  of  other  people's)  again.  Coffee 
became  fashionable.  Charles  had  become 
acquainted  with  its  merits  in  Holland,  for  the 
Dutch  were  already  great  coffee-drinkers  ;  the 
courtiers  were  glad  to  do  as  the  king  did,  and 
the  middle  classes  too  happy  to  imitate  their 
dear  patrons  and  debtors,  the  courtiers. 
Coffee-houses  multiplied.  In  the  old  City 
alleys  and  narrow  lanes,  and  notably  in  the 
purlieus  of  the  Exchange ;  round  about 
Whitehall,  Charing  Cross,  and  Covent  Garden, 
scores  of  coffee-houses  arose.  Merchants 
began  to  discuss  their  affairs,  ship  captains 
to  settle  freight  and  passage,  literary  men  to 
abuse  each  other,  and  spangled  cavaliers  to 
criticise  the  ancles  of  la  belle  /Stuart  and  the 
last  lampoon  of  my  Lord  Eochester,  over 
coffee.  But  it  was  yet  an  exotic,  a  luxury, 
foreign,  fashionable,  and  slightly  outlandish. 
Taverns  began  to  call  themselves  coffee-houses 
for  the  look  of  the  thing  ;  but  the  customers 
consumed  far  more  beer,  wine,  and  strong 
waters,  than  coffee.  Such  merry  bloods  as 
Sir  Charles  Sedley,  as  the  accomplished 
Chevalier  de  Grammont,  as  the  exemplary 
Wilmot,  Earl  of  Eochester,  required  rather 
stronger  stimulants  than  pure  Mocha  or  full- 
flavoured  Ceylon,  after  a  night  spent  at  basset 
or  tric-trac  ;  and,  though  there  were  coffee- 
houses in  Alsatia,  the  gentlemen  adventurers 
who  resorted  to  them  were  greater  patrons  of 
Geneva  and  aqua,  vitce,  than  of  the  infusion  of 
which  I  am  writing.  With  coffee  alone  they 
would  have  been  ill  fortified  to  sally  forth  to 
remove  goods,  or  slit  obnoxious  gentlemen's 
noses  in  town  or  country,  to  beat  the  City 
watch,  or  batoon  impertinent  poets.  Little 
coffee,  though  within  a  coffee-shop's  walls, 
could  Doctor  Oates,  or  Captain  Daugerfield, 
or  Master  Bedloe,  have  imbibed,  when  they 
sat  down  to  concoct  those  gigantic  lies  which 
have  come  down  to  posterity  in  the  pages  of 
history,  and  on  the  stones  of  the  Monument. 
Stronger  stuff  than  coffee  must  those  bold 
Jesuits  have  swallowed ;  who,  in  darkling 
coffee-houses  met,  or  are  said  to  have  met,  to 
settle  how  Charles  Stuart  should  be  despatched 
with  a  silver  btillet,  and  how  "  James  "  (the 
Duke  of  York)  "  must  go  to  pot,  too."  When 
"  Citt  and  Bumpkin  "  met — as  I  find  circum- 
stantially recounted  in  a  pamphlet  of  the 
period,  in  a  coffee-house — it  was  over  a 
"  pott  of  ale,"  and  not  over  coffee,  that  they 
had  that  notable  discourse  "  on  matters  of 
religion  and  government,"  in  which  the  king 
was  clearly  shown  by  "  Citt "  to  be  the 
prime  mover  in  the  plot  against  his  own 
life,  and  Sir  Edmondbury  Godfrey  was 


564 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


declared  by  "  Bumpkin  "  to  have  murdered 
himself  for  the  greater  glory  of  the  Protestant 
establishment.  >And,  king  of  coffee-house 
frequenters  as  was  glorious  John  Dryden, 
pillar  as  he  was  of  City  and  of  West  End 
coifee-rooma,  some  little  stronger  tipple  he 
took,  I  trow,  than  coffee,  when  putting  all 
those  brave  though  slightly  bombastic  words 
into  the  mouths  of  his  heroes  and  heroines, 
when  panegyrising  Milton,  or  demolishing 
Elkanah  Settle.  Natheless,  did  coffee  and 
coffee-shops  nourish  in  King  Charles's  wicked 
days.  In  fair  little  cups  of  tender,  golden- 
edged  biscuit  porcelain,  it  disputed  with  its 
obese,  oleaginous  rival  chocolate  the  privilege 
of  moistening  the  ruby  lips  of  all  the  naughty 
beautiful  dames  who  yet  smile  from  Lely's 
canvasses  in  the  bed-chamber  in  Hampton 
Court.  I  warrant  that  the  Duchess  of  Cleve- 
land was  sipping  coffee,  when  she  rated 
Clarendon ;  aye,  and  that  she  broke  her 
coffee-cup,  too,  when  to  all  her  abuse,  the 
grim  Chancellor  answered  but  these  words, 
"  Woman,  you.  will  one  day  become  old." 
Pepys,  I  am  of  opinion,  was  no  great  coffee- 
drinker.  He  drank  wine,  and  thought  wine. 
"Jolly  good  ale,"  too,  (in  moderation)  was 
more  in  stout  Andrew  Marvell's  way,  than 
coffee  ;  but  Evelyn — who  cannot  fancy  that 
pearl  of  English  gentlemen  quietly,  com- 
placently sipping  his  coffee,  and  inhaling  its 
fragrant  aroma  amid  the  green  leaves  and 
old  armour  of  Says  Court,  amid  good  books 
and  placid  thoughts,  and  the  proof-sheets  of 
the  "  Sylva  Sylvarum  ?"  And  who  of  those 
whose  privilege  it  is  to  live  in  the  memories 
of  the  past,  and,  like  the  Russian  peasant, 
look  upon  their  every-day  existence,  where 
they  are  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  naked,  and 
oppressed,  but  as  an  evil  dream ;  who  of 
these  cannot  fancy  the  coffee-cup  soothing  the 
momentary  gloominess  and  acerbity  of  the 
blind  old  man  who  had  Homer's  majesty  and 
Virgil's  elegance ;  who  cannot  place  a  modest 
brew  of  coffee  in  an  antique  silver  flagon  beside 
the  rules  and  compasses  and  tracing-papers  of 
Christopher  Wren  ;  or,  in  a  humbler  vessel, 
beside  the  flowers  and  foliage  before  which 
Grinling  Gibbons  is  studying  new  combina- 
tions for  his  marvellous  carvings  ? 

Some  writers  have  ascribed  the  introduc- 
tion of  coffee  into  France  to  Madame,  the 
ill-fated  daughter  of  Henrietta  Maria,  and 
wife  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans.  She  is  stated 
to  have  made  the  decoction  fashionable  on 
her  return  from  a  visit  paid  to  her  brother 
Charles  in  England.  Poor  young  Princess  ! 
She  had  better  have  drunk  coffee,  than  that 
fatal  glass  of  chicory  water,  from  the  effects 
of  which  she  died  two  days  afterwards.  The 
first  public  mention  I  find  made  of  coffee  in 
France  is  in  the  Gazette  of  1669,  in  which, 
under  the  date  of  November  sixteenth,  I  read 
that  the  Marquis  de  Lyonne,  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs,  having  given  an  entertain- 
ment to  Soliman  Aga  at  Suresne,  partook  of 
cave.  The  price  of  coffee  was  then  forty  ecus, 


or  nearly  two  pounds  ten  sterling,  the  pound. 
It  burst  into  vogue  immediately,  as  things 
foreign  and  inordinately  expensive  do  in  most 
countries  ;  but  in  France  extravagance  and 
profusion  have  handmaids  called  Art,  and 
Taste,  and  Elegance  ;  and,  close  on  the  heels 
of  coffee  followed  palaces  for  its  consumption, 
called  cafes,  and  coffee  services  from  the 
porcelain  manufactories  at  Sdvres. 

Up  to  this  time,  cafe  a  Veau — plain  coffee 
infused  in  boiling  water  —  was  the  only 
preparation  of  the  berry  known.  I  have 
listened  in  vain  for  the  sound  of  that 
trumpet  which  should  declare  the  fame 
of  the  sage  who  devised  lump  sugar  or 
sugar-candy  for  coffee.  The  discoverer  olcafe 
au  lait — of  milk-diluted  coffee — was  M.  de 
Nieukhof,  Dutch  Ambassador  in  China. 
Envious  men  denied  him,  however,  the  entire 
merit  of  the  lacteal  invention,  and  insinuated 
that  he  was  but  a  translator,  and  that  milk- 
coffee  must  have  been  previously  known  to  the 
Celestials  at  Canton,  or  to  the  Portuguese  at 
Macao.  Honour,  however,  to  M.  de  Nieukhof. 
The  Dutch  had  ever  been  ardent  admirers 
and  zealous  cultivators  of  coffee.  In  1710 
they  transferred  it  from  Mocha  to  Java,  where 
coffee  plantations  multiplied  exceedingly  and 
with  great  success.  They  had  previously 
essayed  coffee  planting  at  Amsterdam,  where 
I  need  scarcely  say  the  experiment  was  an 
egregious  failure. 

The  astuteness  and  fastidiousness  of  sub- 
sequent generations  added  cognac  and  other 
liqueurs  as  zests  to  coffee  ;  and  some  slight 
little  public  memorial — such  as  a  statue,  a 
fountain,  or  a  pump — is  certainly  due  to  that 
philosopher  who  discovered  the  compound  of 
burnt  coffee  and  alcohol,  known  as  "  gloria." 
It  has  been  reserved  for  this  age,  however,  in 
an  almost  depravity  of  improvement  to  give 
us  cakes,  and  even  ices  flavoured  with  coffee. 
What  will  people  do  with  it  next  1  Will  they 
make  prayer-books  and  pocket-handkerchiefs 
of  it  as  they  have  done  of  gutta  percha ;  or 
Napier's  bones  and  portable  a  b  c's  as  they  do 
now,  in  Paris,  of  chocolate  ? 

Hie  we  back  to  England.  In  the  days  of 
William  the  Dutchman,  of  the  good  Queen 
Anne,  of  George  the  lover  of  bad  oysters 
and  worse  characters,  coffee  and  coffee- 
houses reached  their  apogee,  to  undergo, 
however,  in  the  two  subsequent  reigns,  a 
temporary  decadence.  From  1690  to  1730, 
the  age  was  essentially  a  coffee  drinking  and 
coffee-house  frequenting  one.  We  cannot  open 
the  pleasant  pages  of  Swift's  Journal  to 
Stella ;  we  cannot  skim  through  the  brilliantly 
bitter  lines  of  Pope  ;  or  peep  cursorily  (very 
cursorily)  at  the  lucubrations  of  Mr.  Ned 
Ward  ;  or  plod  through  the  London  Gazette 
or  Daily  Courant  ;  or  even  yawn  through  the 
columns  of  eccentric  morality  of  wrongheaded 
old  Jeremy  Collier,  without  finding  scores  of 
references  to  coffee  and  coffee-houses.  Van- 
brugh,  Congreve,  Farquhar,  and  Mrs.  Centlivre, 
abound  with  allusions  to  coffee-house  life. 


Charles  Dickens.] 


5G5 


In  the  scenes  of  that  great  human  comedy  of 
which  William  Hogarth  was  the  worthy  ex- 
ponent, the  coffee-pot  and  coffee-cup  hold  no 
insignificant  place.  Nought  but  coffee  could 
fill  that  delfcate  little  vase  which  the  inimi- 
mitable  black  boy  hands  to  the  fine  lady  in 
the  second  scene  of  the  Marriage  &  la  mode  ; 
and  nought  but  coffee  titillates  the  delicate 
nerves  of  that  as  inimitable  beau,  with  his 
hair  in  papers,  who,  in  the  same  picture,  holds 
his  cup  with  an  air  of  mincing,  finicking  affec- 
tation infinitely  truthful.  There  is  coffee  on 
the  alderman's  table  as  well  as  ale ;  coffee, 
as  well  as  the  hot  kettle,  and  another  black 
boy,  in  the  second  tableau  of  the  Harlot's 
Progress ;  and,  believe  me,  it  was  for  the 
purpose  of  diluting  his  coffee,  and  not  his  tea, 
that  the  distressed  poet  contracted  that  enor- 
mous score  for  milk  for  which  he  is  so  ruth- 
lessly dunned  by  the  Welshwoman  in  his  poor 
garret,  where  Ins  pretty  wife  sits  patiently 
mending  her  husband's  clothes.  How  I  love 
that  picture  of  the  Distressed  Poet,  and  how 
my  heart  warms  towards  the  honest  Eng- 
lishman who  painted  it.  There  is  a  whole 
life-history  of  patient  love  and  truth  and 
untiring  constancy  ;  of  the  smile  always 
ready  to  meet  the  frown  of  disappointment 
and  vexation  ;  of  the  hand  always  stretched 
out  to  smooth  the  care-wrinkled  brow ;  of 
sure,  cheerful,  household  virtues  in  that  one 
figure  of  the  plain  young  woman  darning 
the  poet's  netherlings.  I  am  sure  Fielding 
had  the  picture  in  his  eye  when  he  wrote 
Amelia ;  I  am  equally  certain  Mr.  Elmore 
had  a  kindly  remembrance  of  it  when 
he  painted  the  Invention  of  the  Stocking- 
loom. 

The  coffee-houses  of  the  Annian  and 
Georgian  eras  are  household  words  with  us. 
Will's  and  Button's,  and  Betty's  and  Don 
Salteros  and  Tom  Kings  are  familiar  spirits, 
calling  up  recollections  as  familiar.  They 
call  up  John  Dryden  —  enthroned  in  the 
memorable  arm-chair  from  which  no  man 
dared  to  dream  of  ousting  him — talking  cri- 
ticism ex  cathedrA,  and  electrifying  young 
gentlemen  from  the  country.  They  call  up 
old,  garrulous,  coarse  Tom  Durfey,  wondering 
whether  he  is  fifty  years  in  advance  of  the 
world,  or  the  world  fifty  years  in  advance  of 
him.  They  call  up  Mr.  Dennis  hanging  up  a 
birch-rod  by  the  side  of  the  fire-place,  with 
which  he  threatens  to  whip  Mr.  Pope  ;  Steele 
writing  charming  billets  to  his  wife  between 
his  coffee  and  his  wine ;  Addison,  silent  and 
bashful  at  first,  like  his  own  Spectator  ;  but, 
warming  when  he  has  had,  alas  !  a  little  more 
wine  than  is  good  for  him,  becoming  voluble 
with  discourse  good  for  others.  What  though 
a  little  more  wine  may  have  been  consumed 
in  those  old  time  coffee-houses  than  the  legi- 
timate infusion  of  Mocha,  they  were  true 
coffee-houses,  and  we  shall  never  see  their 
like  again. 

From  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of 
George  the  Second  till  very  nearly  the  termi- 


nation of  that  of  George  the  Third,  coffee- 
houses were  coffee-houses  only  in  name.  The 
roystering  dens  where  Richard  Savage 
swindled  waiters,  and  opened  subscriptions  for 
his  own  relief,  and  pinked  his  friends  :  where, 
with  inked  ruffles,  and  flushed  face,  and  dis- 
ordered wig,  Harry  Fielding  sat  down  to  pen 
articles  for  the  Covent  Garden  Journal — were 
taverns,  unadulterated  taverns.  Lieutenant 
Lismahago  may  have  occasionally  dropped  in 
to  take  a  "  bowl  "  of  coffee  ;  Ferdinand  Count 
Fathom  might  rarely  have  cooled  his  fevered 
blood  with  a  cup  of  the  aromatic  article  ; 
Squire  Western  may,  from  time  to  time,  have 
left  his  snuff-box  in  a  coffee-house,  and  sent 
his  chaplain  to  fetch  it,  as  it  is  on  history  that 
he  did  at  the  Hercules'  Pillars  ;  but  strong 
liquor  was  the  staple  commodity  vended. 
They  were  as  much  coffee-houses — those  so 
called  cafes  of  a  hundred  or  eighty  years  ago 
— as  the  coffee-rooms  of  our  present  public- 
houses  are  really  rooms  for  the  consumption 
of  coffee. 

Although  not  banished,  but  fallen  into 
desuetude  in  houses  of  public  entertainment 
in  England,  coffee  found  refuge  and  comfort 
in  France.  The  cafts  of  the  Palais  Eoyal 
had,  before  the  fall  of  the  French  monai-chy, 
achieved  an  European  reputation.  It  was  to 
the  Cafe  de  Cantal  that  Piron  and  Crebillon 
the  younger  resorted,  to  crack  questionable 
jokes  and  to  concoct  libellous  epigrams.  In  a 
corner  of  the  Cafe  Procope,  met  that  hardy 
baud  of  encyclopedists  (who  knew  almost 
everything  and  believed  in  nothing)  to  sneer 
away  religion,  and  to  crush  belief — with 
conundrums. 

Were  I  to  discuss,  to  describe,  or  even 
cursorily  to  touch  on  the  social  characteristics 
of  any  one  of  the  numerous  classes  of  Conti- 
nental coffee-houses,  I  should  require  a 
book,  rather  than  half-a-dozen  columns. 
The  subject  is  one  so  cosmopolitan,  so 
intimately  bound  up  with  the  progress  of 
civilisation  ;  that,  while  ostensibly  penning  a 
paper  on  coffee-shops,  I  should  be  in  reality 
writing  a  history  of  the  manners,  customs 
and  social  peculiarities  of  the  peoples  who 
were  coffee-drinkers.  So,  seductive  as  are 
the  temptations  of  Continental  coffee-shops,  I 
will  not  venture  to  touch  upon  them  now. 
I  will  reserve  for  a  more  convenient  opportu- 
nity the  brilliant  Parisian  cafes,  and  the 
consideration  of  the  influence  they  have  had 
upon  the  progress  of  the  decorative  arts  in 
France ;  I  will  reserve  the  coffee-houses  of 
Germany  where  pipes  and  dominoes  are  the 
rule,  and  clean  coffee-cups  and  clean  waiters 
the  exception  ;  the  cafes  of  Venice  and  Milan  ; 
the  cafes  and  cafejis  of  Stamboul  and  Smyrna ; 
the  coffee-houses  where  there  are  concerts ; 
where  there  are  dramatic  performances  ; 
where  there  are  orchestras  recruited  by  blind 
men  ;  where  there  are  dances  and  orgies, 
and  feasts  of  cucumbers  and  hard  eggs,  as  on 
the  Port  at  Antwerp ;  where  circulate 
massive  white  tureens  of  coffee  considerably 


566 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  uj 


modified,  or  aggravated  by  schnaps,  as  at 
the  great  pilots'  coffee-house,  the  "Keening 
Leopold  "  at  Ostend. 

Of  the  present  state  and  position  of  coffee- 
shops  in  one  country,  I  feel  myself  called 
upon,  however,  briefly  to  treat.  The  coffee- 
houses of  London  have,  within  the  last  thirty 
years,  done,  to  my  mind,  so  much  good  ;  have 
worked  such  important  results,  and  offer  so 
many  curious  questions  for  solution  both 
social  and  commercial,  that  I  should  be 
unjust  were  I  to  pass  them  over.  I  mean 
the  genuine,  orthodox,  London  coffee-houses — 
coffee-shops,  if  you  will ;  where  coffee  is  dis- 
pensed to  the  million  at  varying  rates  of  one 
penny,  three-halfpence,  and  twopence  per  cup  ; 
where  eggs,  bread  and  butter,  bacon,  and 
similar  refreshments,  are  provided  at  mode- 
rate rates  ;  but  where  no  ardent  spirits  or 
fermented  liquors  of  any  kind  are  either 
demanded  by  the  customers,  or  conceded 
by  the  proprietors  ;  where — in  lieu  of  the 
glasses  that  were  wont  to  circle  round 
the  board,  and  the  good  company  that 
was  wont  to  fall  underneath  it  in  the  old- 
fashioned  coffee-houses — there  is  provided  for 
the  serious,  well-conducted  frequenters,  a 
feast  of  newspapers  and  a  flow  of  cheap  peri- 
odicals. You  and  I  can  remember  when  such 
coffee-houses  were  not.  If,  in  the  old  time,  we 
wanted  a  cup,  a  dish  or  a  bowl  of  coffee,  we  were 
compelled  to  go  to  the  coffee-room  of  an  hotel 
for  it ;  provided  always  that  we  did  not  care 
to  consume  it  at  home.  And  coffee  at  home, 
even,  was,  in  those  days,  not  by  any  means  a 
faultless  compound.  Our  aunts  and  mothers 
and  sisters  were  blindly  attached  to  certain 
prejudices  and  superstitions  respecting  the 
lining  or  clearing  of  coffee.  Noxious  com- 
positions, such  as  dried  fish-skins,  egg-shells, 
what  ought  to  have  been  isinglass  (but  was 
fish-bones  boiled  to  a  jelly),  together  with  red 
hot  coals,  were  thrown  into  the  unresisting 
coffee-pot  to  facilitate  the  fining  operation. 
Certain  strange  and  fetisli  rites  were  also 
performed  with  the  same  view,  by  knocking 
the  coffee-pot  a  cabalistic  number  of  times  on 
the  hob,  and  chucking  it  up  in  rnid  air  till  the 
hot  liquid  within  became  a  confused  mass  of 
grouts  and  conflicting  flavours.  Coffee-houses 
have  effected  a  great  reform  in  this  respect, 
and  have  driven  away  many  baneful  though 
time-honoured  superstitions. 

There  is  scarcely  a  street  in  London — 
certainly  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  three 
together,  unprovided  with  a  coffee-shop.  The 
types  do  not  vary  much.  Where  men  go 
simply  for  amusement  or  dissipation,  they 
will  naturally  congregate  in  classes :  the 
beggar  will  go  to  the  beggar's  public-house, 
and  the  thief  to  the  thieves'  theatre.  But  a 
coffee-house  is  neutral  ground.  There  are 
in  every  coffee-shop  whig,  and  tory,  and 
radical  publications,  and  whigs,  tories,  and 
radicals  assembled  harmoniously  to  read 
them  ;  for  the  readers  are  as  mute  as  the 
papers. 


Something  like  uniformity,  almost  amount- 
ing to  monotony,  prevails  in  the  majority 
of  London  coffee-shops.  The  ornamental  is 
generally  sacrificed  to  the  useful.  A  plain  room, 
divided  into  plain  stalls  by  varnished  partitions, 
and  fitted  with  plain  Pembroke  tables,  papers, 
periodicals,  and  magazines,  not  quite  guiltless 
of  coffee  stains  and  bread-and-butter  spots,  a 
neat  waitress,  economical  of  speech,  and  who 
is  for  ever  ringing  the  changes  between  two- 
refrains  of  "  coffee  and  slice,"  and  "  tea  and 
a  hegg," — are  common  to  all  coffee-houses. 
There  is  more  deal  in  some,  more  mahogany 
in  others ;  there  are  aristocratic  coffee- 
houses, where  they  serve  you  silver  salt 
castors  with  your  muffins,  and  silver  cream- 
jugs  with  your  coffee  ;  there  are  low — very 
low — coffee-shops,  where  there  is  sand  on  the 
floor,  and  an  ill  odour  pervading  the  place 
"  generally  all  over."  Yet,  in  all  these  coffee- 
houses, high  or  low,  aristocratic  or  humble, 
clean  or  dirty,  deal  or  mahogany  furnished, 
night  or  day,  I  can  sit  for  hours  and  wonder. 
I  ponder  on  the  evidence  of  Mr.  Pamphilon 
before  the  coffee  committee  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  not  twenty  years  ago  ;  and,  reading 
that,  and  reading  the  excise  returns,  how 
I  wonder  !  I  wonder  when  I  see  these  strong 
bands  of  honest  working-men ;  of  swart 
artizaus ;  of  burly  coalheavers  and  grimy 
ballast  porters ;  who  are  content  to  come 
straight  from  the  factory,  the  anvil,  or  the 
wharf  to  the  coffee-shop ;  who  can  bid  the 
shining  river  of  beer  flow  on  unheeded,  and 
content  themselves  with  the  moderate 
evening's  amusement  to  be  found  in  cheap 
periodicals.  And,  forced  as  I  am  sometimes  to 
admit  the  presence  in  my  coffee-cup  of  some 
other  ingredients  besides  coffee,  such  as  chicory, 
burnt  beans,  pounded  bones,  calcined  clover,  , 
or  such  trifling  little  strangers — I  wonder 
still  at  the  immense  good  the  penny  cup  of 
coffee  (as  it  should  be),  but  still  the  cup, 
coffee  or  not  coffee,  has  worked  in  this  huge 
London.  Whatever  it  be,  they  drink  it,  and 
it  does  not  make  them,  drunk  ;  and  drinking, 
they  read  ;  and  reading,  they  learn  to  think, 
and  to  wash,  and  to  teach  their  little  children 
to  read,  and  to  think,  and  to  wash,  too.  I 
doubt  if  a  murder  were  ever  planned  in 
a  coffee-shop. 


CHIPS. 


TRANSPORTATION  FOR  LIFE. 

IT  appears  that  since  the  return  of  the 
subject  of  "  Transported  for  Life"  (see  pages 
455  and  482  of  the  present  volume),  some 
modifications  have  taken  place  in  the  rules 
applicable  to  persons  banished  to  the  British 
penal  colonies.  We  are  informed  that  now,  no 
prisoner  is  sent  to  Norfolk  Island  unless  he 
has  proved  utterly  incorrigible  during  his 
detention  in  a  less  penal  settlement.  Neither 
is  the  sentence  of  transportation  from  this 
country  so  immediately  carried  out  as 


Charles  Dickens.] 


AMONG  THE  MOOES. 


567 


formerly.      The    following    are    the    official 
regulations  in  this  respect : 

"  A  prisoner  under  sentence  for  life,  who  had 
passed  twelve  mouths  in  separate  confinement, 
would,  by  exemplary  conduct  for  iive  years  on  public 
works,  become  eligible  for  embarkation. 

"  Minimum  period  of  detention  on  public  works 
applicable  to  prisoners  whose  conduct  is  exemplary  : 

"  A  prisoner  sentenced  to  7  years,  for  a  period  of  1  year. 
Ditto  „  10  „  „  1J    „ 

Ditto  „  20  „  „  4      „ 

Ditto  „          Life          „  „  5      „ 

after  which  they  are  sent  out  as  holders  of  tickets 
of  leave." 

When  a  prisoner  has  conducted  himself 
well  during  his  probation  he  is  furnished 
with  a  ticket  of  leave  in  the  colony  to  which 
he  may  be  sent,  is  allowed  to  hire  himself  for 
wages,  to  live  in  a  dwelling  of  his  own, — and 
to  such  an  extent  are  his  privileges  carried — 
that  Government  even  partially  defrays  the 
expense  of  sending  out  to  him  his  wife  and 
family.  The  only  conditions  annexed  to  his 
ticket  of  leave  are  that  he  shall  be  well-con- 
ducted, and  report  himself  periodically  to  the 
Police  Office  of  the  district  in  which  he  may 
reside. 


AMONG  THE  MOOES. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  its  proximity  to  Gib- 
raltar, and  the  constant  intercourse  and 
commerce  kept  up  with  Europeans,  Tangier 
preserves  its  primitive  appearance  and  bears 
the  stamp  of  a  thoroughly  Moorish  town. 
Like  most  Moslem  cities  it  is  surrounded  by 
beautiful  gardens,  and  the  ride  of  a  few  miles 
will  reward  the  tourist  with  some  very  pretty 
scenery.  There  is  work,  too,  for  the  anti- 
quary round  about  Tangier.  Euins  of  cities, 
remains  of  a  Roman  aqueduct,  traces  of  the 
Portuguese  dominion,  strange  tombs  of 
warrior  saints  who  fell  in  battle,  are  to  be 
visited.  To  the  north,  also,  near  the  sea,  there 
stand  the  ruins  of  an  old  castle,  famous  as 
having  once  been  the  retreat  of  a  bold 
chieftain  who  rebelled  against  the  Sultan. 
This  ruin,  with  portions  of  its  massive  outer 
wall  yet  standing,  covers  a  large  extent  of 
ground,  and  used  frequently  to  be  the  des- 
tination of  my  morning  rides.  Day  after 
day,  when  riding  listlessly  through  the  neigh- 
bouring lanes,  between  hedges  of  the  aloe  and 
prickly  pear,  my  horse  paused  at  the  old 
castle,  and  I  went  in  to  raise  a  panic  among 
bats  and  owls  that  were  disturbed  by  my 
wandering  among  its  gloomy  passages  and 
desolate  old  halls. 

A  very  matter-of-fact  soldier  had,  for  a 
long  time,  been  the  attendant  on  our  rides — 
for  it  is  unsafe  to  trespass  far  beyond  the 
town  without  a  guard  ;  this  gentleman  had 
not  a  word  wherewith  to  satisfy  my  curiosity, 
or  gratify  my  feminine  desire  to  provide  every 
ruin  with  its  legend.  A  change  of  guide, 
however,  brought  me  at  last  under  the 


shadow  of  a  charming  fellow,  a  battered,  tale- 
telling  old  hunter,  named  Shebah,  or  the 
Lion,  no  doubt  from  his  courage.  His  con- 
versation was  stocked  largely  with  magicians, 
genii,  and  enchanted  castles,  which  he  built 
up  with  much  gorgeousness  of  detail,  yet 
speaking  always  with  a  certain  dignified 
simplicity  and  a  peculiarity  of  idiom  that  gave 
a  piquant  relish  to  the  richness  of  the  diet 
upon  which  my  ears  were  put. 

One  bright  September  morning,  as  a  small 
party  of  us  rested  on  a  grassy  spot  on  what 
perhaps  had  been  the  tilt-yard  of  the  castle 
before-mentioned,  enjoying  a  cool  pic-nic 
breakfast,  the  old  hunter  sat  cross-legged  in 
our  neighbourhood,  with  his  long  gun  beside 
him  and  a  knife  glittering  in  his  belt,  looking 
with  grave  wistfulness  at  the  sparkle  of  our 
wine,  and  wrestling  mentally,  perhaps,  with 
the  hard  veto  of  his  prophet.  To  console 
himself,  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  told  us 
all  he  knew  about  surrounding  objects,  sliding 
eventually  into  what  he  called  the  Legend  of 
the  Castle.  I  really  cannot  repeat  it  after 
him  in  his  own  gorgeous  words,  that  sounded 
very  well  upon  his  lips  under  the  Moorish 
castle  walls,  but  would  trip  less  successfully 
from  mine  in  England.  I  will  tell  the  story 
as  I  can,  beginning  properly  with  Once  upon 
a  Time. 

Once  upon  a  time  when  this  castle,  now 
decayed,  was  a  strong  fortress,  there  dwelt  in 
it  a  certain  Arab  chief  named  Muley  ben 
Abel,  alias  Al  Zagal,  or  the  Valiant.  Al 
Zagal's  valour  was  not  tempered  with  mercy, 
and  he  was  by  no  means  universally  esteemed 
by  all  who  knew  him.  The  two  half-brothers 
of  Al  Zagal  were,  however,  known  as  the 
Good  Lords,  and  the  public  preference  of 
these  two  brothers  caused  their  sudden  dis- 
appearance. They  were  followed  out  of  the 
world  by  their  father,  Ibn  Amir,  when  he  was 
a  man  still  in  the  prime  of  life.  Al  Zagal  had, 
after  this  time,  many  fingers  pointed  at  him, 
and  became  so  greatly  dreaded  by  the  people 
that  he  was  not  unwilling  to  give  them  other 
cause  for  dread.  He  began  accordingly  to 
prey  upon  the  country  people,  and  the  Sultan, 
being  busy  in  a  war  with  mountain  tribes, 
had  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  put  any 
check  on  his  proceedings.  So  Al  Zagal 
collected  a  troop  of  black  warriors,  with  con- 
sciences of  a  like  colour  with  their  skins,  and 
levied  black  mail  on  all  travellers  and  mer- 
chants as  they  passed  on  their  way  to 
Granada,  "which  then,"  said  the  hunter, 
'•'  our  people  possessed,  and,  by  the  blessing  of 
Allah,  will  again  possess,"  The  Moors  faith- 
fully believe  that  they  shall  in  due  time 
re-conquer  Spain  ;  and  many  families  of  note, 
tracing  descent  from  Moors  of  Granada,  still 
keep  the  keys  of  houses,  and  the  title-deeds 
of  lands  held  by  their  ancestors,  ready  to  be 
produced  in  the  good  time  that  is  coming. 
Every  Friday  the  Irnaums  in  the  mosque  pray 
for  the  consummation  so  devoutly  wished. 

Al  Zaccal  and  his  black  guards  did  more 


568 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


mischief  than  a  herd  of  wolves  among  the 
surrounding  hamlets,  and  their  den  came  to 
be  called  accordingly  the  Black  Castle.  The 
robbers  would  sweep  by  in  the  night,  like  a 
hot  wind,  from  the  desert,  and  leave  everything 
destroyed  upon  their  track. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  the  sheik  of  a 
small  mountain  village,  distant  about  half  a 
day's  journey  from  the  Black  Castle,  (Hamet 
al  Hassan  was  hrs  name,)  had  a  fair  daughter, 
the  only  child  left  to  him  by  thirteen  wives, 
and  she  was  named  Lindora.  Lindora  means 
light  of  the  dawn ;  and  the  damsel  was  as 
soft,  and  quiet,  and  delightful  as  her  god- 
mother, Aurora.  Necessarily  she  was,  for  is 
she  not  the  heroine  of  the  legend  that  was 
told  us  by  the  Moorish  hunter  under  the 
Black  Castle's  walls  1 

Hamet,  the  father,  for  the  sake  of  peace  and 
quietness,  seeing  how  weak  he  was,  paid  a 
black  mail  to  Al  Zagal,  that  was  collected  on 
behalf  of  the  castle,  at  fixed  periods,  by  one 
of  the  chiefs  swarthy  followers.  It  hap- 
pened that  such  a  messenger  one  day  chanced 
to  behold  Lindora  when  she  returned  from 
drawing  water  at  the  village  well.  "  Son  of 
Al  Hassan,"  said  the  envoy,  "  give  me,  I  pray 
thee,  thy  daughter  to  my  wife,  for  the  maid 
finds  favour  in  my  sight.  I  will  befriend  thee 
with  my  influence,  and  cause  Al  Zagal  to 
remit  this  tribute." — "  Most  worthy  envoy  of 
the  most  noble  Al  Zagal,"  said  the  old  man 
in  reply ;  "  many  have  asked  Lindora  at  my 
hands  in  marriage,  but  she  is  betrothed  to 
Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn  Amar,  my  brother's 
son ;  and  when  he  returns  from  fighting  for 
the  Sultan  I  have  promised  that  they  shall 
be  wedded.  So  even  the  marriage  gifts  are 
prepared  against  his  coming.  Woe  is  me  ! 
I  have  said  it." 

But  the  same  night,  when  the  inmates  of 
that  mountain  hamlet  were  asleep,  a  strong 
light  fell  upon  their  eyes,  and  shrieks  and 
war-cries  fell  upon  their  ears,  and  they  awoke 
to  the  slaughter,  for  the  band  of  the  Black 
Castle  had  come  down,  and  fired  the  village. 
Young  men  fought,  and  women  fled  ;  but  in 
the  morning  the  hamlet  was  a  ruin  far  be- 
hind the  backs  of  the  marauders,  who  drove 
sheep  and  oxen  on  the  way  before  them,  and 
with  Lindora  and  her  father  in  the  middle  of 
their  band,  marched  back  to  the  Black  Castle, 
well  content  with  the  good  stroke  of  business 
they  had  done. 

Several  weeks  after  that  night,  a  young 
Moorish  warrior,  handsomely  equipped,  at- 
tended by  about  a  dozen  lances,  gallopped 
up-hill  towards  the  ruin  of  Al  Hassan's 
tents.  He  was  an  extremely  handsome  man, 
you  may  be  sure,  because  he  is  the  hero  of 
the  legend.  Not  having  expected  to  find  any 
ruin  on  the  spot,  his  first  impression,  when 
he  saw  no  tents,  was,  that  his  father's  brother 
must  have  struck  them,  and  removed  into 
another  neighbourhood.  Soon,  however,  he 
discovered  marks  of  fire,  and — by  the  beard 
of  the  Prophet ! — blood.  Need  I  say  that  the 


young  man  was  Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn  Amar, 
and  that  his  agony  at  this  discovery  >was 
dreadful  ?  He  sent  his  spears  abroad  in  vain 
for  tidings,  and  then  turned  his  own  horse's 
head  towards  Tetuan,  the  nearest  town. 

Lindora  was  at  this  time,  of  course,  in  the 
Black  Castle,  imprisoned  in  a  lonely  tower. 
The  old  man,  too  old  to  be  sold  as  a  slave, 
would  have  been  promptly  despatched,  if  the 
cries  of  Lindora  for  her  father  had  not  sug- 
gested that  his  life  and  presence  were  essential 
to  the  preservation  of  her  beauty.  The  dark 
envoy  was  most  instrumental  in  the  securing 
of  his  safety,  but  Al  Zagal  having  seen  the 
maiden,  who  had  been  seized  for  his  envoy's 
satisfaction,  was  desirous,  of  course,  as  the 
dullest  legend  reader  would  perceive,  to  add 
her  to  the  roll  of  his  own  wives. 

When  Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn  Amar,  know- 
ing nothing  of  all  this,  reached  Tetuau,  he 
went  to  the  house  of  Al  Hadj  Halek  Ibn 
Abdallah,  a  famous  marabout,  and  said  "  Sa- 
laam on  Aleekomm  !  Know,  O  holy  man, 
that  I  am  come  to  thee  for  news,  the  odour  of 
which  would  be  sweet  unto  my  nostrils." 
The  wise  man,  having  heard  his  question, 
was  able  fortunately  to  return  an  answer. 
And  the  youth  said :  "  I  will  depart  this  hour 
again  to  Fez,  and  throw  myself  at  the  feet 
of  the  Prince  of  Believers  to  ask  vengeance ; 
and  it  shall  come  to  pass  that  he  shall  grant 
me  power  to  lead  his  warriors  against  Al 
Zagal,  destroy  his  castle,  and  deliver  Lindora 
from  its  walls ;  for  the  maiden  loves  me  still," 
he  added,  looking  at  the  hilt  of  his  dagger, 
in  which  a  large  opal  glittered  cheerfully. 
"  Tabeeb,  farewell !" 

Lindora  was  at  that  time  in  her  lonely 
tower,  shrieking  with  but  little  intermission. 
Al  Zagal  appeared  on  the  battlements,  and 
leaning  over,  shouted  to  one  of  his  followers: 
"  Asharky,  place  thyself  at  the  head  of  a 
score  of  lances,  and  ride  the  country  through 
till  thou  findest  a  Tabeeb,  for  the  daughter  of 
Al  Hassan  is  possessed."  The  Tabeeb  who 
was  brought  declared  the  maiden  to  be  in 
the  delirium  of  fever  ;  so  thereafter  Al  Zagal, 
who  by  no  means  desired  that  she  should  die, 
frequently  paced  the  battlements  in  a  moody 
way,  invoking  on  her  case  the  blessing  of  the 
Prophet. 

One  day  he  was  awakened  from  such  a 
reverie  by  the  sound  of  distant  tom-toms  and 
cymbals,  and  looking  up  he  saw  the  royal 
banner  coming  down  the  road  from  Fez. 
Bright  arms  of  warriors  glittered  about  it, 
and  a  dark  crowd  of  country  people,  that  had 
joined  with  the  great  army  of  the  Sultan, 
was  shouting  his  name  :  they  were  his  debtors 
from  the  surrounding  country,  now  resolved 
to  take  this  advantageous  opportunity  of 
paying  him  the  little  things  they  owed. 
When  the  multitude  had  halted  near  the 
castle  walls,  a  single  horseman  spurred  out 
of  the  main  body — a  herald  he  was — sum- 
moning Muley  ben  Abel,  alias  Al  Zagal,  to 
surrender  his  castle  and  give  up  the  prisoners 


Charles  Dickens.] 


AMONG  THE  MOOES. 


569 


therein,  particularly  Lindora  and  her  father, 
otherwise  the  Lord  Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn 
Amar,  Caliph  of  the  Sultan,  was  prepared  in 
the  Sultan's  name  to  lay  siege  to  its  walls. 
A  valorous  discussion  followed,  which  was 
closed  by  a  follower  of  Al  Zagal,  who  with  a 
stone  from  a  sling  struck  the  herald  on  the 
forehead  and  unhorsed  him.  Then  the  siege 
commenced. 

The  siege  was  tedious,  for  the  castle  walls 
were  thick,  but  as  the  black  band  was  not 
accustomed  to  live  peaceably  on  short  pro- 
visions, it  turned  very  blue  when  the  wine 
failed,  and  became  finally  seditious.  Never- 
theless the  siege  was  tedious,  and  Cedi 
Mohammed  Ibn  Amar  began  to  fear  the 
approach  of  the  rainy  season  and  the  de- 
parture of  his'  peasant  allies,  when  one  day 
he  saw,  in  strong  relief  against  the  morning 
sky,  Lindora  and  her  father  led  out  chained 
upon  the  battlements  of  the  Black  Castle. 
Al  Zagal  had  an  offer  of  accommodation  to 
suggest.  If  the  siege  were  raised  he  would 
give  up  his  captives  for  a  ransom  of  a 
thousand  mets-kal.  If  not,  he  would  cut  off 
their  heads  next  morning,  and  throw  them 
down  into  the  camp. 

This  threw  Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn  Amar 
into  great  perplexity,  for  his  honour  as  a 
soldier  and  his  desire  as  a  lover,  were  played  off 
unpleasantly  against  each  other.  "While  he 
still  pondered  in  his  tent,  the  tent  curtain  was 
drawn  aside  and  the  dark  envoy  entered. 
Cedi  Mohammed  Ibn  Amar  knew  the  dark 
envoy  well,  although  he  did  not  know  him  as 
the  first  cause  of  Lindora's  misery  :  he  knew 
him  only  as  a  doughty  fighting  man  through- 
out the  siege.  What  did  the  dark  envoy 
want  ?  "  Son  of  Amar,"  he  said,  "  grant  but 
a  free  pass  to  myself  and  a  few  companions, 
and  the  castle  shall  be  delivered  up  to-night 
into  your  hands.  Al  Zagal  has  wronged  me, 
and  the  sons  of  Allah  are  not  able  to  forgive." 
"  Can  I  believe  this  ! "  "  Fear  not,  Cedi ;  I 
will  remain  in  this  tent  till  my  word  has  been 
fulfilled.  To-night  Al  Zagal,  having  lulled 
and  deceived  thee  by  this  morning's  offer,  will 
make  a  sally  with  his  whole  band,  and 
attempt  to  cut  a  way  to  safety  for  himself 
and  for  his  captives  through  your  unsuspicious 
ranks.  He  hopes  to  get  beyond  the  moun- 
tains into  Eif.  His  men  will  be  divided  into 
two  bands,  one  headed  by  myself,  the  other 
by  my  brother,  who  will  join  against  him  at 
a  given  signal." 

"  Fight  thine  own  battles  with  Al 
Zagal,"  said  Cedi  Mahommed  Ibn  Amar ; 
"  I  will  have  no  traitor  for  ally."  The 
youth,  nevertheless,  profited  by  the  dark 
envoy's  useful  information,  and  disseminated 
it  industriously  throughout  his  camp.  In 
the  night,  the  castle  gates  having  been 
thrown  open,  a  band  of  horsemen  passed 
the  drawbridge  stealthily  with  muffled  hoofs, 
formed  into  rank,  and  placed  their  captives 
in  the  centre,  intending  to  burst  in  their  old 
way  with  a  sudden  cry  upon  the  sleeping 


enemy.  "  By  the  beard  of  my  father,"  said 
Al  Zagal,  "  we  will  yet  teach  the  shepherds 
what  it  is  to  have  a  lion  at  bay."  He  had 
not  long  spoken  before  the  lances  of  the 
shepherds  came  upon  him,  and  lances  of  his 
own  troops  also  were  turned  against  him. 
Seeing  that  he  was  betrayed,  he  closed  with 
those  men  who  were  faithful  to  him  round 
the  captives,  and  endeavoured  to  regain  the 
castle  ;  but  the  enemy  possessed  the  path. 
There  was  a  terrible  fight,  and  Cedi  Mo- 
hammed riding  high  among  the  torches, 
friends  fought  against  friends,  Emirs, 
splendidly  caparisoned  on  Arab  steeds, 
engaged  with  half-clad  members  of  the  black 
baud,  on  wiry  mountain  ponies.  Al  Zagal, 
through  the  tumult  and  the  torch-light 
fighting  desperately,  succeeded  with  a  few 
followers  in  forcing  a  way  with  Lindora  back 
into  the  castle,  of  which  a  large  part  was 
already  in  the  hands  of  the  besiegers.  He 
secured  Lindora  in  a  secret  room,  and  then 
descending  through  dark  vaults  and  passages 
to  a  magazine  that  had  long  been  prepared 
for  any  such  occasion,  added  arson  to  his 
other  crimes.  The  savage  horror  of  the 
scene  was  at  its  highest  as  the  flames  leaped 
their  highest  up  into  the  night.  The  red 
blaze  was  a  pleasant  beacon-fire  to  men  who, 
waking  up  by  chance  in  distant  places,  said 
it  must  be  the  Black  Castle  that  was  then  on 
fire,  and  so  there  would  be  peace  again  upon 
their  tents  now  that  the  Black  Castle  was 
destroyed. 

But  among  the  blazing  ruins  the  strife  still 
went  on.  The  band  of  Al  Zagal  had  their 
lives  to  sell,  and  valued  their  lives  dearly. 
"  There  is  one  chance  more,"  said  Al  Zagal  to 
a  gigantic  black  who  had  been  unhorsed  in 
the  struggle  ;  "  let  us  mount  the  first  horses 
we  can  get,  and  we  may  yet  escape  beyond 
the  mountains  into  Eif."  Al  Zagal  had  soon 
forced  an  Emir  from  his  charger,  and  was 
darting  from  the  castle  when  the  dark  envoy 
confronted  him.  "  Know  me  ! "  the  chief 
said  ;  "  I  am  Al  Zagal."  But  the  dark  envoy 
struck  him,  bidding  him  die  like  a  dog  ;  and 
after  a  great  struggle  he  did  die,  like  a  brave 
dog,  fighting  gallantly.  But  the  dark  envoy 
had  fought  for  Lindora,  and  had  made  Lindora 
his  war-cry  in  the  act  of  treason.  Down  there 
came  therefore,  in  wrath,  upon  the  head  of 
the  dark  envoy  the  sword  of  Cedi  Mohammed 
Ibn  Amar.  There  was  another  desperate 
encounter,  and  I  suppose  no  shrewdness  could 
discover  which  of  the  two  combatants  was 
killed. 

Cedi  Mohammed  Ibu  Amar  rushed,  at 
great  peril  of  his  life,  among  the  chambers  of 
the  burning  castle  seeking  his  Lindora.  In 
the  uppermost  apartment  of  the  western 
tower,  still  spared  from  the  flames,  he  found 
her  stretched  upon  a  low  divan,  pale  and 
dishevelled,  almost  senseless.  Her  lover  car- 
ried her  among  the  ruins  to  a  resting-place 
upon  the  trampled,  blood-stained  grass,  and 
there  under  the  fresh  breeze  of  early  morning 


570 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


.^Conducted  by 


she  revived :  "  I  am  indeed  saved  by  thy 
baud  ;  O  my  beloved,  Allah  hath  heard  my 
prayers,  and  great  is  my  reward.  To-morrow 
I  sleep  with  my  fathers  arid  see  thee  no 
more."  The  light  of  the  dawn  was  on  her 
face.  "Lindora!"  the  youth  cried,  with  a 
sudden  fear,  "  Lindora  !  speak  to  me  again  !" 
He  looked  at  the  opal  in  his  dagger,  which 
for  an  instant  shot  forth  rays,  and  then  its 
light  departed  :  it  became  a  dull,  dead  stone. 
The  soul  of  Lindora,  light  of  the  dawn,  had 
left  that  couch  of  trampled  grass  and  blood, 
and  floated  forth  into  the  morning  sky. 

"  And  what  became  of  her  lover  ?"  I  in- 
quired of  the  old  hunter,  who  appeared  dis- 
posed to  make  an  end  at  this  part  of  the  tale, 
whereas  I  desire  always  to  know  distinctly 
what  becomes  of  every  one.  We  were  told  in 
reply,  that  some  said  he  died  at  the  storming 
of  the  castle,  some  said  that  he  went  to 
Granada  and  fought  in  a  reckless  way,  be- 
came a  great  man,  and  never  smiled  and 
never  married  ;  but  the  old  hunter  himself 
inclined  to  think  that  he  abandoned  war,  and 
being  a  caliph  married  largely,  and  escaped 
the  observation  of  the  world  by  being  over- 
much secluded  in  his  harem. 

We  requested  the  old  huntsman  not  to  kill 
Lindora  when  he  told  the  story  next.  He 
listened  gravely,  and  replied,  with  more  re- 
proof in  his  looks  than  in  his  voice,  that 
Lindora  had  become  possessed — that  is  to 
say,  mentally  deranged — and  in  that  state, 
according  to  his  faith,  she  was  regarded  as  a 
saint,  and  sacred  to  every  good  Moslem.  It 
was  therefore  good  that  she  should  in  that 
state  be  compensated  for  her  troubles  by  a 
certain  passage  into  heaven. 


LONDON    BEIDGE    IN    THE 
AFTERNOON. 

THE  City  of  London  in  these  hot  afternoons 
seems  to  collect  together  the  heat  of  the  day, 
as  it  does  so  much  of  the  gold  of  it,  and  bank 
it  for  itself  in  its  streets  and  bye- ways.  The 
only  pleasant  coolness  exists  in  the  shade  of 
great  Saint  Paul's,  as  you  creep  along  under 
the  shelter  of  its  spiritual  presence.  But 
when  you  have  passed  it,  and  enter  the  long 
crowded  Cheapside,  the  thoroughfare  glows 
again  in  heat  and  sunshine,  and  the  blaok 
figures  of  distant  men  gleam  like  flies  upon 
a  whitewashed  wall.  The  perched  up  clock 
of  Bow  attracts  the  light  to  its  expressive 
face  ;  and  the  figures  burn  so  brightly  with 
fire,  that  you  can  fancy  them  moving  and 
alive,  and  conscious  that  they  are  telling  of 
summer  hours. 

Potent  summer  heat,  whether  it  be  on  sea,, 
in  country,  or  town — is  the  most  favourable 
to  the  romantic  perception  of  things.  We  are 
hot  when  we  sleep,  which  is  the  time  of 
dreams.  There  is  scarcely  a  face  that,  with  a 
strong  summer  light  upon  it,  assumes  not  a 
look  more  or  less  interesting  and  ideal.  Lean, 
in  a  warm  summer  afternoon  near  to  a  place 


of  industry  and  hard  work — such  as  a  work- 
shop or  a  dock — and  the  people  and  the  scene 
will  gradually  seem  more  poetical  than  usual. 
This  feeling  is  the  proper  imaginative  state  ; 
and  no  wonder  that  we  trace  the  most  glowing 
imagery  to  the  burning  and  dreamy  lands  of 
Asia. 

The  heart  of  the  City  of  London,  is  not, 
however,  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  excite 
the  imagination.  Nevertheless,  let  London 
have  its  fair  share  of  all  the  beauty  that  heat 
brings  with  it,  and  not  be  left  only  Che  dust, 
the  water-carts,  and  the  street-orderlies.  Let 
us,  sauntering  on  a  sunny  afternoon  in  its 
streets,  yield  to  the  influence  of  the  time,  and 
see  things  as  well  as  we  can  under  their  pic- 
turesque aspect. 

Specially  does  the  mystic  or  romantic 
element  stir  in  the  comfortable  blood  of 
the  inhabitant  of  the  City.  It  is  part  of 
the  strange  revival  of  lite  that  is  going 
on  all  round  us.  Insects  have  come — good- 
ness knows  whence — and  are  buzzing  round 
us  before  we  think  that  it  is  about  their 
time.  The  dweller  in  the  suburbs  finds, 
when  he  returns  home  in  the  evenings,  that 
Nature  has  "  credited  "  him  with  a  scarcely 
expected  increase  to  his  stock.  The  fuchsia 
drops  out  ;  the  rosesjet  out  on  the  walls  ;  the 
honeysuckle  tumbles  out  like  ointment  from 
a  magician's  pot.  Hence  it  is  that  the  heart 
of  London  is  uneasy  ;  London,  the  great 
common-place  giant,  stirs  himself,  and  sniffs 
the  country  air  afar  off.  Even  London  cannot 
eat  all  the  hay  of  the  empire,  but  will  have 
a  tumble  in  some  of  it,  at  all  events.  Hence 
a  visible  commotion  in  the  City,  and  hence 
that  bustle  specially  at  London  Bridge,  which 
I  saw  yesterday  in  the  flesh,  and  you,  the 
reader,  may  see,  by  my  aid,  in  the  spirit. 

Going  out  of  town  is  a  custom,  like  every 
other  decent  custom,  of  immense  antiquity. 
The  weather  is  not  favourable  to  cyclopaedic 
writing,  but  the  imagination  may  dwell  with 
pleasure  on  the  close  of  the  Roman  season  ! 
Fancy  the  bustle  among  the  household  slaves 
at  the  villa  of  the  master.  The  great  generals 
and  lords  went  off  to  pleasant  Baia3,  or  to 
dwellings  among  ancestral  hills  and  price- 
less beautiful  olive-trees.  The  amphora 
emerged  from  its  cool  retreat  at  Misenum ; 
and  the  dazzling  red  mullet  came  fresh 
from  the  waters  to  Brundusium.  The 
Appian  and  Flaminian  ways  were  gay  with 
chariots ;  the  fat  and  prosperous  parvenu 
sweltered  as  he  was  carried  along  in  his 
lectica.  Good-natured,  portly  Cicero  (with 
Tiro  in  charge  of  the  MSS.)  passed  into  the 
portals  of  his  country  place,  sacred  to  peace, 
cool  air,  philosophy,  and  wise  and  pleasant 
talk.  The  dandies  looked  out  their  coolest 
summer  rings  ;  and  the  great  Caesar  found  it 
too  hot  to  wear  a  laurel,  and  in  the  shade  of 
trees  happier  than  laurel  trees,  drank  cooled 
wine  and  water,  and  wrote  epigrams  ! 

Such  visions  may  or  may  not  be  present  or 
pleasant ;  but,  meanwhile,  we  are  drawing 


Charles  Dickens.] 


LONDON  BEIDGE  IN  THE  AFTERNOON. 


571 


near  to  London  Bridge.  The  Thames  has  a 
double  life.  It  is  a  river  on  a  river.  'Tis  a 
river  with  an  almost  commensurate  bulk  of 
human  life  on  the  top  of  it ;  standing  on 
London  Bridge  you  are  in  the  very  throat  of 
that  river  life.  Here  the  life  of  the  genius 
of  the  stream  (a  creation  still  with  a  force 
for  us,  as  coming  from  the  heart)  attains 
decorous  middle  age.  Father  Thames  is,  here- 
abouts, remote  pretty  equally  from  the  purity 
and  gaiety  of  his  youth,  away  among  the 
inland  hills,  and  the  grand  and  somewhat 
solemn  maturity  to  which  he  attains  when 
he  merges  into  the  sea.  Here  he  is  most 
prosperous  ;  and  the  world,  too,  has  told  on 
him,  and  you  must  take  what  he  gives  you — 
through  a  filter  ! 

The  wooden  pier  butts  out  into  the  river, 
and  everybody  is  hurrying  river-wards,  as 
steamers  of  half-a-dozen  different  sizes  swarm 
round  the  London  Bridge  arches.  Through 
one  of  these  you  catch  glimpses  of  funnels 
ringed  with  streaks  of  red  or  white — for 
it  is  Saturday  afternoon,  and  the  Herue 
comes  sailing  along — ready  to  embark  its 
passengers  for  Herne  Bay  and  Margate.  The 
river  boats  for  Chelsea  and  all  the  inter- 
mediate piers,  meanwhile,  buzz  like  bees 
alighting  round  the  landing-place,  where  the 
painted  figure  of  a  polite  gentleman  motions 
you  to  go.  Who  painted  the  polite  gentle- 
man 1  Why  is  he  attired  in  scarlet  ?  And 
why  has  he  such  a  very  fine  head  of  hair  1 
These  are  questions  which  I,  for  one,  cannot 
answer. 

Let  us  stand  here  and  observe.  Or,  if 
we  preferred  it,  we  could  go  sub  umbras,  into 
the  "Shades,"  that  is,  where  the  red-faced 
company  are  sitting  at  the  boxes  and  imbibing 
something  cool.  Everybody  feels  the  heat  a 
personal  grievance,  which  afflicts  him  in  par- 
ticular ;  and  testy,  hasty  people,  you  may 
observe,  seem  to  blame  their  neighbours  for 
it.  As  usual,  three  or  four  passengers  come 
running  down  to  the  pier  just  in  time  before 
the  gangway  contrivance  is  hauled  off.  These 
are  the  fellows  who  are  always  just  in  time, 
and  are  aware  that  there  must  be  a  minute  or 
two's  grace,  at  all  events.  But  the  panting 
little  fat  man,  who  called  out  so  sharply  "Now 
then  !  "  when  we  happened  to  be  in  the  way  of 
him  and  his  bundles,  is  distinctly  too  late.  No 
sympathy  whatever  is  felt  for  that  fat  man, 
so  he  must  see  the  boat  sway  rolling  off  with 
its  passengers  on  board,  including  the  man 
with  the  basketful  of  black,  bloated  cherries, 
and  the  eternal  vendor  of  papers  who  has 
a  comic  sheet  to  sell,  which  he  loudly 
proclaims  as  by  the  "most  popular  writers." 
I  mark  that  fat  man  as  a  specimen  of  the 
Englishman,  who  is  peculiarly  martyred  in 
hot  weather :  —  a  thick-set  man,  tightly 
'  dressed,  and  in  black,  too — impervious  to  cool 
breezes,  much  as  he  longs  for  them,  and 
oozing  at  the  forehead,  like  an  unduly  ripe 
gooseberry.  So ;  let  him  take  his  hat  off, 
and  pulling  out  the  red  handkerchief  inside 


it  (poor  fellow  ! )  rub  his  brow  at  leisure. 
There  is  a  proper  natural  connection  between 
heat  and  colour.  All  the  Oriental  nations 
wear  bright,  light  colours,  and  black  in  the 
sunshine  tints  it  with  gloom. 

Lotos-eating  is  a  pleasant  occupation,  and 
in  its  way,  a  commendable  one  (unless  you 
make  somebody  else  pay  for  the  lotoses). 
So  we  may  lounge  about  here,  motionless  in 
the  midst  of  motion,  and  watch  with  specu- 
lative eyes,  in  the  hazy  sunshine,  the  figures 
bustling  about  us.  It  is  pleasant  to  float 
easily  about  on  the  surface  of  life  these  hot 
afternoons — a  bright  cool  knob  of  ice  in  the 
cup  of  human  existence.  Muddy  as  one  knows 
the  Thames  to  be,  one  can't  help  fancying  it 
cool  and  refreshing  to  be  in,  as  it  ripples  away 
in  the  light  there.  But  even  if  one  madly 
went  off  in  a  boat  with  the  intention  of  availing 
oneself  of  the  big,  seedy-looking  barge  which 
offers  itself  as  a  private  bathing  establishment, 
what  would  one  find  there  1  The  Thames 
water,  curiously  contrived  so  as  to  exhibit  its 
repulsiveness  in  a  small  space  with  the  best 
effect,  I  apprehend.  Who  lives  there  1  Who 
looks  after  that  melancholy  row  of  flower- 
pots garnishing  the  outside  of  it  ?  The 
imagination  pauses  for  awhile  for  a  reply, 
and  then  is  diverted  by  the  sharp,  clear  hiss 
of  the  steam  from  the  Bluster.  What  an 
intensely  concentrated  fierce  white  vapour,  and 
how  quickly  it  thins  away  and  melts  into 
general  nature, — that  angry  individuality — 
like  a  fierce  man's  life  ! 

The  skippers  of  the  river-boats  have  a  very- 
nautical  appearance,  and  are  indeed  open  to 
"  chaff"  (by  the  way  is  that  word  derived 
from  chafing,  i.  e.  irritating — a  word  com- 
moner in  our  older  literature  than  now  ?)  on 
that  point.  But,  somehow,  all  public  men 
— from  Premiers  downwards — in  England,  are 
ready  to  take  care  of  themselves,  by  forms 
(more  or  less  refined)  of  that  weapon.  The 
skipper  will  defend  his  paddle-box  from 
intrusion,  if  needful,  by  the  use  of  it.  So 
the  youth  who  seats  himself  there  has  to 
come  down,  and  looks  very  red  and  guilty  at 
the  observation  which  the  skipper's  request 
is  accompanied  with.  He,  too,  like  the  fat 
man  above-mentioned,  meets  no  sympathy. 
Englishmen  for  short  distances  are  very  un- 
communicative and  unsympathising.  They 
are  ignorant  of  each  other's  presence  in 
appearance,  and  perhaps  bored  by  it  in  reality. 
It  may  be — that  external  decoration  going  but 
for  little  in  these  times — nobody  feels  quite  sure 
of  his  neighbour's  standing,  and  hovers  between 
the  fear  of  being  pushing,  or  the  fear  of  too 
much  condescension  !  Most  of  all,  does  the 
unhappy  youth  of  pleasure  of  the  inferior 
rank  of  voluptuary — the  boy  of  the  Betting 
Office — the  dandy  of  cheap  gardens — display 
an  almost  angry  scorn  at  the  neighbour  who 
pushes  near  him.  Poor  boy  ! 

The  river-boats  crowd  to  the  pier,  but  I 
cannot  call  them  ill-conducted  to-day.  The 
Bee  rubs  her  wooden  wings  against  the  Ant 


572 


HOUSEHOLD  WOftDS. 


— but  nobody  loses  temper — though  the  dull 
dead  heat  that  radiates  from  round  the  boiler 
might  irritate  au  angel.  I  see  a  vision  of 
the  engineer,  as  he  puts  up  his  head  for  an 
instant  above  that  engine-room  ladder  with 
the  dirty  steps.  A  long-suffering,  grimy,  oily 
man — canvas-aproned,  paper-capped,  perspir- 
ing, the  victim  of  two  distinct  heats — the 
fire-heat  and  the  sun- heat — man's  heat  and 
heaven's  heat.  Why  will  people  run  all  at 
once  to  the  gangway  that  only  passes  one  ?  It 
is  the  struggle  of  life  in  petto.  How  content- 
edly everybody  resigns  himself  or  herself  to 
the  skipper — though  who  knows  what  is  the 
pressure  per  pound  on  the  square  inch  this 
instant  ?  Bah  !  the  chances  are  all  against  it, 
you  say  ;  I  come  this  way  every  day  ; — so  the 
practical  man  goes  forward  and  takes  up  a 
snug  position  by  the  bow.  Is  it  not,  think 
you,  that  the  feeling  of  security  springs  from 
the  common-place  look  things  have  to  every- 
day eyes  ?  Can  anything  horrible  happen 
when  we  have  that  most  business-like  knot 
of  prim  bagmen  chatting  near  us  ?  Can  terror 
have  a  place  in  the  thoughts  near  the  fat,  dew- 
lapped  chin  of  that  heavy-breathing  old 
woman  ?  Ah  !  that  old  face — looking  madly 
for  help  from  the  water — would  be  as 
poetical  as  a  face  of  Francia's  ! 

But,  indeed,  I  call  our  view  from  London 
Bridge  a  highly  romantic  one.  The  Bee, 
there,  has  just  passed  under  the  arch  of 
Blackfriars,  and — though  she  only  charges 
fourpence  for  taking  you  ever  so  far  — 
she  carries  hundreds  of  stories  of  human 
interest  inside  of  her.  A  novel  might  be 
made  of  the  life  of  the  last  passenger  who 
went  on  board  her — the  brown-looking  man 
who  has  been  in  the  Chilian  service — who 
carried  away  in  his  schooner  the  negro  gentle- 
man who  had  been  hospitable  to  him,  and 
sold  him  in  the  West  Indies  to  pay  his  ex- 
penses home.  If  little  Rasper  could  only  get 
hold  of  one  of  his  particular  batch  of  cigars  ! 

Two  boats,  larger  than  our  wooden-winged 
friends  the  Bee  and  Ant,  are  lying  on  the 
other  side  of  the  bridge,  where  the  brigantine 
is  discharging  the  cargo  in  white  sacks,  each 
sack  most  particularly  ticked  off  by  the 
Custom  House  men  as  it  passes.  One  is 
going  to  Yarmouth  ;  the  other  I  have 
alluded  to  before  as  the  Herne.  The  Herne 
is  just  off  to  the  more  homely  watering-places 
— "  Cockney  "  watering-places  you  may  say  ; 
but  our  friend  THE  SEA  being  still  there,  not 
uninteresting  to  a  hot  man  with  eyes  in  his 
head,  and  a  heart  about  him.  Charles  Lamb 
complains  that  you  can  never  see  the  sea — 
the  great  sea  of  your  thought  and  reading — 
but  only  an  insignificant  fraction  of  it  from 
the  deck  of  a  Margate  hoy.  Thoughtful, 
humorous,  ever-pleasant  Charles !  How  he 
saw  into  things  by  means  of  having  a  heart 
to  feel  them — carrying  his  intellectual  light 
(as  a  policeman  does  his  bull's  eye)  just  over 
that  region  !  Yet,  that  said  fraction  may  be 
seen  as  well  from  the  Margate  hoy  as  from  a 


king's  state  barge,  and  we  will  not  be  simious 
and  "  snigger  "  at  the  passengers  for  Margate 
and  'Erne  Bay,  whom  the  proper  official  is 
bawling  for. 

The  official  may  possibly  think  me  in  the 
way,  for  I  lean  against  the  bar  and  look  at 
everybody,  and  don't  add  a  farthing  to  the 
company's  revenue.  But  I  have  a  duty  to 
perform.  As  Emerson  says — 

"  Blame  me  not,  laborious  band, 
For  the  idle  flowers  I  brought ; 
Every  aster  in  my  hand, 
Comes  back  loaded  with  a  thought," — • 

I  continue  to  observe  the  passengers. 

There  is  a  youth,  whose  sole  luggage  is  a 
brown  paper  parcel,  containing,  I  suppose, 
his  necessary  toilette  for  to-morrow,  and 
perhaps  an  Elzevir,  though  I  am  afraid  not. 
And  now  come  whizzing  past  me  two  ring- 
letty  girls,  following  a  most  important-looking 
old  gentleman,  who  is  preceded  by  a  nursery 
maid,  who  is  preceded  by  a  man  with  a  truck, 
full  of  luggage.  The  eldest  carries  a  book 
for  light  reading  (which,  by  the  way,  is  not 
my  novel,  as  I  see  at  a  glance,  but  a  book 
by  a  gentleman,  whom  I  well  know  to  be  an 
"  over-rated  man,"),  and  both  look  very  happy. 
But  why  does  the  next  passenger  carry  crape 
on  a  white  hat  ?  Odious  custom  !  It  looks  as 
if  he  wished  to  advertise  that  he  is  "  consoled." 
Already  the  cabins  are  filled,  and  faces  are 
peering  through  the  windows  of  them.  Peer 
away  cheerfully  while  you  can,  for  I  fear  you 
will  do  everything  but  bless  that  throbbing 
engine  with  its  dull,  dead,  monotonous  sound, 
and  the  odour  of  grease,  before  the  voyage 
be  done  ! 

I  respect  the  man  who  carries  the  huge 
pineapple,  with  the  end  just  peeping  from  a 
paper  bag.  I  respect  him  further  for  carrying 
some  ice  in  a  mysterious  straw- worked  bag, 
also.  Pineapple  and  ice  will  be  welcome  to 
the  lady  who  is  pacing  on  the  sands  this  after- 
noon, away  on  the  south  coast.  The  West 
Indies  and  the  lakes  of  Canada  are  ransacked 
for  luxury  (you  will  observe  that  I  had  been 
looking  covetously  at  the  pine),  and  the  whole 
world  is  turned  into  a  cheap  "ordinaiy." 

The  'Erne  goes  at  last,  and  still  fresh  boats 
keep  buzzing  round  the  arches  of  the  bridge. 
Seaward,  the  river  is  thick  with  masts,  and  the 
white  sails  flap,  and  seem  shaking  the  heat 
out  of  them.  The  bridge,  and  the  houses,  and 
the  ships  lie  like  a  bright  lighted  picture 
round  about  me  ;  as,  turning  away  from  the 
pier,  I  enter  a  narrow  street  of  lofty  houses, 
and  merge  into  the  many. 


On  the  2Qth  of  September  will  Tie  published,  price  5s.  6(f., 
neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FIFTH    VOLUME 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

lontaining  the  numbers  issued  during  the  half-year  ending 
on  Saturday,  September  llth,  1852. 


Published  »t  the  Offlce,  So  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  Bi 


&  KVAUB,  Whltefriara,  London. 


"Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS." — SHAKESPEABB. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS 

A   WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED     BY    CHARLES     DICKENS. 


J28.] 


SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  4,  1852. 


A  HANDFUL  OF  FOREIGN  MONEY. 

"  WHAT  have  you  had,  M's'r  ?  "  "  Demi  tasse, 
p'tit  verre,  /Ate."     "  Six  et  trois,  douze,   dix- 
neuf."    The   civil  garcon  (who  has  a    chin- 
tuft  a  guardsman  might  envy,  and  a  white 
neckcloth  more  like  that  of  a  Cabinet  Minister 
than  the  flaccid  unwholesome  wisp  of  limp 
calico  that  our  English  waiters  twist  round 
their  throats,)  goes  through  a  rapid  act  of 
calculation  of  the  extent  of  my  consommation 
at  the   cafe;  where   I  have  read   seventeen 
newspapers,  and  have  imbibed  two  little  cups 
of  coffee  (with  a  suspicion  of  cognac  in  the 
last) ;   where  I  have  been  served  off  marble, 
silver,  and  porcelain,  and  have  enjoyed,  be- 
sides, the  supplementary  privilege_of  sitting, 
for  as  long  a  period  as  I  liked,  in  a  noble 
saloon  adorned  with  a  sea  of  mirrors,  whose 
decorations  a  la  Renaissance  remind  the  spec- 
tator, not  unpleasantly,  of  the  Salon  d'Apollon 
at  the  Louvre, — all  for  the  consideration  of 
ninepence-halfpenny  sterling.     Quite  enough, 
too,  you  will  say ;  remembering  the  three-half- 
penny cup  of  coffee,  the  penny  "  slice,"  and 
chicory-stamped  periodicals   of  the    London 
cafe;  but  I  must  inform  you  likewise  that 
I    have    had   the   gratification    of    contem- 
plating a   shining   mahogany   counter,   with 
a  gorgeous    service    of   plate  thereon,    and 
an  equally  gorgeous  "  dame  de  comptoir"  be- 
hind it  (the  noblest  study  of  mankind,  begging 
the   poet's  pardon,  is — woman),   and  that  ] 
might    have   played   half-a-dozen    games    al 
dominoes,  and  have  popped  what  remaiuec 
of  my    saucer   full   of  lump-sugar   into   my 
pocket,  had  I  felt  so  disposed.     But,  enough 
I  will  take  a  walk  in  the  Elysian  fields.     '. 
give   the  garcon   a   ten-franc   piece,   and   h 
returns    me    a    handful    of    change.     He   i 
thankful  for  the  odd  halfpenny  of  which  ! 
beg  his  acceptance,  not  however  pocketing  it 
but  dropping  it  into  a  species  of  electoral  urn 
common  to  his  brother  waiters,  and  which  i 
the  repository,   I   opine,  of  their  honoraria 
though  whether  the  proceeds  are  devoted  t 
the  rehabilitation  of  their  white  neckcloths 
the    purchase  of   ball  tickets  for  the  Sail 
Valentino,  or  the  support  of  a  widow  am 
orphan's  fund,  I  am  unable  to  say.     Then  th 
gargon    gives    me    my  hat,    and,    executin 
mesmeric  passes  with  his  napkin,  bows  m 
out  like  a  lord.    Truly,  civility  costs  but  little 


mt  it  will  purchase  a  good  many  things  iu 
his  world. 

I  cross  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  always  in 
ny  eyes  a  chef  d'oeuvre  of  architectural  mag- 
nificence, but  in  which,  each  time  I  visit  Paris, 
still  find  workmen  employed,  making  it 
more  magnificent  still.    The  Grand  Avenue 
the    Champs    Elysees   is  crowded    with 
ashionable  equipages,  checquered  here  and 
here    by  omnibuses,  waggons,    and  washer- 
svomens'  carts.    Fleet  Street  commingles  here 
with  Rotten  Row.     I  sit  down  on  one  of  the 
Benches  (not  on  one  of  the  chairs,  in  good 
ooth,  for  harpies  hover  there  about  them, 
fierce  and  implacable  in  their  demands  for 
retributory  sous),  and  eye  the   aristocratic 
.urn-outs    complacently.       There    are    some 
xnomalous    vehicles    certainly,    some    queer 
iveries,    and    a    few    samples    of    harness, 
icraldry,  and  horses  that    would  not  pass 
muster  in  Long  Acre  ;  but  on  the  whole  I  am. 
^leased.    Next  to  the  pleasure  of  having  a 
Carriage  and  horses  of  your  own  comes  that 
of    admiring   and   criticising   those   of  your 
.eighbours.    Provided  always  that  you  have 
dined,  and  have  an  unimpaired  digestion. 

I  am  a  little  late,  though,  for  this  amuse- 
ment. Towards  seven  o'clock  the  grand 
carriages  bear  their  occupants  home,  or  to 
ministerial  banquets.  The  chief  of  the  State 
drives  by  in  a  pony  phaeton,  handling 
the  ribbons  himself  prettily,  and  takes  the 
road  into  the  Faubourg  St.  HonorS,  where 
his  palace  is.  A  long  string  of  carriages  and 
prancing  cavaliers,  sitting  their  horses  more 
or  less  abominably  to  English  eyes,  follow 
him ;  and  the  carts  and  waggons  bound 
towards  Neuilly  or  Boulogne  begin  to  be  in 
the  majority.  Meanwhile,  I  have  been  jing- 
ling my  handful  of  change  in  my  dexter  palm  ; 
glancing  at  the  smirking  little  soldiers  in  red 
trousers,  and  at  the  bonnes  and  little  children 
in  go-carts  and  leading  strings ;  listening 
lazily  to  the  tattoo  of  the  drums  and  the  fan- 
fare of  the  trumpets  calling  home  the  warriors 
of  France  to  their  barracks  ;  luxuriously  in- 
haling the  calm  summer  evening  air,  and 
wondering  where  the  smoke  can  be  ;  in  short, 
abandoning  myself  to  the  delights  of  doing 
nothing  with  that  intensity  which  only  those 
who  are  compelled  to  worK  hard  at  intervals 
can  appreciate. 

Man  being  a  thinking  animal — at  least  he 


128 


574 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


ought  to  be  one — I  think  a  little  while  I  cool 
my  heels  in  the  evening  breeze.  The  Elysian 
fields  are  a  capital  place  for  thought.  A  fair, 
with  round-abouts,  conjurors,  and  dancing 
booths,  goes  on  continually  in  one  part  ; 
reviews  and  inspection  of  troops  take  place 
frequently  in  another  ;  while  the  roadway  and 
its  intersecting  avenues  are  always  more  or 
less  thronged  with  vehicles.  Yet  there  are 
shady  walks,  and  sequestered  nooks  and 
benches,  far  from  the  turmoil  of  the  world, 
and  where  the  contemplative  man  may  take 
his  recreation — where  you  may  write  sonnets 
to  the  stars,  to  Lesbia,  or  to  Pyrrha,  get  a 
maiden  speech  by  heart,  or  concoct  the  rough 
draft  of  a  love  letter — and  be  all  the  while  as 
free  from  annoyance,  or  interruption,  as 
though  you  were  in  the  rat-cage  at  the  top 
of  the  Monument  on  a  rainy  day,  or  Saint 
Simon  Stylites  a-top  of  his  column  all  the 
year  round.  I  could  think,  now,  on  the 
decadence  of  empires,  the  mutabilities  of 
fortune,  the  state  of  Europe,  or  the  May- 
nooth  grant ;  but  I  find  a  subject  of  reflec- 
tion sufficiently  ample  in  the  handful  of 
change,  which  I  have  held  till  the  coins  are 
warm.  Let  me  glance  thoughtfully  at  them, 
ere  I  consign  them  to  my  waistcoat  pocket. 

Here  is  a  brave  piece  of  money — a  two- 
franc  coin,  bearing  the  effigy  of  Louis  Philippe, 
Roi  cles  Frangais,  1835.  This  looks  prosperous, 
rosy,  clean-shaven,  well-to-do  in  the  world. 
The  edges  are  neatly  milled,  the  letters  and 
numerals  cleanly  and  brightly  stamped.  The 
monarch's  whiskers  are  symmetrically  curled ; 
I  can  almost  discern  a  wink  in  the  royal  eye, 
a  mythical  finger  laid  against  the  royal  nose, 
and  that  seem  to  say :  "  Lyons  is  muzzled. 
Jacques  Lafitte  has  eaten  his  heart.  I  no 
longer  fear  the  newspapers,  for  Thiers  is 
minister,  and  Guizot  shall  be,  and  Armand 
Carrel  sleeps  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  shot  to  death. 
Rentes  are  on  the  hausse;  all  my  sons  are  brave, 
and  all  my  daughters  virtuous  ;  not  a  whale- 
bone is  loose  in  the  umbrella  of  Orleans." 
The  two-franc  piece  is  a  business-like  coin,  a 
favourite  with  the  shopkeepers,  who  call  it 
affectionately  "  the  piece  of  forty."  Next  to 
the  noble,  the  glorious,  the  bourgeoisie -beloved 
dollar,  la  belle  et  bonne  piece  de  cent  sous,  or 
"  cartwheel,"  as  the  commons  more  irreve- 
rently term  it,  which  from  1830  to  1848  was 
the  fountain  and  main-spring,  the  be  all  and 
end  all  of  French  honour,  virtue,  mercy, 
courage,  and  patriotism — next  to  this  deified 
shekel  of  Gaul,  the  two-franc  piece  is  the 
favourite  guest  at  counter  and  bureau.  Louis 
Philippe  coined  the  pieces  of  forty  by  myriads ; 
so,  on  a  smaller  scale,  are  they  patronised  by 
his  equally  business-like  son-in-law,  Leopold 
of  Belgium.  They  are  not  popular,  however, 
with  the  obese,  broadcloth-clad,  faro-drinking 
Belgians,  who  being  large  and  fat-faced,  resent 
as  an  impertinence  the  advent  of  a  coinage 
which  is  large  and  fat-faced  too.  They  even 
turn  up  their  noses  at  the  crisp,  classic  thaler  of 
Prussia ;  their  delight  is  in  "fiddler's  money," 


— battered,  pockmarked  Dutch  guilders,  Aus- 
trian zwanzigers  all  holes  and  corners,  like 
weevilly  biscuits  ;  they  have  even  a  sneaking 
kindness  for  the  abominable  silver-groschen 
of  the  Rhine  provinces. 

Next  in  my  handful  of  change  is  a  franc — 
somewhat  battered,  somewhat  worn,  slovenly 
in  what  I  may  call  the  tire  of  the  wheel,  but 
stern  and  austere-looking,  and  of  an  ashen 
hue,  very  different  from  the  smug  garishness 
of  the  Philippine  coins,  and  the  flashy, 
Britannia  metal-like  glitter  of  the  second 
republic.  The  effigy  it  bears  is  more  that  of 
an  "  ancient  Roman  than  a  Dane  "  or  of  a 
Frenchman.  Were  this  piece  bronzed,  decently 
notched,  and  passably  spotted  with  verdigris, 
I  should  (did  I  know  anything  of  numis- 
matics, which  I  don't,)  imagine  it  to  be  some 
old  medal,  stamped  with  the  head  of  Trajan 
or  of  Constantine.  But  the  lofty  forehead, 
the  eagle  eye,  the  Grecian  nose,  the  exquisitely 
chiselled  mouth,  with  its  inexorable  lips  and 
rounded  chin,  the  sparse  locks  of  hair,  and  the 
laurel  wreath  binding  the  temples,  all  belong 
to  a  modern  emperor.  The  legend  is  yet  clear 
enough  for  me  to  read  "  Napoleon  Empereur" 
and  on  the  obverse,  "  RepuUique  Francaise, 
1806."  This  was,  I  think,  after  a  certain 
ceremony  had  taken  place  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Notre  Dame,  at  which  the  Pope  of  Rome 
assisted,  and  there  must  have  been  a  good 
deal  of  the  "  RepuUique  Fran^aise "  left 
in  1806. 

A  half-franc  comes  next.  It  bears  the 
same  head — the  features  more  filled  out,  per- 
haps, and  the  expression  a  trifle  more  thought- 
ful. Let  me  look  at  the  inscription.  Ah  ! 
the  poor  "  Rtpublique  "  is  nowhere  by  this 
time,  for  here  I  read,  "Napoleon:  Empereur 
et  Roi  ;  "  on  the  obverse,  "  Empire  Fran^ais, 
1812."  I  read,  and  lo  !  like  an  army  the 
thoughts  come  rushing  on  me,  conjured  into 
life  by  this  worn  and  tarnished  fragment  of 
silver.  There  is  the  Arc  de  1'Etoile,  behind 
which  the  sun  is  bleeding  to  death  in  his 
crimson  shroud,  while  my  lady  moon  looks  on 
with  a  cold  unpitying  eye,  forgetting  that  he 
will  rise  again,  and  chase  her  from  the  skies 
to-morrow.  There  is  the  triumphal  arch,  com- 
menced by  him,  completed  by  the  king  who 
proscribed  his  family,  sculptured  over  with 
the  list  of  his  victories — lying  wonders,  many 
of  them — but  of  which  others  have  filled  the 
world  with  awe.  There,  in  the  Place  de  la 
Concorde,  where  the  golden  pillars  and 
fountains  glisten  ;  there,  far  beyond  where 
the  austere  pavilion  of  the  Tuileries,  grown 
grey  in  the  experiences  of  slaughter  and 
pillages,  bodes  among  the  cypress-like  trees, 
and  jealously  shrouds  the  bloody  Carrousel 
behind,  of  whose  courtyard  there  is  not  a 
stone  uncemented  with  gore ;  there,  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left,  by  the  marble  Madeleine, 
by  the  bridge  leading  to  the  palace  of  the 
legislature  ;  there,  down  the  long  line  of 
quays,  where  the  boy  soldiers  are  staring 
greedily  at  the  lithographed  presentments  of 


Charlei  Dickeus.1 


A  HANDFUL  OF  FOKEIGN  MONEY. 


575 


his  victories  ;  there,  by  the  dome  of  the 
Invalides,  where  his  maimed  veterans  dose  on 
the  benches;  there,  on  the  shining  river 
crossed  by  his  bridges  ;  and  there,  in  the  blue 
distance,  where  the  dismal  turrets  of  the 
Conciergerie  point  to  the  Palais  de  Justice, 
•where  las  judges  sit  to  this  day  and  expound 
his  code  ;  there,  on  every  side,  the  sign  and 
mark  of  this  man  are  for  a  wonder  and  an 
astonishment. 

But  I  have  not  come  to  the  end  of  my 
handful  of  change  yet.  I  have  a  few  more 
silver  pieces,  and  many  coppers.  I  finger  again 
another  franc — a  dull,  tasteless,  leaden-looking 
piece  of  metal  enough,  bearing  thereon  a  very 
ordinary,  common  place-looking  ledger -and- 
day-book  sort  of  head.  A  Dieu  lie  plaise, 
though,  that  I  should  be  wanting  in  respect 
to  the  possessor  of  Claremont  and  thirty 
thousand  a  year — to  a  sovereign,  moreover, 
who,  if  he  had  no  other  claim  to  respect  and 
affection,  has  this  at  least  from  English  hearts, 
that  he  was  the  husband  of  the  Princess 
Charlotte.  But  King  Leopold  does  not  shine 
advautageously  on  his  silver  coinage.  The 
laurel  wreath  sits  uneasily  on  his  brow,  and  his 
entire  position  seems  anomalous  and  uncom- 
fortable, as  perchance  his  corporeal  one  may 
be,  in  that  .hybrid  land  which  has  been  a  bone 
of  European  contention  since  Caesar's  time,  in 
that  fat,  fertile  country  of  corn-fields,  battle- 
fields, and  coal-mines,  of  Eeubens's  picturesand 
Jacques  Coeur's  carvings,  of  bread-and-butter 
sand  vviches  and  hard  eggs  (so  excellently  boiled, 
however,  that  I  am  privately  of  opinion  that  the 
hens  lay  hard  eggs  in  the  Low  Countries),  and 
whose  inhabitants  have  been  so  accustomed  to 
be  politically  bullied  from  time  immemorial — 
from  Julius  Ca3sar  to  Philip  van  Artevelde — 
from  the  Duke  of  Alva  to  Napoleon — that 
they  don't  seem  to  know  what  to  make  of 
liberty  now  they  have  got  it.  I  never  knew 
a  Belgian,  even  one  of  the  most  constitutional, 
but  who  had  a  savoury  relish  for  the  pitiably 
greasy  monks  who  infest  the  streets  and 
railway  trains.  With  all  their  liberty,  "  les 
braves  Beiges  "  are  notoriously  priest-ridden  ; 
and  with  all  their  gratitude  for  the  battle  of 
Waterloo  and  the  downfall  of  Napoleon,  eleven 
out  of  twelve  Belgians  maintain  that  the 
English  were  signally  beaten  on  that  occasion, 
only  they  were  too  stupid  to  become  aware 
of  the  fact.  They,  the  Belgians,  found  out 
their  defeat  in  what  is  familiarly  termed 
"  no  time,"  and  showed  their  superior  discri- 
mination by  running  away  as  fast  as  their 
legs  could  carry  them.  When  I  visited  the 
field  of  Waterloo,  the  guide — who  of  course 
had  been  in  the  battle,  though  I  verily  believe 
that  he  must  have  been  in  petticoats  in  1815 
took  care  to  inform  me,  while  pointing  out  the 
notabilities  of  the  landscape,  of  the  invincible 
prowess  displayed  by  the  ''  braves  Beiges" 
during  the  battle,  and  of  the  hideous  and 
crapulous  cowardice  of  the  Dutch.  He 
avowed,  while  we  were  on  the  field  and  in  the 
presence  of  a  stout  old  Indian  Colonel,  who 


ooked  liberal  but  fierce  as  well,  that  it  was  a 
1  grand  victoire"  a  glorious  day  for  Britain  ; 
but,  subsequently  discussing  a  chopine  of  sour 
beer  with  me,  he  informed  me  confidentially 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  "infame 
trahison  "  of  somebody  somewhere,  the  Eng- 
lish would  have  been  ecr-r-rases  by  the  great 
Emperor. 

Hallo !  I  thought  my  handful  of  change 
was  confined  to  France  and  Belgium.  But 
I  am  in  error.  Slides  from  between  two 
francs  a  little  shabby  greasy  disc  of  silver 
stating  itself  to  be  worth  " cinque  soldi" 
and  current,  I  suppose,  in  France  as  a  five- 
sous  piece.  Whose  is  the  head  ?  Charles 
Albert,  bland  and  kingly-looking,  and  bearing 
the  orthodox  laurel  wreath.  The  legend  states 
him  to  be  "  Dei gratid  Sardinice  Rex"  and  to 
the  best  of  my  knowledge  his  style  and  title 
was  rightly  that  of  King  of  Sardinia.  But 
what  is  this  in  addition  1  "  Cypri,  Hierosolymce 
Rex  " — King  of  Cyprus  and  Jerusalem  1  How 
about  the  King  of  Naples  1  How  about  his 
highness  Abdul  Medjid,  Sultan  of  Turkey, 
without  whose  permissory  firman  a  single 
Christian  could  not  go  up  to  the  holy  city. 
Why  should  the  King  of  Sardinia  call  himself 
King  of  Cyprus  and  Jerusalem,  when  he  is 
about  as  much  so  as  he  is  King  of  Brent- 
ford or  King  of  Oude  1  Why  should  a  king 
tell  so  gross  a  fib  in  public  1  Why  should  he 
send  forth  to  the  ends  of  Europe  so  palpable 
a  what's-its-name  upon  this  twopence-half- 
penny coin,  to  pass  himself  off  as  King  of 
Jerusalem  to  the  industrials  who  black  shoes 
and  shave  poodles  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  But 
soft :  empty  boasts  and  lying  titles  are  nothing 
to  Charles  Albert  now  ;  and  before  I  fling  a 
stone,  I  should  remember  that  we  have  glass- 
houses in  Great  Britain.  I  should  call  to 
mind,  that  not  very  many  years  have  passed 
since  our  matter-of-fact  George  the  Third  pub- 
licly styled  himself  King  of  France — at  the 
very  time,  too,  that  he  was  dispensing  with  a 
lavish  hand  the  blood  and  treasure  of  his 
kingdom,  to  help  the  King  of  France  to  his 
own  again. 

More  coins  !  but  the  coppers  begin  to  have  it 
their  own  way,  like  the  carts  and  waggons  over 
the  carriages  anon.  Here  are  three  kings 
all  of  a  row.  Louis  the  Eighteenth,  King  of 
France  and  Navarre  ;  very  fat,  very  placid, 
pomatum  and  hair- powder  visible  even  on  the 
tarnished  franc  stamped  with  his  royal  por- 
trait. Charles  the  Tenth,  also  King  of  France 
and  Navarre,  and  passing  current  now  for 
fivepence  sterling  ;  he  has  a  wan,  dissatisfied, 
mortified  expression  of  countenance,  but  the 
thin  bloodless  lips  and  quenched  eye  have  all 
the  impassible  obstinacy  of  the  fated  Bourbon 
race,  who  have  learned  nothing  and  forgotten 
nothing  in  years  of  exile  and  woe.  And,  to 
complete  the  category  of  kings  in  silver,  is  five- 
penn'orth  of  i\\eancien  regime — five-penn'orth 
of  Versailles,  hoops,  hair-powder  and  Madame 
de  Pompadour — a  demi-livre  —  a  ten-sous 
piece,  bearing  the  vera  effigies  of  Louis  the 


576 


HOUSEHOLD  WOKDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Fifteenth,  the  well-beloved.  Ah  !  Louis  the 
•well-beloved  ;  if  you  could  only  ponder  over 
my  handful  of  change,  and  see  how  the  seeds 
of  love  you  sowed,  fructified  into  a  harvest  of 
blood  and  tears,  when  the  gross  copper  sous 
of  your  grandson  Louis  the  Sixteenth  came 
into  circulation  !  The  obverse  sides  of  these 
three  kingly  coins  bear  also  the  arms  of 
France  and  Navarre  :  the  crown,  the  shield 
argent,  and  three  fleurs  de  lis.  These  were 
the  arms  of  France,  but  shall  be  never,  never 
more,  I  think. 

Come  we  to  the  coppers.  Here  we  progress 
towards  something  like  an  uniformity  of  coin- 
age. The  monetary  chaos  on  the  silver  side 
is  relieved  by  the  sober  aspect  of  these  pieces 
of  one  and  two  sous.  But  what  sobriety  1 
The  sobriety  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth,  by  the 
grace  of  God,  in  1779,  trembling  on  his  throne, 
pricked  by  encyclopedical  pens  sharpened 
with  regicide  penknives — of  the  same  Louis, 
no  longer  King  of  France  but  "  Roi  des 
Frangais"  in  the  " third  year  of  liberty," 
1792 — of  the  same  Louis,  backed  with  the  re- 
publican fasces  and  the  legend  "lafoi,  la  loi, 
le  roi,"  in  1793 — and  finally,  the  sobriety  of 
these  sprawling  rugged  two-sous  pieces — 
les  gros  sous  of  the  republic  one  and  indi- 
visible, cast  from  church  bells,  monumental 
brasses,  bronze  candlesticks  and  palace  gates, 
and  stamped  with  the  head  of  a  brazen 
woman  with  dishevelled  hair  and  a  red 
nightcap.  Stay !  One  little  silver  piece 
yet  remains :  so  thin,  so  fragile  is  it,  that  it 
has  lain  perdue  between  two  of  these  cor- 
pulent democratic  pence.  But  for  all  it  is 
of  silver,  and  bright,  and  neatly  milled, 
and  worth  full  twenty  centimes,  it  is  also 
democratic,  and  claims  kindred  with  Madame 
Bepublique  in  the  nightcap.  This  little 
coin  is  dated  1848,  and  bears  the  head  of 
a  female  in  a  semi-Grecian  costume,  a  sort 
of  medley  of  Madame  Tallien,  Lais,  Aspasia, 
and  Mademoiselle  Mars.  It  bears  for  legend 
the  redoubtable  words,  "  liberte,  egalite,  fra- 
ternite"  (similar  inscriptions  on  the  walls  and 
public  edifices  were  unfortunately  grazed 
therefrom  by  stray  cannon-balls  last  De- 
cember). Liberty,  equality,  fraternity  !  Oh, 
libei'ty  ! — oh,  Madame  Koland,  what  right 
have  I  to  take  your  words  out  of  your 
mouth  1 

The  sun  has  sunk  to  rest ;  the  twilight  has 
commenced  and  ended,  while  I  have  been 
pondering  ;  and  when  I  raise  my  eyes  from 
my  handful  of  change,  I  am  dazzled  by  the 
gaslight  festoons  from  the  "  Chateau  des  fleurs" 
close  by,  and  light  suddenly  upon  an  animated 
tableau  of  Paris  by  night.  Students  and 
grisettes  are  hurrying  to  the  joys  of  the  polka, 
and  the  valse  d  deux  temps.  Open  air  concerts 
have  commenced,  which  those  who  choose  to 
invest  capital  in  the  purchase  of  cooling 
beverages  are  privileged  to  witness  in  garden 
chairs  before  little  marble  tables,  where  they 
listen  as  luxuriously  to  the  strains  of  Doni- 
zetti and  Bellini  as  though  they  were  amateurs 


in  their  well-cushioned  stalls  at  the  opera. 
So  much  for  the  aristocracy,  but,  the  vile 
multitude,  as  M.  Thiers  politely  termed  them 
— in  the  shape  of  good-humoured  soldiers 
and  bearded  connoisseurs  in  blouses,  are  kept 
from  the  penetralia  of  the  cafe  concert  by  a  ring 
fence,  and  pass  criticisms  on  the  ravishing 
strains  which  greet  their  ears  through  the 
leaves  of  the  trees,  and  the  fumes  of  the  very 
strong  tobacco  emitted  by  their  and  their 
companions'  pipes.  The  highway  resounds 
now  with  broughams  and  coupes  with  brilliant 
lamps,  hastening  to  ball  or  soiree.  Franconi's 
Cirque  Olympique  is  surrounded  by  playbill 
sellers  and  loungers  between  the  entertain- 
ments, while,  from  the  open  skylights,  pour 
enlivening  gushes  of  equestrian  music.  The 
man  with  the  dancing  dogs  has  led  his 
dramatic  company  home  to  their  kennel ;  the 
proprietor  of  the  rouge  et  noir  table,  with 
whom  the  young  and  simple  play  for  maca- 
roons and  lose,  has  also  retired — to  try  his 
infallible  martingale,  I  suppose,  in  the  privacy 
of  domestic  life.  But,  the  magicians  yet 
remain  in  full  force ;  the  vendors  of  elixirs, 
unctions,  and  lotions,  expatiate  with  the  full 
force  of  their  lungs  on  the  unrivalled  efficacy 
of  their  nostrums ;  the  professors  of  electricity 
and  galvanism  paralyse  whole  strings  of 
little  boys.  Swords  are  swallowed,  flames 
vomited,  duets  and  trios  chanted,  merry- 
go-rounds  revolve ;  we  have  all  the  fun  of 
the  fair  without  any  of  the  fighting. 

Not  towards  these,  do  my  thoughts  incline 
this  summer  evening.  Still,  do  I  fumble 
my  handful  of  change  ;  still,  do  I  meditate 
on  these  dull  and  mute  pieces  of  metal. 
Ah !  could  some  power  endue  them  with 
tongues,  though  but  for  a  moment,  what  elo- 
quent tongues  theirs  would  be !  what  lessons 
of  history  would  be  poured  into  my  ears  !  Of 
all  memoirs,  what  could  be  more  interesting, 
more  enthralling,  more  wofully  instructive, 
than  those  of  these  silver  and  copper  tokens? 
Who  is  to  write  the  history  of  money,  and 
when  shall  it  be  written  ?  Who  shall  trace 
the  history  of  the  widow's  mite,  of  Caesar's 
tribute,  of  the  forty  pieces  of  silver  with  which 
the  potter's  field  was  bought  ? 

Of  these  pieces  of  money  I  hold,  thou, 
O  Palace  of  Tuileries,  lowering  in  the  night, 
with  one  solitary  illumined  window  like  a 
glowworm  in  the  midst,  hast  seen  the  birth 
and  the  career!  Could  the  walls  speak; 
could  the  windows  be  mirrors;  could  these 
inanimate  heads  start  from  their  silver  or 
copper  frames  ;  what  tales  would  they  tell ! 
They  are  but  emblems  and  symbols  ;  and  the 
men  of  whom  they  are  shallow  counterfeits, 
are  dust. 

As  I  muse,  a  gentleman  who  has  stopped 
to  observe  me,  taking  me  perhaps  for  a 
despondent  lover,  or  a  dramatic  author  medi- 
tating a  complicated  denouement,  accidentally 
lets  fall  a  five-franc  piece  close  to  me.  As  he 
stoops  to  pick  it  up,  I  observe  that  it  is  new 
and  bright ;  and  the  light  from  a  gas  jet 


Charles  DickenB-1 


THE  ENEMY. 


577 


fidling  on  it,  I  can  discern  a  head  as  yet 
unknown  to  me,  on  gold,  or  silver,  or  on 
copper,  but  which  is  soon  to  be,  they  say,  on 
all : — an  aquiline  nose,  a  pendant  jaw,  a 
thick  moustache  and  imperial,  .and  Louis 
NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE,  1852.  So  runs  the 
world.  There  was  ( a  Member  of  Parliament, 
I  have  heard,  who  once  seriously  contem- 
plated bringing  in  a  bill  for  the  abolition  of 
Hansard,  exposing,  as  that  publication  did, 
such  inconvenient  discrepancies  between  the 
opinions  of  honourable  members  from  session 
to  session.  I  wonder  whether  we  shall  ever 
have  a  ruler,  who,  remembering  that  com- 
parisons are  odious,  will  call  in  or  deface 
all  the  monies  of  his  predecessors.  As  it 
is,  a  handful  of  small  French  change  is  a 
-course  of  lectures,  in  miniature,  on  the  history 
of  France. 


THE  ENEMY. 


BUCKINGHAM  Palace  is  beset,  and  every 
house  in  London  is  surrounded,  by  the  force 
of  the  invader.  Throughout  the  whole  country 
every  house  is  in  a  state  of  siege  ;  nay,  every 
coach  and  every  omnibus  has  to  force  its  pas- 
sage thi'ough  a  hostile  force  that  struggles  to 
get  entrance  at  the  doors  or  windows.  We  are 
not  only  invaded,  but  we  are  subdued  ;  the 
enemy  retains  possession  of  the  country,  we 
resist,  indeed,  manfully,  but  we  resist  in  vain  : 
the  enemy  sways  over  us  and  holds  our  very 
lives  dependent  on  his  breath.  This  is  a 
reflection  mournful  to  the  sons  of  liberty. 

What  can  we  do  against  an  enemy  im- 
palpable as  the  most  tricksy  of  the  fairies  : 
that  whistles  at  us  through  our  keyholes  ; 
flaps  our  bedroom  windows,  in  jest,  at  us  when 
we  desire  to  go  to  sleep  ;  gets  under  doors 
or  through  chinks,  and  slips  (horrible  to 
relate  !)  down  our  very  throats  into  our  lungs 
while  we  are  sleeping  ?  We  do,  indeed,  fight 
for  our  liberty,  but  how  unequal  must  the 
combat  be  when  flesh  and  blood  make  war 
against  the  powers  of  the  air. 

I  wish  to  animate  my  countrymen  against 
the  common  enemy.  The  winter  campaign, 
always  the  severest,  is  approaching,  and  it  is 
time  that  we  should  begin  now  to  concert  our 
plan  of  operation.  There  is,  however,  always 
so  much  harm  done  to  the  good  cause  in  a 
contest  by  any  tendency  to  under-rate  the 
power  of  the  enemy,  that  I  think  it  worth 
while  in  the  first  place  distinctly  to  point  out 
with  whom  we  have  to  deal.  Even  in  the 
approaching  equinox  the  powers  of  the  air, 
with  martial  blast,  will  storm  our  towns  and 
penetrate  into  the  sacred  recesses  of  our 
inmost  homes.  But,  in  their  stillest  moods, 
now  while  they  are  idling  under  the  warm 
August  sun,  they  never  cease  to  shoot  at  us 
their  arrows  barbed  with  the  poison  of  rheum, 
crick,  lumbago,  and  the  other  ills  which  cause 
the  flesh  to  ache,  through  chinks  and  open 
windows,  keyholes,  even  chimnies  that  have  not 
been  guarded  by  the  aegis  of  a  chimney-board. 


Completely  to  defeat  the  monster  Air  may  be 
impossible  in  this  world  ;  but  we  may  oppose 
to  his  severe  custody  "  untamed  reluctance," 
and  be 

"  Yet  ever  plotting  how  the  conqueror  least 
May  reap  his  conquest,  and  may  least  rejoice 
In  doing  what  we  most  in  suffering  feel." 

This  is  my  counsel,  and  I  trust  I  speak  not 
only  to  those  of  my  countrymen  who  defy  the 
enemy  in  woollen  mail,  with  silken  shields, 
when 

"War  appears 

Waged  in  the  troubled  sky,  and  armies  rush 

To  battle  in  the  clouds," 

while  they  receive  the  same  foe,  open-mouthed? 
when  he  comes  down  more  quietly  upon  us. 

Whenever  the  air  moves,  it  means  mischief, 
and  the  air  is  always  moving.  When  we 
suspect  some  lurking  ill  design,  we  commonly 
say,  "  What 's  in  the  wind  now  ? "  and  the 
proverb  points  to  our  conviction  of  the  very 
certain  fact,  that  there  has  been  no  good 
brought  by  the  wind  on  any  former  occasion, 
and  that  now,  therefore,  none  is  expected. 
There  is  a  proverb,  saying,  "  It  is  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  good,"  which  has  been 
sometimes  read  with  a  forced  intonation  out 
of  its  true  sense.  Its  true  sense,  of  course,  is 
the  plain  and  direct  one,  that  the  wind  is  an 
ill  thing  which  blows  good  to  nobody.  Pro- 
verbs betray  the  feeling  of  the  people,  and 
that  the  feeling  of  the  people  is  against  all  the 
movements  of  the  air  our  proverbs  happily 
testify.  Is  there  anything  of  foul  report 
affecting  us,  we  hope  that  it  will  soon  "  blow 
over  ; "  that  is  to  say,  the  wind  which  has  a 
sympathy  for  evil  things  will,  we  hope,  take  it 
up  when  it  comes  by,  and  put  it  in  its  bosom. 
When  we  express  how  an  evil  deed  becomes 
intolerable  to  surrounding  people,  we  figure 
the  wind  as  having  come  to  it,  and  say 
sometimes  that  it  is  "  blown  upon."  When 
a  lady  is  disagreeable  to  the  slight  extent 
possible  in  members  of  the  fair  sex,  the  fact 
is  expressed  by  saying  that  "  she  gives  herself 
airs."  A  kind  of  praise  that  we  despise  is 
called  "  a  puff."  A  quarrel  in  a  household  is 
by  its  younger  members  called  "  a  breeze." 
Passion  is  said  to  come  "  in  gusts  ; "  and  many 
more  expressions  that  have  made  for  them- 
selves nests  upon  the  English  tongue,  will  be 
found  by  any  reader  who  will  carefully  take 
stock  of  the  phrases  with  which  his  own 
mouth  is  fitted  up.  The  only  good  idea  in  the 
suggestion  of  which  wind  takes  part  is 
perhaps  "  windfall,"  unexpected  good  fortune, 
as  unexpected  and  most  happy  any  events 
must  be  that  associate  the  idea  of  something 
fallen  with  our  braggart  enemy. 

How  great  and  powerful  an  enemy  the  air 
is  to  the  sons  of  earth  was  very  well  known 
to  the  ancients  with  whom  wisdom  dwelt 
Anaximenes,  an  ancient  philosopher  whom 
St.  Augustine,  an  ancient  father,  terms  an 
Atheist  for  his  pains,  regarded  the  air  as 
a  sort  of  god,  the  cause  of  everything.  Air, 


578 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conductedby 


taught  Christian  Thomasius,  is  a  spirit  :  and 
he  defined  its  sex  ;  it  is  a  female  spirit — 
light  is  its  mate,  the  male.  If  light  be  not 
the  male,  and  air  the  female  spirit,  what  is 
air?  —  and  here  I  will  repeat  Christian 
Thomasius  his  argument  for  the  convincing  of 
all  doubtful  minds.  If  air  be  not  a  spirit,  then 
of  course  it  is  a  body  :  now,  says  Thomasius, 
it  is  not  a  light  body  because  its  nature  is 
without  light ;  it  is  not  a  dark  body  because 
it  casts  no  shadow,  and  can  be  seen  into.  It 
is  not  transparent,  for  we  see  not  to  the  end  of 
it  or  through  it,  as  in  the  case  of  water  and 
glass.  It  is  not  a  body  ;  therefore,  according 
to  the  showing  of  Thomasius,  the  air  is 
a  spirit,  and  its  forces  are  impalpable, 
unearthly. 

To  increase  our  notion  of  the  power  of  the 
enemy  with  whom  it  is  our  duty  to  con- 
tend, let  us  look  at  him  from  another  point 
of  view.  Air  never  was  subdued  by  any 
human  prince ;  and  because  nobody  can 
subdue  it,  the  law  by  a  fiction  allows  any 
one  to  master  it  who  can.  It  is  made  com- 
mon in  law,  or,  as  the  old  jurists  phrase  it, 
it  is  put  among  the  res  communes  quoad  usum 
juridicum.  Gryphiander  did  indeed  consider 
air  to  be  a  part  of  the  regalia,  or  rights  and 
possessions  of  the  king,  because  it  was  not 
allowed  in  his  country  and  time  for  any  man 
to  erect  windmills  without  royal  licence  ;  the 
same  was  the  case  with  water  mills  ;  and  so 
there  were  said  to  be  vested  in  royalty  the 
rights  of  wind  and  water.  Mascard  (de 
probat.  Concl.)  differed  from  this  argument, 
but  yet  conceded  to  kings  the  dominium 
aeris,  the  power  over  air,  because,  in  exer- 
cise of  his  right,  he  suspends  thieves  in  mid 
air  upon  gibbets  ;  also,  by  the  string  put 
about  their  throats,  and  pressing  on  their 
wind-pipes,  he  deprives  them  of  the  use  of 
air,  which  he  could  not  do  if  air  were  not  his 
to  give  or  to  withhold.  Nevertheless,  the 
wind  blows  as  it  listeth  ;  and,  in  spite  of 
the  arguments  of  a  few  scholiasts  and  book- 
men, air  is  declai-ed  common  in  law,  and  to 
build  castles  in  it  is  not  accounted  trespass. 
It  is  also  open  to  a  man,  when  he  builds  on  a 
piece  of  ground,  to  build  into  the  whole 
column  of  air  that  is  above  it ;  and  as  the 
height  of  the  atmosphere  is  about  forty-five 
miles,  it  will  be  seen  that  this  privilege  is 
of  considerable  extent.  Nevertheless,  no  man 
has  succeeded  in  securing  the  possession  of 
such  rights.  The  rooms  we  build  into  the 
air  above  our  patch  of  soil  are  entered  by  the 
air,  and  held  by  it  in  occupation  even  more 
constant  than  our  own.  We  go  out  for 
walks  or  upon  business,  leaving  the  house 
empty  ;  our  enemy  never  quits  its  occupation 
of  a  single  room.  If  we  encroach  so  far  as  to 
raise  a  structure  very  many  feet  above  the 
soil  from  which  we  start,  it  will  inevitably 
happen  that  our  enemy  some  day,  venting 
his  anger  thereupon,  will  tumble  it  about  our 
heads.  The  air,  therefore,  is  untamed,  and 
rides  superior  to  the  strongest  of  the  princes 


of  the  earth — how  much  more  must  it  ride 
superior  to  us  poor  work-a-day  resisters  of 
its  tyranny  ! 

The  Jews  were  happy,  if  it  be  true,  as 
I  have  seen  stated  in  print,  that  there  is  no 
word  for  air  in  the  Hebrew  language.  The 
notion  of  air,  it  is  said,  though  the  word 
appears  now  and  then  in  our  version  by 
a  mistranslation,  nowhere  occurs  in  the  Old 
Testament.  If  the  Jews  looked  on  the  air 
as  nothing,  they  were  happy  fellows.  Are 
there  Hebrew  words  for  draughts,  for  colds, 
for  rheumatism,  for  lumbago  ?  I  suppose 
not.  Is  there  a  Hebrew  root  meaning 
chimney  -  board  or  flannel  jacket?  If  the 
patriarchs  were  not  involved  in  contest  with 
the  enemy  who  now  besieges  us  relentlessly 
in  doors  and  out  of  doors,  and  if  this  fact  be 
clearly  understood,  there  is  an  end  for  ever  of 
all  marvel  at  the  great  age  attained  by 
Methusaleh  and  his  compatriots. 

As  for  the  other  elements — of  course  I  recog- 
nise no  more  than  four — they  are  all  subject 
to  our  tyrant.  Fire  depends  on  air  for  its 
existence  ;  water  must  take  to  itself  air  if  it 
would  preserve  life  in  its  subject  community 
of  fishes.  The  fallow  earth  depends  on  air  for 
its  fertility.  As  for  animals,  they  all  have 
open  gates  established  in  the  outside  walls  of 
their  bodies — call  them  nozzles  or  by  what 
other  name  you  please — through  which,  on 
peril  of  their  lives,  they  are  bound  to  allow 
constant  entrance  and  egress  to  the  despot 
air.  We  cannot,  therefore,  altogether  throw 
the  tyrant  off,  but  we  can  wage  a  petty  war 
against  him,  and  we  will. 

Why,  for  instance,  is  it  sometimes  hot  and 
sometimes  cold  ?  Why  are  we  persecuted  by  east 
winds  ?  Why  don't  the  air  leave  us  in  peace  to 
enjoy  a  pleasant  even  temperature  ?  Who  is 
to  believe  the  doctors  who  assert  that  fluctua- 
tions of  temperature  go  far  to  promote  the 
bodily  and  mental  health  and  vigour  of  a 
man  ?  I  take  it  that  the  human  body  is  a 
warm  mass,  commonly  warmer  than  the  air  ; 
and  I  wish  to  know  why  this  mass,  which 
ought  to  be  warm  and  is  meant  to  be  warm, 
should  be  blown  upon  and  cooled,  like  porridge, 
by  any  north  wind  that  the  air  may  please  to 
send  to  treat  us  roughly,  or  made  unduiy  hot 
by  any  summer  south  wind  that  the  same  air 
may  delegate  to  come  up  and  hold  over  us 
oppressive  sway  ?  Our  warm  bodies  do  indeed 
resist  the  winds,  and  do  preserve  in  all 
seasons  the  same  average  of  heat  ;  but  I  am 
scandalised  at  being  told  that  even  these  our 
bodies,  like  the  outer  air,  play  daily  at  see- 
saw ;  and,  that  the  rule  which  subjects  miser- 
able men  to  shifting  temperature,  penetrates 
even  through  the  substance  of  their  flesh. 

Now,  when  a  man's  body  is  so  delicately 
organised,  that  its  temperature  all  day  long  is 
shifting  to  and  fro  in  this  tremulous  way,  I 
do  say  that  it  is  a  very  terrible  thing  to 
consider  how  the  external  air  blows  hot  or 
cold,  establishes  simooms,  typhoons,  whirl- 
winds, draughts,  hurricanes,  and  smoky 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  ENEMY. 


57.9 


chimneys,  and  passes  in  all  states  through 
the  portal  of  our  noses,  in  and  out  without 
any  reference  to  the  wishes  of  us  men  or 
women,  delicately  organised  as  aforesaid.  The 
air  itself  is  in  confusion  :  it  is  warm  below  and 
cold  above,  the  earth  acting  as  a  warming- 
pan  in  the  midst  of  it.  Its  temperature 
diminishes  one  degree  for  about  every  three 
hundred  and  fifty-two  feet  of  distance  from 
this  warming-pan.  And  yet  the  upper 
currents  are  perpetually  plunging  down  into 
the  lower,  and  the  lower  soaring  up  into  the 
upper,  and  we  are  born  to  stand  all  this  !  The 
seasons  alter  and  the  wind  shifts,  and  we  are 
expected  to  live  through  it  all.  There  is  this 
air  all  about,  as  an  elastic  fluid  some  eight 
hundred  times  lighter  than  water,  full  of 
streams  and  currents  and  of  different  degrees 
of  heat,  perpetually  on  the  dance  about  our 
ears,  and  it  is  expected  that  we  are  to  walk 
about  in  it,  and  never  mind.  We  do  mind.  A 
wind  is  a  draught  on  a  large  scale,  and  we  do 
mind  it.  If  it  were  true  that  winds  come  from 
a  cave  of  ^Eolus,  and  we  could  find  the  cave,  I 
for  one  would  subscribe  for  a  great  soot-bag, 
chimney-board,  or  bran  cushion  to  thrust 
over  the  mouth  of  it,  and  stop  the  horrid 
draught. 

That  being  impossible,  we  must  do  what 
we  can.  We  can  fight  with  little  streams 
of  air,  though  we  are  no  match  for  the  big 
ones.  We  can  put  list  round  our  doors, 
cover  the  joints  of  our  windows,  stop  our 
chimneys  up  when  there  is  no  fire  under 
them,  put  our  heads  at  night  under  bed- 
clothes, and  box  ourselves  up  in  a  square 
hole  among  bed-clothes  and  bed-curtains, 
to  keep  out  the  enemy.  We  will  frown 
at  the  wretch  who  lets  a  window  down 
in  any  coach  or  omnibus ;  we  will  wrap 
comforters  over  our  mouths,  when  the  air 
is  too  cold,  to  comfort  us  ;  we  will  build 
theatres,  churches,  and  public  rooms,  with 
the  smallest  possible  recognition  of  our  de- 
pendence upon  the  enemy  for  life  and  health  ; 
since  Britons  must  be  slaves  in  some  degree 
to  this  all-powerful  invader  of  their  hearths 
and  homes,  they  will  not  be  slaves  more  than 
they  can  help.  Let  chimney-boards  defend 
the  hearth,  shut  windows  all  day  long,  close 
bed-rooms,  with  listed  sitting-rooms  protect 
the  home.  He  is  no  true  John  Bull  who  throws 
his  doors  and  windows  open  to  the  foe. 

True  though  it  be  that  we  cannot  prevent 
our  enemy,  the  air,  from  being  to  a  certain 
extent,  though  unwelcome  as  a  bailiff,  in 
possession  of  our  premises,  there  remains  to 
us  one  easy  revenge.  It  can  be  poisoned. 
Let  no  nice  conscience  start  off  with  a 
shudder.  It  is  a  thing  that  is  done  every 
day.  We  are  all  poisoners,  though  not 
deliberately  so  ;  for  it  is  a  remarkable  fact, 
and  a  distinct  proof  of  the  natural  antipathy 
that  must  have  been  intended  to  exist  be- 
tween man  and  his  enemy  the  air,  that  our 
mere  presence  acts  as  poison  on  the  air  in  our 
vicinity.  The  tenderest  of  ladies  who  as- 


sembles friends  in  a  large  party,  and  fills  her 
drawing-rooms,  is  an  accomplice  with  me  in 
the  crime  which  I  commit,  and  would  have 
all  men  to  commit  as  they  have  opportunity 
— poison  the  air.  Fellow  combatants  against 
the  enemy,  never  count  the  square  feet  in 
your  rooms,  before  you  count  the  noses  that 
shall  come  into  them  ;  when  you  have  air 
well  shut  into  your  bed-rooms,  poison  it,  and 
feed  upon  its  corpse.  You  shoot  a  deer 
before  you  eat  its  venison  ;  and  if  you  must 
feed  upon  air,  you  are  entitled  to  do  by  it  as 
you  do  by  deer,  sheep,  oxen,  everything  but 
oysters  ;  that  is,  to  destroy  its  life  in  the  first 
instance.  It  lies  with  our  opponents  to  show 
why  air  should  be  eaten  like  an  oyster  ;  and 
if  so,  if  it  is  to  be  taken  into  our  bodies  in  a 
living  state,  why  it  should  be  taken  without 
vinegar  and  pepper. 

Poison  the  air  !  Cut  its  throat  you  cannot; 
kill  it  with  a  sledge-hammer  you  cannot ; 
poison  it  you  can.  You  might  plant  in  vain 
a  guillotine  upon  your  first  or  second  floor, 
but  a  great  deal  may  be  done  against  the 
enemy,  when  he  has  got  into  your  house, 
by  undermining  him  with  some  good  drains 
leading  to  a  sink  or  rat-hole.  Whenever 
you  smell  drains,  you  may  be  sure  that 
the  power  of  our  common  enemy  is,  for  the 
time  being,  efficiently  antagonised.  The 
broad  winds  blow  about  the  world,  and  the 
air  rides  high  above  the  worst  of  our  assaults, 
but  nevertheless  we  can  do  much  to  eman- 
cipate ourselves,  if  we  persist  constantly  in 
catching  small  detachments  of  the  enemy, 
hedging  them  in  corners  and  confined  spaces, 
and  there  holding  them  and  sticking  close 
to  them  until  they  are  destroyed. 

Against  an  enemy  mightier  than  any 
human  despot,  I  would  be  a  Tell  or  Hofer, 
if  I  could.  Let  us  not  be  slaves  to  our 
senses.  It  is  said,  to  our  shame,  that 

"  The  eye — it  cannot  choose  but  see ; 

We  cannot  bid  the  ear  be  still ; 
Our  bodies  feel,  where'er  they  be, 
Against  or  with  our  will." 

But  we  can  shut  our  eyes  against  the  light, 
and  very  often  do  ;  we  can  stop  our  ears  ; 
and  as  for  the  feeling  in  our  bodies,  we  can 
conquer  that  with  chloroform.  Shall  it  be 
said,  then,  that  we  are  compelled  to  be  de- 
pendent on  the  air  for  life  ?  The  time  is  not 
yet  indeed  come  when  we  may  with  safety 
plug  our  mouths  and  noses,  as  we  close  our 
eyes  or  plug  our  ears ;  but  we  can  do  the 
next  best  thing  to  that — we  can  plug  up  the 
next  surrounding  shell.  We  can  plug  up 
the  house,  the  room,  the  carriage  in  which 
mouths  and  noses  are ;  we  can  decree  that  all 
shall  be  made  air-tight  within  a  circle  of 
so  many  feet  around  the  said  mouths  or 
noses,  and  that  the  air  within  that  circle 
shall  be  further  poisoned  ;  and  any  candid 
man  will  own  that  the  next  step  would  be, 
if  we  could  but  take  it,  the  wearing  of  an 
impervious  muffler  over  mouth  and  nose. 


580 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


[Conducted  by 


At  present  there  exists  the  objection  that 
such  mufflers  would  cause  very  speedy  and 
uncomfortable  death  ;  whereas,  in  our  pre- 
sent warfare,  they  who  fall,  die  comfortably 
in  their  beds,  and  yet  merit  the  fame  of 
having  been  slain  like  heroes  in  a  war  of 
independence,  after  a  long  struggle  against 
the  besieger  of  their  hearths  and  homes. 


TOM'S  SALAD  DAYS. 


IF  you  had  known  anything  of  Tom 
Racketts,  of  Loggerhead  College,  Bullferry, 
you  would  have  thought  him  a  dangerous 
acquaintance,  and  an  unlikely  man  to  go  into 
the  Church.  Tom  could  do  everything  that  a 
young  man  should  not  do,  in  order  to  get  on 
at  the  University,  or  in  the  world  at  large. 
He  never  did  any  wilful  harm,  and  was  so 
good-natured,  that  he  never  spent  so  much  as 
*he  double  of  his  income  ;  which,  in  a  Logger- 
head man,  showed  a  consideration  for  trades- 
men not  often  displayed.  It  is  a  pity  that 
Tom  drove  so  well,  and  had  friendships  with 
fighting  men ;  for,  he  could  not  be  a  coachman 
by  profession,  and  was  no  real  admirer  of 
brutality.  But,  he  liked  to  be  thought  a  fast 
man,  though  he  was  industrious  enough  to 
make  himself  a  tolerable  scholar. 

Some  years  ago,  quitting  the  pleasures  of 
the  University,  I  left  Tom  reading  for  the 
Church,  to  betake  myself  to  geometrical 
instruments,  Vitruvius,  and  working  draw- 
ings. Studying  as  an  architect  I  went  to 
Italy.  Justified  in  raving  about  the  wonders 
of  the  Sistine  Chapel — armed  with  leaning 
towers,  chess-boards  in  Sienna  marble  and 
lapis  lazuli,  and  pewter  saints — in  due  time  I 
returned  to  England. 

Of  course  it  was  some  time  before  I  had 
bored  the  whole  of  my  friends  who  had  not 
seen  Italy,  and,  although  the  design  for  the 
Tipplebarton  charity  schools  was  yet  incom- 
plete, I  one  day,  in  search  of  a  new  listener, 
set  out  by  rail  for  the  little  village  of  Coddleton, 
wherein  my  friend  Tom  now  resides  as 
curate. 

Tom,  in  a  white  tie,  seemed  to  me  a  notion 
as  incongruous  as  Queen  Elizabeth  in  a 
Bloomer  dress.  Perhaps  he  in  his  turn  would 
feel  equally  bewildered  by  the  moustachios  I 
had  brought  from  Italy.  Certainly,  I  de- 
termined, I  would  go  and  see. 

I  was  dropped  with  a  carpet-bag  at  the 
pretty  little  gothic  Vastbourne  station,  and, 
as  no  train  was  to  come  up  for  some  time,  I 
pressed  a  porter  into  the  service  and  walked 
along  the  line,  which  was  a  nearer  way  than 
going  by  the  road  under  the  hill,  which  shaded 
Coddleton  from  view. 

Through  five  or  six  hundred  yards  of  chalk 
excavation,  I  at  length  reached  an  opening, 
and  had  a  prospect  at  command.  The  day 
was  sunny,  half-autumnal,  and  the  distant 
hills — piled  up  with  foliage,  but  now  and  then 
disclosing  an  odd  patch  of  chalk,  or  houses 
peeping  from  unlikely  hiding-places — formed 


a  gay  frame  to  the  picture.  A  water-mill 
was  mixing  for  itself  an  effervescing  draught 
on  a  grand  scale,  and  a  snug  batch  of  farm- 
houses in  the  foreground  gave  a  wholesome 
work-a-day  effect  to  the  whole  scene. 

On  we  went,  with  the  hills  looking  down 
upon  us  on  both  sides,  as  we  performed  our 
matter-of-fact  journey  along  rails  and  sleepers. 
At  length,  a  long  pole  marked  the  point  of 
our  arrival  at  the  little  road  which  led  from 
the  great  trunk  direct  to  my  friend's  village  ; 
so  I  relieved  the  porter  of  my  carpet-bag, 
and  left  the  great  trunk  to  pursue  its  journey 
to  Carlisle  or  whither  else  it  pleased. 

Tom  was  from  home,  and,  as  the  parish 
comprehended  a  loose  range  of  some  four 
miles  in  extent,  it  was  of  little  use  for  me  to 
start  out  on  a  voyage  of  discovery.  I  found 
that  the  said  Tom  kept  capital  porter — a 
remnant  of  Oxford  partialities ;  and  that  he 
even  still  preferred  a  tankard  to  a  tumbler. 
As  I  did  not  feel  tired,  I  took  some  slight 
refreshment,  and  went  out  to  look  at  my 
friend's  parish  and  parishioners. 

Tom's  house  was  in  a  lane  looking  upon 
the  railway,  and  if  you  looked  at  its  gabled 
exterior,  and  the  grotesque  crossings  of  brown 
beams  upon  the  dun  yellow  plaster — above 
all,  if  you  looked  at  the  pretty  porch  covered 
with  roses,  at  the  little  flower-garden  in  front, 
and  the  more  extensive  array  of  vegetables 
and  fruit  trees  covering  the  slope  behind  and 
at  the  side  of  it,  you  would  have  gone  home 
dreaming  of  wedding  rings  and  evening  walks. 
Within,  the  well-filled  book- cases,  the  slips  of 
paper  strewed  about  on  tables,  chairs,  and 
floor,  betrayed  an  unhusbandly  devotion  to 
books.  Tom  had  evidently  taken  to  reading. 

I  walked  up  the  lane,  and,  passing  a  row  of 
houses  similar  to  the  one  tenanted  by  Tom, 
met  with  a  few  of  his  parishioners.  Healthy 
children,  clean  or  dirty,  as  the  case  might  be, 
were  playing  about  with  a  perfect  freedom 
from  the  fear  of  being  run  over,  which 
children  in  towns  ought  to  feel,  but  never  do. 
One  party  was  diverting  itself  with  a  jack- 
daw. The  bird  did  not  seem  to  fear  the 
children.  He  ran  along  the  road,  ran  under 
their  feet,  suffered  himself  to  be  taken  up  by 
one  wing,  or  by  both,  by  the  neck,  the  legs,  or 
bodily,  and  seemed  perfectly  satisfied  with 
the  behaviour  of  his  friends.  Only  he  was  not 
a  carriage  bird  ;  he  would  not  suffer  himself 
to  be  drawn  triumphantly  in  a  half  bottom- 
less frying-pan,  and  persisted  in  slipping  out 
of  this  extemporaneous  vehicle. 

Passing  a  barn  decorated  with  the  remains 
of  owls,  kites,  and  other  offenders  who  had 
paid  the  extreme  penalty  of  the  law,  and 
wondering  whether  such  a  spectacle  could 
have  as  great  an  effect  upon  ornithological,  as 
public  executions  have  upon  human  morality, 
I  came  to  a  spot  of  singular  beauty.  One 
side  of  the  road  formed  an  abrupt  foot-path, 
shaded  densely  by  tall  ashes,  winding  round 
the  hill,  while  the  other,  taking  an  almost 
equally  abrupt  declivity,  disclosed  a  cluster  of 


Charles 


TOM'S  SALAD  DAYS. 


581 


rough  stone  cottages,  set  thick  in  a  mosaic 
bordering  of  nollyhocks  and  sunflowers.  This 
was  the  pith  of  Coddleton — Coddletou  proper. 

Walking  about  and  chatting  with  men, 
women,  and  children,  I  soon  found  that  Tom's 
good-nature  had  succeeded  in  winning  some 
friends  quite  as  warm  as  those  with  whom  he 
used  to  drive  and  drink  at  Loggerhead.  He 
seemed  to  be  very  well  known,  and  unques- 
tionably popular.  My  heart  yearned  towards 
the  old  fellow,  and  I  retraced  the  way  towards 
his  cottage. 

Tom  met  me  at  the  gate,  and  we  said  as  little, 
and  said  that  little  as  heartily,  as  two  people 
do  sometimes  when  they  have  not  met  since 
the  state  of  both  has  undergone  great  change. 
We  were  soon  lounging  on  the  American 
arm-chairs,  talking  about  everybody  whom 
each  had  or  might  have  seen  during  the 
interval  since  our  last  meeting. 
'  Tom's  household  consisted  of  an  old  woman 
and  her  daughter,  a  middle-aged  woman.  He 
rented  the  best  part  of  their  house,  to  wit, 
a  sitting-room  and  bed-chamber,  and  they 
cooked  and  "  did  for "  him.  There  was  not 
much  society  about  the  place  ;  but,  the  vicar, 
he  said,  was  rich,  and  gave  good  "  feeds,"  at 
which  his  curate  was  of  course  always  pre- 
sent. The  vicar  was  likewise  indolent,  with 
strong  non-resident  tendencies,  and  Tom  was 
not  sorry  to  be  left  much  to  himself.  Sir  Basil 
Pump,  the  wealthy  merchant  out  of  Aldgate, 
was  his  next  door  neighbour,  and  helped 
heartily  when  money- was  desired  for  a  good 
purpose.  Tom  got  also  the  use  of  Sir  Basil's 
horses,  and  a  quiet  "  trap  "  now  and  then  ;  so 
that  he  still  indulged  his  old  tastes  in  a 
moderate  way. 

Tom  had  recently  lost  his  father,  and  his 
honest  face  was  often  overcast  with  a  look  of 
sad  remembrance.  His  mother  and  sisters 
paid  him  a  brief  visit  but  a  few  days  since  ; 
and  T  thought,  as  he  took  up  one  or  two  of 
the  books  which  I  recollected  having  seen  at 
Trafford  vicarage,  there  was  a  little  quiver  on 
his  lip.  But  it  was  pleasing  to  see  the  bustle 
that  his  room  betokened.  The  reports  of 
schools  and  baths  and  wash-houses,  piles  of 
little  books  for  distribution,  prospectuses  of 
various  schemes  for  social  benefit,  clerical 
almanacs,  files  of  magazines,  and  even  a  copy 
of  the  University  Commission,  showed  that 
Tom's  mind  was  upon  the  things  around  him, 
as  well  as  upon  the  revival  of  his  college 
studies. 

We  strolled  down  to  see  the  school,  which 
had  been  recently  done  up.  It  was  clean, 
compact,  and  well  conducted,  but  sadly  inade- 
quate to  the  requirements  of  the  place.  Sir 
Basil,  however,  to  whom  the  surrounding 
neighbourhood  owed  much  of  its  prosperity 
and  comfort,  was  supposed  to  have  good 
intentions.  Tom  intimated  his  purpose  of 
introducing  me  to  the  worthy  knight  that 
evening. 

The  church  was  in  capital  condition  ;  and  I 
mentally  resolved  to  run  up  again  with  a 


Saturday  return  ticket,  and  hear  Tom  hold 
forth  from  his  pulpit.  The  vicar  appeared  to 
be  a  nonentity :  moderately  liberal,  but  with- 
out any  care  to  see  a  just  use  made  of  the 
money  he  bestowed — hospitable  to  the  sur- 
rounding gentry,  without  caring  to  extend  his 
influence  for  good.  He  seldom  spent  more- 
than  six  weeks  in  the  parish  at  a  time.  How- 
ever, the  living  was  a  small  one,  and  he  paid- 
Tom  a  sufficient  stipend. 

We  sat  down  to  a  plump  fowl  and  a  few 
slices  of  ham,  and  I  soon  found  that  Sir  Basil's 
stock  of  the  good  things  of  this  world  was 
very  much  at  Tom's  disposal.  Moreover,  I 
remarked  anti-macassars  and  a  kettle-holder, 
all  new,  and  remarkably  elaborate.  Of  course, 
I  did  not  hazard  any  remarks  that  looked  like 
curiosity.  When  dinner  was  over,  Tom,  don- 
ning a  straw  hat  and  an  old  dressing-gown, 
produced  a  cigar-box.  He  saw  no  harm 
therein,  neither  did  I. 

But  all  my  friend's  mischievous  propensities- 
were  gone.  To  be  sure,  his  eye  kindled  once 
or  twice  as  some  college  prank  was  called  to 
mind,  and  he  pointed  to  a  couple  of  whips 
hanging  behind  the  door,  as  well  as  to  a 
cornopean,  that  at  one  period  had  been  the  evil 
genius  of  the  Loggerhead  reading  men.  He 
even  confessed  to  having  lost  a  trifle  by  not 
hedging  on  Mary  Blane,  but  he  seemed  half 
ashamed  of  this  last  lurking  peccadillo.  For 
my  own  part,  I  felt  almost  glad  to  see  some 
traces  left  of  Tom's  old  nature.  T  have  weak 
faith  in  violent  reforms.  All  the  fine  parts  of 
Tom's  character  had  ripened  ;  his  generosity 
had  become  chastened  by  judgment  ;  his 
ready  good-nature  made  his  lessons  of  religion 
and  good  conduct  interesting  and  convincing 
to  his  flock ;  and  the  interest  he  took  as  a 
pupil  in  agricultural  matters  and  the  every- 
day pursuits  of  those  around  him,  inspired  a 
confidence  which,  in  turn,  secured  attention  to 
his  doctrine  when  it  was  his  turn  to  teach. 

After  a  few  hours'  chat,  Tom  paid  a  visit  to 
a  sick  old  woman,  while  I  busied  myself  with 
his  books.  When  he  returned,  \ve  set  out  for 
his  knightly  neighbour's  mansion.  It  was  a 
beautiful  place,  owned  by  a  widower,  who 
seemed  to  be  so  much  devoted  to  his  pretty 
daughter,  Fanny,  that  you  would  have  thought 
he  had  no  time  for  the  remembrance  of  his 
wife.  But  it  was  quite  the  reverse  :  he  had 
experienced  deep  sorrows  as  well  as  unbounded 
prosperity ;  but  he  softened  his  reflections  of 
the  one  by  making  good  use  of  the  other. 

I  do  not  know  whether  the  old  knight  or 
his  daughter  seemed  most  glad  to  see  Tom, 
nor  by  what  arrangement  I  and  Sir  Basil  fell 
into  conversation  so  closely,  while  neither 
Tom  nor  Fanny  appeared  to  have  the  least 
interest  in  our  discourse.  But,  I  could  not 
help  observing  Tom's  initials  to  some  very,  I 
might  say,  affectionate,  birthday  lines  in  an 
album  that  I  chanced  to  open.  I  observed 
that,  when  we  strolled  out  on  the  lawn,  Fanny 
did  not  seem  to  object  to  my  friend's  tying 
the  ribbons  of  her  straw  hat,  and  I  am  not 


582 


HOUSEHOLD  WOJiDS. 


[Conducted  by 


quite  certain  whether  Sir  Basil  did  not  give  a 
quiet  chuckle  over  the  operation  thus  per- 
formed. 

Sir  Basil  talked  to  me  about  a  design  for 
the  school-house,  and  hinted  at  a  change  in 
his  family  that  would  involve  some  consider- 
able alterations  in  his  dwelling,  and  how  glad 
he  was  to  have  fallen  in  with  an  architectural 
friend  of  Tom's.  I  thought  his  conversation 
profitable. 

We  left  early.  Tom  always  read  prayers, 
night  and  morning,  to  his  housekeeper  and 
her  daughter ;  and  even  Fanny,  had  she  wished 
it,  could  not  have  caused  him  to  forget  so 
simple  and  conscientious  a  duty.  I  was  to  be 
up  early  to  go  with  Sir  Basil  to  a  meeting  of 
landlords  at  some  distance,  and  we  went, 
therefore,  quietly  to  bed. 

I  could  not  detail  the  delightful  manner  in 
which  I  spent  the  next  four  or  five  days,  any 
more  than  I  could  describe  my  satisfaction 
at  the  agreeable  nature  of  Tom's  prospects. 
But,  I  thought  of  the  influence  which  good 
circumstances  would  bring  ;  of  the  further 
development  of  his  high  feeling  and  good- 
heartedness  ;  and  of  the  chastened  soberness 
of  disposition,  which  the  farewell  to  a 
bachelor's  life  would  bring  with  it. 

When  I  thought  of  Tom's  ambition,  "in  his 
salad  days,  when  he  was  green  in  judgment," 
to  be  seen  in  stables  at  all  hours  of  the  day  ; 
of  his  uncouth  dress  and  careless  conversa- 
tion— when  I  reflected  upon  our  breakfasts  of 
beer  and  cigars,  our  extravagant  luncheons 
and  suppers,  our  dinners  anywhere  but  in 
"  hall " — when  I  summed  up  the  mass  of  bills 
that  used  to  be  displayed  in  the  chinks  of  the 
looking-glass  frame,  before  they  were  jerked 
into  the  fire — I  could  not  help  saying,  as  I 
shook  hands  with  him  on  the  railway  plat- 
form :  "  A  great  change  for  the  better,  Tom, 
a  great  change  for  the  better  !  " 


CHIPS. 


THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP. 

ONE  of  the  early  Italian  novelists  has  left 
us  an  anecdote  of  a  pleasant  old  Florentine 
gentleman,  Scolaio  Franchi  by  name,  which, 
if  the  proverb  had  not  been  as  old  as  the 
Greeks,  or  probably  as  philosophy  itself,  might 
be  supposed  to  have  originated  the  famous 
admonition  about  "  the  cup  and  the  lip." 
There  is  nothing  very  wonderful  in  the  story. 
Similar  surprises  have  happened  at  many 
dinner-tables.  I  believe  the  manner  in  which 
it  was  told  was  what  made  it  impress 
me ;  and  to  this  1  shall  probably  not  do 
justice,  for  I  repeat  it  from  memory,  and 
some  particulars  have  escaped  me.  But  the 
spirit  of  it  ran  as  follows  : — 

Signor  Scolaio  was  entertaining  some  friends 
at  a  tavern  ;  and  the  wine  had  been  flowing 
for  some  time  and  the  company  very  merry, 
when  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  the  spirits 
of  a  young  one,  and  who  was  gifted  with  a 


corresponding  flow  of  words,  wound  up  a 
panegyric  which  he  had  been  making  on 
the  juice  of  the  grape,  with  the  following 
peroration  : 

"  So  much,  gentlemen,  for  the  glories  of 
wine  in  general :  and  now  for  a  sample  of 
them  in  particular,  and  that  too  in  connection 
with  my  own  glory,  and  in  the  shape  of  this 
particular  glass  of  wine  which  I  ho*ld  in  my 
hand,  and  which  I  am  about  to  have  the 
honour  and  felicity  of  drinking. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  is  a  very  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance, and  worthy,  if  you  reflect  on  it,  of 
your  deepest  consideration,  that  this  parti- 
cular glass  of  wine — look  at  it  if  you  please, 
and  observe  it  well,  as  a  thing  contemplated 
in  the  decrees  of  fate — was  destined  from  all 
eternity  to  be  drank  by  me,  simple  as  I  stand 
here,  Scolaio  Franchi.  Moot  as  you  will  the 
point ;  bolt  the  matter  to  the  bran  ;  sift,  with 
all  the  enquirers  on  such  subjects,  from 
Aristotle  to  Saint  Austin,  every  particle  of 
evidence  left  in  the  respective  sieves  of  your 
subtleties  out  of  the  whole  grinding  and  tri- 
turation  of  the  great  questions  of  fate,  free- 
will, foreknowledge,  liberty,  necessity  and 
unavoidability  ;  and  you  will  find  nothing  in 
the  whole  rounds  of  certainty  more  certain, 
than  the  drinking  and  imbibition  of  this  par- 
ticular glass  of  wine  by  me,  Scolaio  Franchi. 
All  the  folios  that  could  be  written  on  the 
other  side — all  the  armies  that  could  be 
brought  against  me  to  hinder  me,  though 
they  were  bigger  than  Charlemagne's  or  than 
Agrican's — all  the  eclipses,  comets,  and  earth- 
quakes gathered  together  (if  that  were  pos- 
sible) from  all  time — or  whatsoever  else  might 
turn,  terrify,  and  annihilate  a  man  from  his 
purpose,  if  it  were  not  absolutely  decreed  as 
in  this  instance,  could  turn,  terrify,  or  in  the 
least  degree  interfere  with,  or  obstruct,  the 
passage  of  this  particular  pre-ordinated  glass 
of  wine  into  the  throat  and  stomach  of  Scolaio 
Franchi." 

The  orator  had  no  sooner  uttered  these 
words  than  the  friend  who  sat  on  his  right, 
and  who  had  been  nicely  calculating  the 
mode  of  doing  it,  snatched  the  glass  out  of 
his  hand,  and  swallowed  it  himself. 


CORNISH    CHOUGHS    FOUND    AT    LAST. 

WE  have  been  favoured  with  the  following 
communication  : — 

"  I  am  a  constant  reader  of  Household 
Words,  and  having,  in  two  recent  numbers, 
been  struck  with  an  account  of  a  tour  through 
the  western  part  of  my  native  county 
(Cornwall)  in  an  apparently  fruitless  search 
after  Cornish  Choughs,  it  has  occurred  to 
me,  that  you  might  really  wish  to  obtain 
a  living  specimen  of  that  bird.  If  such  is 
the  case,  I  can  inform  you  where  they  are 
procurable. 

"  I  was  residing  for  some  years  at  a  small 
cove,  named  Portloe,  and  subsequently  at 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  WHOLESOME  POLICY. 


583 


another  port,  Holland,  when  serving  in  the 
Coast  Guard,  and  on  half-pay.  The  Choughs 
build  and  breed  in  great  numbers  in  the 
cliffs  contiguous  to  both  these  coves.  About 
this  season  of  the  year  the  boys  take  the 
young  from  the  nests,  when  they  are  fledged, 
which  they  dispose  of  for  trifling  sums,  vary- 
ing from  one  penny  to  sixpence  ;  and  numbers 
are  to  be  seen  all  round  the  neighbourhood, 
in  the  cottages  and  gardens,  perfectly  tame. 
I  have  frequently  had  them  myself.  The 
people  hold  them  in  a  sort  of  reverence  (the 
why  I  don't  know),  and  they  are  never  shot 
or  destroyed  in  any  other  manner  ;  some  of 
the  Cornish  folk  say  that  they  can  be  taught 
to  speak,  but  that  I  very  much  doubt.  I 
have  been  all  round  the  coast  of  Cornwall 
repeatedly  in  revenue  cruisers,  and  into 
almost  every  creek  and  cove  on  it,  and  I  never 
saw  the  Choughs,  or  knew  them  to  breed,  but 
in  two  places  more  besides  those  I  have  named : 
namely,  a  cove  called  Porthallow  (pronounced 
Praala),  and  another,  Porthowstock  (pro- 
nounced Proustock).  These  coves  are  just 
inside  the  Manacle  Rocks,  in  the  parish  of 
St.  Keverne,  twelve  miles  from  Helston  and 
nine  from  Falmouth  ;  the  first-named  coves 
are  three  miles  from  Tregoney  and  eight  from 
Truro.  I  never  saw  the  Chough  to  the  west- 
ward of  the  Lizard. 

"  I  felt  interested  in  reading  your  brief 
notice  of  the  upsetting  the  Logan  Rock.  I 
happened  to  be  there,  although  not  imme- 
diately connected  with  that  act  of  Vandalism. 
I  was  then  chief  mate  of  the  Nimble,  revenue 
cruiser,  which  vessel  was  commanded  by 
Lieutenant  Hugh  Goldsmith,  who,  with  eight 
of  the  crew,  performed  the  exploit.  I  was  in 
the  plain  immediately  under  it  when  it  was 
capsized  out  of  its  socket  on  its  side,  jam- 
ming itself  in  a  sort  of  natural  fork  in  the 
granite  :  a  large  piece  of  which,  nearly  a  ton 
weight,  it  knocked  off  into  the  sea  as  it  fell 
over.  The  weight  of  the  Logan  Rock  itself, 
as  near  as  could  be  ascertained,  is  seventy  to 
seventy-five  tons ;  at  least,  that  was  the  opinion 
of  an  eminent  engineer,  who  was  there  when 
it  was  replaced.  I  could  have  furnished  you 
with  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account  of  all 
the  proceedings  in  connexion  with  it,  if  I.  could 
have  imagined  it  would  have  been  acceptable, 
and  that  I  should  not  have  been  considered  as 
taking  a  liberty. 


A  WHOLESOME  POLICY. 


WE  are  certainly  a  camel-eating  people. 
Otherwise  it  would  seem  to  us  an  odd  thing 
that  a  Life  Assurance  Company,  before  granting 
a  policy  and  becoming  liable  for  the  payment 
of  money  after  death,  should  carefully  inquire 
concerning  small-pox,  fits,  gout,  asthma,  and 
such  other  liabilities  to  sickness,  in  the  appli- 
cant himself,  and  never  ask  a  syllable  about 
the  surrounding  outward  circumstances  in 
which  he  may  be  living.  Whoever  has 


insured  his  life  may  live  over  a  cesspool.  He 
who  has  taken  out  a  policy  is  not  called  upon 
to  give  notice  of  his  intention,  though  he  may 
propose  removing  to  some  quarter  of  the 
town  in  which  his  house  maybe  ill-ventilated, 
his  neighbourhood  confined,  his  drainage  in  a 
state  of  horrible  neglect.  But  the  Office  must 
be  warned  if  he  proposes  to  peril  his  existence 
by  the  risks  of  foreign  travel.  There  was  a 
case  in  point  that  attracted  public  notice 
some  little  time  ac;o.  A  gentleman,  aged 
thirty-one,  in  excellent  health,  assured  his 
lii'e  for  a  thousand  pounds.  Having  paid  only 
three  annual  premiums,  he  removed  to  a 
sickly  spot  in  the  Bethual  Green  Eoad,  and 
died  of  typhus  fever  after  a  few  days  illness. 
The  number  who  die  quietly,  who  cut  off  a 
paring  from  the  ripe  years  of  their  lives  for 
every  day  spent  under  unwholesome  in- 
fluences, who  work  incessantly  on  their  own 
coffins,  and  spend  thirty  years  of  manhood  in 
annihilating  thirty  years  of  age,  is  far  from 
small.  In  one  district  of  London,  an  in- 
habitant dies  yearly  out  of  every  fifty- 
eight  ;  and  in  another,  one  out  of  every 
nineteen.  Yet  our  Assurance  Companies 
do  not  consider  it  material  to  ask,  as  a 
question  that  affects  their  policy,  in  which 
of  these  two  districts  a  proposed  life  may 
reside. 

In  the  healthiest  of  our  counties  one  person 
dies  yearly  out  of  every  fifty-seven  inha- 
bitants ;  in  the  whole  of  London,  one  in  forty- 
one  ;  and,  in  the  whole  of  Liverpool,  one  in 
thirty.  One  in  thirty  corresponds  with  the 
loss  suffered  by  our  armies  on  the  field  ot 
Waterloo.  Nevertheless,  it  is  no  question 
affecting  Life  Assurance  whether  a  man  be  re- 
siding on  the  top  of  the  wholesomest  country 
hill  in  England,  or  in  the  recesses  of  Saint 
Olave,  Southwark.  Typhus  fever  destroys 
more  lives  than  gout,  rupture,  small-pox, 
asthma,  palsy,  and  intemperance  together 
but,  while  inquiries  are  made  carefully  con- 
cerning tendencies  to  such  disease,  in  the 
granting  of  a  life  policy  no  note  is  taken 
of  those  outward  circumstances  by  which 
fevers  are  produced.  A  man's  policy  is 
void  should  he  drink  poison  ;  but  no  As- 
surance Company  appears  to  care  how  much 
he  breathes  in  the  familiar  way  of  drain-gas 
or  malaria. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  sanitary  considera- 
tions of  this  kind  affect  only  the  lives  of  poor 
people,  who  are  not  customers  to  the  Assu- 
rance Companies.  They  are,  indeed,  the 
greatest  sufferers,  but  not  the  only  ones. 
Their  wretchedness  clings  to  the  skirts  01 
grandeur.  One  of  the  worst  courts  about 
London  lies  under  the  shade  of  the  Queen's 
palace  walls.  Questions  of  fresh  air,  drainage, 
and  such  matters  as  belong  to  public  health, 
affect  greatly  a  consideration  of  the  pro- 
bability of  life  among  the  gentry.  The 
average  age  at  which  gentlemen  and  ladies 
die,  is,  in  London  forty-four ;  in  Liverpool, 
only  thirty-five.  The  gentry  of  Saint  George's, 


584 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Hanover  Square,  of  St.  James's,  and  Maryle- 
bone,  dia>  at  an  average  age,  by  which  the 
probability  of  life  is  reduced,  in  their  case, 
fifteen  years  below  the  healthy  standard. 

These  facts  were  urged  three  or  four  years 
ago  upon  the  notice  of  Assurance  Offices,  in  a 
pamphlet  by  the  secretary  of  the  then  existent 
Health  of  Towns'  Association,  Mr.  Henry 
Austin.  Since  the  interest  of  Life  Assurance 
Companies  lies  clearly  in  a  recognition  of  the 
facts  disclosed  in  sanitary  tables,  we  have 
little  doubt  that  wholesomeness  will,  before 
long,  find  stout  advocates  among  the  gentle- 
men who  have  invested  an  aggregate  of  about 
fifty  millions  in  speculation  on  the  probabi- 
lities of  life.  It  is  quite  true  that  the  tables 
upon  which  Assurance  Companies  now  work, 
have  been  formed  upon  a  general  average  of 
probabilities  safe  in  the  gross  ;  but  it  is  not 
fair  to  the  public,  and  certainly  not  wise,  in  a 
commercial  sense,  to  continue  to  work  on  a 
gross  average. 

It  has  been  shown  that  the  probability  of 
life  differs  constantly  and  strikingly,  according 
to  the  nature  of  certain  well-known  external 
conditions.  Just  as,  in  Fire  Offices,  buildings 
pay  for  their  assurance  in  proportion  to  their 
chance  of  being  burnt ;  so,  in  Life  Assurance, 
policies  should  be  made  out  on  scales  fairly 
proportioned  in  each  case  to  the  hazard. 
When  it  is  notorious  that  of  two  children 
born  in  different  parts  of  England,  the  chance 
of  life  in  one  is  double  or  treble  the  chance  of 
life  in  the  other,  it  ceases  to  be  fair  that  each 
should  pay  to  an  Assurance  Office  the  same 
premium.  Healthy  men  living  under  healthy 
circumstances,  pay  too  much,  individually,  to 
Assurance  Companies  ;  their  neighbours,  in 
unwholesome  districts,  pay  too  little.  The 
recognition  of  the  difference  that  should  be 
made  between  them  in  the  charge  for  a  life 
policy,  would  operate,  we  think,  with  a  most 
wholesome  effect  upon  the  public.  It  would 
induce,  also,  a  very  much  increased  amount 
of  Life  Assurance  among  the  healthiest  and 
safest  men  ;  and  by  diminishing  only  the 
quantity  of  business  done  with  men  whose 
lives  are  hazardous,  would  certainly  increase 
the  profits  of  the  Companies. 

Again,  if  the  Directors  of  Assurance  Com- 
panies could  only  travel  like  the  Devil  on 
!  Two  Sticks,  and  peep  under  the  roofs  of  the 
assured  from  whom  they  get  their  yearly 
aggregate  of  premiums  ;  if  they  could  with 
their  own  eyes  see  how  here  a  drain,  there  an 
ill-ventilated  bed-chamber,  elsewhere  some 
other  cause  of  bodily  decay  easily  removable, 
rots  away  lives,  and  bites  daily  and  nightly 
like  a  rust  into  the  Company's  gold ;  they 
would  acquire  so  great  an  itch  for  speaking 
words  in  season  here  and  there — would  be  so 
eager  to  provide  the  stitch  in  time  that  saves 
nine  years  perhaps  of  premium  in  one  case 
and  another — that,  as  if  possessed,  they  would 
all  rush  together  to  plunge  headlong  into  the 
stream  of  sanitary  progress.  The  health  of 
assured  lives  is  the  cash  of  the  Assurance 


Company,  and,  as  cash,  it  is  worth  increasing. 
The  body  of  an  assured  person  is  one  of  the 
Company's  cash-boxes,  and,  like  a  cash-box, 
should  be  kept  as  strong  as  possible. 

But  how,  it  will  be  said,  can  this  be  done 
by  an  Assurance  Company  without  imperti- 
nent intrusion  on  its  customers  ?  Assurance 
Companies  will  never  be  allowed  to  institute 
domiciliary  visits,  and  inquire  into  the 
private  arrangements  of  a  Briton  ?  Perhaps 
not.  The  Briton  is  a  little  testy  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  trueuess,  his  blueness,  and  his 
independence.  A  man  who  has  assured  his 
life  cannot,  it  is  true,  say  that  his  life  is  his 
own,  and  that  he  may  waste  it  if  he  pleases. 
He  is  morally  as  culpable  in  any  wilful  follow- 
ing of  an  unwholesome  practice  as  he  would 
be  in  any  other  breach  of  contract  which 
defrauds  his  neighbour.  Knowing  at  the  same 
time  how  the  Briton  likes  to  keep  house  well 
and  economically,  we  think  that,  so  far  from 
objecting,  he  might  be  extremely  glad  occa- 
sionally to  welcome  to  his  castle  a  profes- 
sional man,  competent  to  tell  him  of  anything, 
in  drainage  or  elsewhere,  about  it  dangerous 
to  the  health  of  himself  and  of  his  family,  and 
to  advise  him  upon  sanitary  matters  without 
any  charge.  Be  that  as  it  may,  we  are  quite 
sure  that  the  public  would  rejoice  to 
witness  the  establishment  of  officers  upon 
the  staff  of  all  Assurance  Companies,  whose 
duty  it  should  be  to  certify  to  the  directors 
the  good  or  bad  sanitary  conditions  under 
which  proposed  assurers  may  be  living. 
Holders  of  policies  might  be  required  to  give 
notice  of  any  change  of  residence,  in  order 
that,  where  it  might  seem  necessary,  the  new 
dwelling  might  be  inspected,  and  any  source 
of  sickness  in  it  be  detected  and  removed.  If 
it  should  be  found  incurably  defective  and 
past  remedy — more  dangerous  than  the  pre- 
ceding abode — a  suitable  addition  to  the  pre- 
mium should  be  charged  on  its  account. 
Beyond  these  necessary  limits,  the  medical 
officer  appointed  by  the  Company  could  be 
empowered  to  transgress  at  his  own  discretion, 
in  coming  to  the  aid  of  the  assured  with  so 
much  sanitary  knowledge  and  experience  as 
might  be  exercised  without  offence  on  their 
behalf. 

A  few  medical  officers  of  this  kind,  paid 
with  such  salaries  as  would  secure  to  the 
Assurance  Companies  their  whole  time,  and 
ensure  that  it  should  be  spent  in  service  of 
the  highest  class,  would  mediate  in  the  most 
valuable  way  between  assurers  and  assured. 
At  the  same  time  the  whole  plan  would  in- 
directly do  great  service  to  the  nobility, 
gentry,  and  public  in  general,  by  bringing- 
the  main  facts  that  concern  public  health  into 
direct,  practical  relation  with  the  business  of 
life.  When  men  who  will  not  take  care  of 
their  health  find  themselves  lowered  in  com- 
mercial value  by  the  inhalation  of  foul  air,  a 
neglected  drain  under  a  house  may  come  to 
be  thought  as  uubusiness-like  as  a  blotted 
ledger,  and  a  man  who  takes  recklessly  to  the 


Charles  Dickens.] 


UNDERWRITING. 


585 


breathing  of  foul  air  in  any  shape,  may  be 
thought  as  surely  to  be  going  to  the  dogs  as 
one  who  takes  to  drinking. 


KILSPINDIE. 

KING  James  to  royal  Stirling  town 

Was  riding  from  the  chace, 
When  he  was  aware  of  a  banished  man 

Keturn'd  without  his  grace. 

The  man  stood  forward  from  the  crowd 

In  act  to  make  appeal : 
Said  James,  but  in  no  pleasant  tone, 

"  Yonder  is  my  Gray-steel.1' 

He  knew  him  not  by  his  attire, 
Which  was  but  poor  in  plight ; 

He  knew  him  not  by  his  brown  curls, 
For  they  were  turn'd  to  white ; 

He  knew  him  not  by  followers, 
For  want  had  made  them  strange  ; 

He  knew  him  by  his  honest  look, 
Which  time  could  never  change. 

Kilspindie  was  a  Douglas  bold, 
Wlio,  when  the  king  was  young, 

Had  pleased  him  like  the  grim  Gray-steel, 
Of  whom  sweet  verse  is  sung  : 

Had  pleas'd  him  by  his  sword  that  cropp'd 

The  knights  of  their  renown, 
And  by  a  foot  so  fleet  and  firm, 

No  horse  could  tire  it  down. 

But  James  hath  sworn  an  angry  oath, 

That  as  he  was  king  crown'd, 
No  Douglas  ever  more  should  set 

His  foot  on  Scottish  ground. 

Too  bold  had  been  the  Douglas  race, 

Too  haughty  and  too  strong ; 
Only  Kilspindie  of  them  all 

Had  never  done  him  wrong. 

"  A  boon !  a  boon  !  "  Kilspindie  cried ; 

"  Pardon  that  here  am  I : 
In  France  I  have  grown  old  and  sad, 

In  Scotland  I  would  die." 

Kilspindie  knelt,  Kilspindie  bent, 

His  Douglas  pride  was  gone  ; 
The  king  he  neither  spoke  nor  look'd, 

But  sternly  rode  straight  on. 

Kilspindie  rose,  and  pace  for  pace 

Held  on  beside  the  train, 
His  cap  in  hand,  his  looks  in  hope, 

His  heart  in  doubt  and  pain. 

Before  them  lay  proud  Stirling  hill, 
The  way  grew  steep  and  strong, 

The  king  shook  bridle  suddenly, 
And  up  swept  all  the  throng. 

Kilspindie  said  within  himself: 
"  He  thinks  of  Auld  Lang  Syne, 

And  wishes  pleasantly  to  see 

What  strength  may  still  be  mine." 

On  rode  the  court,  Kilspindie  ran, 
His  smile  grew  half  distress' d  ; 

There  wasn't  a  man  in  that  company, 
Save  one,  but  wished  him  rest. 


Still  on  they  rode,  and  still  ran  he, 
His  breath  he  scarce  could  get ; 

There  wasn't  a  man  in  that  company, 
Save  one,  with  eyes  unwet. 

The  king  has  entered  Stirling  town, 

Nor  ever  graced  him  first ; 
Kilspindie  sat  him  down,  and  ask'd 

Some  water  for  his  thirst. 

But  they  had  mark'd  the  monarch's  face, 

And  how  he  kept  his  pride  ; 
And  old  Kilspindie  in  his  need 

Is  water's  self  denied. 

Ten  weeks  thereafter,  sever'd  still 
From  Scotland's  dear  embrace, 

Kilspindie  died  of  broken  heart, 
Sped  by  that  cruel  race. 

Ten  years  thereafter,  his  last  breath 

King  James  as  sadly  drew  ; 
And  though  he  died  of  many  thoughts, 

Kilspindie  cross'd  him  too. 


UNDERWRITING. 


"  WHO  is  Lloyd  ? " 

In  common  with  thousands  of  others  I  have 
often  asked  this  question,  while  reading  in  the 
newspapers  of  terrible  disasters  at  sea,  of  loss 
of  noble,  richly-freighted  ships  and  richer 
human  lives,  of  damage  done  to  cargoes,  oi 
wrecks  found  floating  on  the  waste  of  waters  far 
at  sea,  of  solitary  spars,  or  empty  casks  picked 
up  on  foreign  shores  :  I  had  read,  too,  with 
gladdened  heart — and  who  has  not  ? — of  ships 
arrived  in  far-off  colonies  or  Indian  ports,  with 
some  dear  friends  on  board,  and  all  reported 
well. 

He  must  be  a  most  wonderful  man,  this 
Lloyd,  whose  Shipping  Lists  supply  all 
this  intelligence.  Is  he  some  active  and 
wealthy  ship-broker,  a  native  of  Wales,  wear- 
ing a  Welsh  wig,  and  busily  occupied  with 
long  lists  of  ships  in  some  little  dark  dusty 
office,  somewhere  down  by  Custom  House 
Quay  1  Nobody  could  tell  me,  so  I  resolved 
to  make  Mr.  Lloyd's  acquaintance,  and  to 
learn  from  his  own  lips  how  he  contrived  to 
gather  together  such  a  mass  of  intelligence  as 
he  does  gather  within  the  space  of  twenty-four 
hours. 

My  inquiries  led  me  to  the  Royal  Ex- 
change, where  I  was  told  I  should  find 
Lloyd's,  and  where,  at  the  end  of  half-an- 
hour  of  questioning,  I  actually  discovered  two 
gigantic  doors,  with  the  sought-for  word 
blazoned  over  them  in  burnished  brass.  The 
doors  were  flung  wide  open,  as  though  one  or 
two  ships  were  going  to  be  launched  through 
them  very  shortly.  Before  me,  as  I  entered, 
rose  a  noble  flight  of  stairs,  as  wide  almost 
as  a  frigate's  deck,  and  up  and  down  these 
Titan  stones  rushed  past  me  scores  of  people 
in  half  abstracted  mood.  I  could  have 
imagined  that  the  men  I  met  rushing  out  had 
just  heard  of  some  fearful  shipwreck,  involving 


586 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  loss  of  all  their  worldly  possessions,  were 
it  not  that  those  who  entered  seemed  to  be 
quite  as  alarmed  and  hurried.  At  the  top  of 
this  splendid  stone  staircase  is  a  lofty  room, 
somewhat  circular  in  shape,  and  containing 
numerous  doors,  which  were  guarded  by  two 
formidable-looking  men  in  red  cloaks  :  of  one 
of  these  I  inquired  for  the  proprietor,  and 
was  thereupon  referred  to  the  Secretary's 
office,  a  suite  of  quiet  elegant  rooms. 

The  information  I  gathered  in  these  offices 
may  be  classed  under  three  heads  :  the  objects 
and  history  of  Lloyd's  ;  the  external  agencies 
by  which  it  is  brought  into  action ;  the  internal 
arrangements,  by  means  of  which  its  varied 
intelligence  is  received,  digested,  arranged, 
and,  finally,  disseminated. 

The  Society  of  Underwriters  or  Marine 
Insurers,  now  known  by  the  designation  of 
Lloyd's,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  associa- 
tions extant.  The  system  of  insuring  shippers 
of  goods  as  well  as  owners  of  ships  against 
losses  at  sea,  may  be  traced  as  long  back 
as  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Sixth — probably 
still  farther  ;  although  that  is  the  date  of  the 
oldest  record  of  such  a  practice  to  be  found 
amongst  the  State  Papers.  In  the  preamble 
to  statute  43rd  of  Elizabeth,  marine  in- 
surance is  mentioned  as  "  an  usage  time  out 
of  mind."  At  these  periods,  the  merchants 
and  others  who  insured  or  underwrote  poli- 
cies, assembled  at  the  "  exchange-house "  in 
Lombard  Street  long  before  the  old  Royal 
Exchange  was  built.  After  the  Great  Fire  of 
London,  the  Society  of  Underwriters  assembled 
for  the  purpose  of  business  at  a  coffee-house 
in  Lombard  Street,  and  afterwards  in  Pope's 
Head  Alley,  kept  by  a  person  named  Lloyd — 
hence  the  present  designation  of  the  body ; 
and  they  appear  to  have  remained  guests  of 
Mr.  Lloyd  until  the  year  1774,  when  they  once 
more  took  up  their  quarters  in  the  Royal 
Exchange,  to  be  again  burnt  out  in  1838. 

At  present  the  institution  numbers  two 
hundred  and  seventeen  underwriters,  one 
thousand  three  hundred  and  sixty-eight  mem- 
bers and  substitutes,  and  five  hundred  and 
three  subscribers  to  the  merchants'  room, 
who  pay  yearly  subscriptions  varying  from 
ten  guineas  to  two  guineas  ;  these,  with 
entrance  fees,  make  up  about  nine  thousand 
six  hundred  pounds  yearly.  Besides  this  source 
of  income,  Lloyd's  receives  two  hundred 
pounds  a  year  from  each  of  the  five  principal 
Assurance  Companies,  besides  various  yearly 
sums  from  Dock  Companies  and  sale-rooms, 
as  well  as  from  the  editors  of  such  daily 
papers  as  have  the  privilege  of  early  copies  of 
shipping  intelligence,  making  up  a  total  annual 
income  of  about  twelve  thousand  pounds. 
The  wealth  and  liberality  of  this  body  may 
be  estimated  by  the  fact,  that  at  the  period 
when  this  country  was  threatened  with  an 
invasion  from  Napoleon,  a  sum  amounting  to 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  afterwards 
made  thirty-five  thousand  pounds,  was  de- 
voted by  Lloyd's  towards  the  formation  of 


what  has  since  been  termed  the  Patriotic 
Fund,  for  the  relief  of  sufferers  in.  the  war 
and  their  families.  Besides  this  noble  gift, 
the  committee  has  at  various  times  presented 
nineteen  thousand  pounds  to  charitable  and 
patriotic  funds. 

Let  us  now  see  by  what  machinery  this 
institution  is  enabled  at  nearly  all  times  to 
command  the  very  earliest  and  best  informa- 
tion relative  to  shipping  and  cargoes  at  every 
part  of  the  civilised  world.  This  is  effected 
by  agents,  who  are  located  at  each  port  of 
note  in  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  :  no 
maritime  town  of  any  consequence  is  without 
a  Lloyd's  agent ;  and,  although  no  salary  at- 
taches to  these  offices — certain  casual  fees  alone 
forming  their  remuneration — so  anxiously 
are  they  coveted  as  bestowing  a  certain  degree 
of  respectability,  that  it  is  a  frequent  occur- 
rence for  as  many  as  fifty  applications  to  be 
made  on  the  occasion  of  a  vacancy.  It  is  the 
duty  of  these  agents  to  report  by  every  mail 
or  post  the  arrivals  and  departures  of  ships  ; 
all  accidents  or  disasters  relative  to  shipping 
or  cargoes  ;  the  appearance  of  enemies* 
cruisers  in  time  of  war  ;  to  render  assistance 
to  masters  of  vessels  in  any  cases  of  difficulty 
or  danger  ;  to  furnish  certificates  of  damage 
to  goods  or  vessels,  and  generally  to  furnish 
every  kind  of  information  likely  to  prove  of 
service  to  the  underwriters  of  Lloyd's. 

The  number  of  Lloyd's  agents  in  foreign 
and  colonial  ports  is  two  hundred  and  ninety- 
six  :  these  are  chiefly  mercantile  men  ;  and, 
not  unfrequently,  the  British  Consul  at  a 
foreign  port  is  selected  to  perform  the  duty 
of  agent. 

In  the  United  Kingdom — from  the  fact  of 
the  very  dangerous  character  of  most  of  the 
sea-coast,  and  the  multitudinous  arrivals  and 
departures — the  agents  amount  to  not  less 
than  one  hundred  and  forty-seven,  or  one 
half  as  many  as  throughout  the  rest  of  the 
world.  To  facilitate  and  simplify  the  duties 
of  these  home  agents,  the  entire  coasts  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland  have  been  divided 
into  certain  portions,  from  point  to  point, 
within  which  each  agent  has  his  functions  as 
accurately  denned  as  have  our  county  magis- 
trates in  matters  of  police.  It  must  be  at 
once  apparent  that  in  such  serious  matters  as 
shipwrecks  or  other  accidents  of  the  sea,  it 
could  not  be  permitted  for  the  least  shadow 
of  doubt  to  exist  in  the  mind  of  an  agent  as 
to  any  such  disaster  happening  in  his  or  his 
neighbour's  district. 

In  this  way  England,  Wales,  and  Scotland 
are  divided  into  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
three  agencies.  No.  1  of  this  list  extends 
from  the  eastern  limits  of  the  parish  of 
Gravesend  to  the  west  entrance  of  Faversham 
Creek  :  No.  2  extends  from  the  east  entrance 
of  Faversham  Creek  to  Eeculver  Church. 
The  districts  are  carried  thus  quite  round 
the  kingdom,  taking  in  the  Channel  Islands 
and  those  to  the  north  of  Scotland,  and  re- 
turning back  to  the  other  bank  of  the  Thames 


Charles  Dickens.'] 


UNDERWRITING. 


587 


as  far  as  Southend  Pier,  which  is  the  last 
agency.  In  Ireland  the  same  division  is 
observed — the  duties  however  are  there  dis- 
charged by  twenty-four  agents. 

It  becomes  the  duty  of  all  these  four 
hundred  and  forty-three  agents,  at  home  and 
abroad,  to  ascertain  the  particulars  of  every 
casualty  of  any  kind  occurring  within  their 
respective  agencies  to  ships  or  cargoes,  and 
to  report  the  same  with  the  least  possible 
delay  to  the  secretary  of  Lloyd's.  The  neces- 
sity which  exists  for  such  early  and  authentic 
intelligence  will  be  apparent,  when  it  is  re- 
membered that  both  ships  and  goods  are 
frequently  insured  long  after  their  departure 
from  the  country,  and  in  the  event  of  a  vessel 
not  having  been  heard  of  at  the  expected 
period,  insurances  effected  upon  her  are  often 
increased,  of  course  at  a  much  higher  rate 
in  proportion  to  the  supposed  risk  of  the 
transaction. 

The  home  establishment  consists  of  a  suite 
of  rooms  set  apart  for  the  use  of  the  Committee 
and  officers ;  and  another  range  of  apartments 
appropriated  to  the  various  subscribers  to 
Lloyd's,  in  the  Royal  Exchange.  There  are,  of 
course,  a  secretary's  room,  clerks',  and  waiting 
rooms,  committee  and  record  rooms,  as  well  as 
an  admirably  arranged  lavatory.  The  public 
apartments  consist  of  five  rooms.  The  largest 
of  them  is  the  underwriting  room,  where  the 
underwriters  and  brokers  transact  the  multi- 
farious business  connected  with  marine  in- 
surances. It  is  a  busy  scene  towards  the 
afternoon,  when  persons  willing  to  take  risks  of 
insurance  deal,  through  the  medium  of  brokers, 
with  those  who  have  ships  or  cargoes  to  insure. 
It  is  quite  impossible  to  form  any  accurate 
estimate  of  the  value  of  property,  of  all  kinds, 
insured  through  the  year  by  means  of  under- 
writing at  Lloyd's :  it  may  be  sufficient  to 
observe,  however,  that  by  far  the  greater 
portion  of  British  shipping  and  goods  im- 
ported into  and  exported  from  this  country, 
as  well  as  into  and  from  many  foreign 
countries,  are  here  insured.  The  insurances 
of  America,  France,  Germany,  Spain,  and 
indeed  of  all  other  trading  nations,  are  princi- 
pally effected  through  the  instrumentality 
of  this  one  body.  No  other  country  possesses 
such  an  institution.  There  is,  indeed,  the 
"  Austrian  Lloyd's,"  but  much  less  important 
in  nature  and  extent  than  ours. 

It  may  be  readily  imagined  that  with 
agencies  spread  over  the  four  quarters  of  the 
globe,  with  mails  constantly  arriving  from 
beyond  sea,  the  amount  of  correspondence 
involved  in  the  getting  together  the  shipping 
news  of  the  world,  which  Lloyd's  List 
really  is,  must  be  very  considerable,  and 
oftentimes  exceedingly  heavy.  In  the  winter 
and  spring  months  the  advices  of  casualties 
multiply  ;  and,  on  the  arrival  of  an  Indian  or 
American  mail,  the  work  is  necessarily  much 
increased.  By  special  arrangements  made 
with  the  Post- Office,  all  letters  and  packets 
addressed  to  Lloyd's  are  promptly  delivered 


to  their  messengers.  Railways  and  steamboats* 
are  not  rapid  enough  for  the  news  which  has 
to  be  transmitted  from  various  parts  of  the 
coast,  relative  to  shipping.  The  electric 
telegraph  is  in  daily  use  during  stormy 
weather  ;  and  a  few  hastily  deciphered  words 
received  at  the  telegraph  branch,  at  one  end 
of  the  merchants'  room,  frequently  chronicles 
the  loss  of  thousands  of  pounds  to  the  busy 
men  around. 

At  half-past  eight  in  the  morning,  the 
opening  of  the  first  receipt  of  letters  com- 
mences. By  a  well  digested  method  the 
clerk  who  opens  them  assorts  them  as  to 
locality,  and  others  immediately  begin  the 
work  of  copying  the  various  names,  dates, 
and  incidents.  So  rapidly  and  systematically 
is  this  done,  that  by  ten  o'clock — when  men 
of  business  are  usually  at  their  offices — a  per- 
fect list  of  arrivals,  &c.,  is  made  up  and  posted 
in  one  of  the  public  rooms.  Simultaneously 
with  this  registering,  the  list  is  put  into  type 
at  Lloyd's  printing-office  below,  and  rough 
copies  printed  on  slips  of  paper,  which,  are 
marked  with  the  hour  and  minute  when 
issued  ;  and  these,  which  form  the  foundation 
of  the  daily  list  published  in  the  afternoon, 
are  dispatched  to  the  several  Assurance  Com- 
panies, as  well  as  posted  in  the  reading-room 
at  Lloyd's,  so  that  any  error  in  names,  or 
otherwise,  may  be  seen  and  rectified  before 
the  perfect  and  final  list  be  published.  Inas- 
much as  mails  arrive  in  London  during  all 
hours  of  the  day,  a  succession  of  these  slips  are 
printed  and  issued  until  late  in  the  afternoon. 

Lloyd's  Books,  which  are  in  fact  tran- 
scripts of  these  slips,  are  kept  closely  written 
up  as  intelligence  comes  to  hand.  They  are 
placed  in  conspicuous  parts  of  the  under- 
writing room,  and  are  of  necessity  highly 
interesting  to  all  persons  connected  with  the 
shipping  interest.  In  former  days  every 
item  of  intelligence  was  posted  in  these  huge 
volumes '  in  the  order  in  which  they  were 
received,  the  accidents  and  disasters  being 
distinguished  by  having  the  words  written  in 
large  characters,  or  double  lines,  as  they 
were  technically  called.  Now,  however, 
that  the  business  of  this  establishment  has 
so  largely  increased,  it  has  been  found  expe- 
dient to  adopt  something  of  classification,  in 
order  to  facilitate  the  researches  of  under- 
writers and  others  through  such  a  mass  of 
intelligence.  The  lists,  which  also  contain 
the  sailings  and  speakings  at  sea,  are  there- 
fore transcribed  into  the  two  distinct  volumes  : 
the  one,  containing  arrivals  in  all  parts  of 
the  world,  is  called  the  Arrivals'  Book  ;  the 
other,  recording  losses  and  casualties,  is 
termed  the  Loss  Book. 

Towards  the  afternoon  the  various  printed 
slips,  with  any  corrections  that  may  be  needed, 
together  with  all  electric  despatches  re- 
ceived, are  thrown  together,  and  thus  form 
the  daily  publication  known  as  Lloyd's 
List.  Occasionally  shipping  news  is  re- 
ceived by  other  parties,  and  communicated 


588 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


to  Lloyd's,  in  which  case  such  advice  is  em- 
bodied in  their  list.  So  well  known  are  the 
facilities  of  this  society  for  collecting  first-rate 
intelligence,  that  the  Admiralty  and  the  East 
India  Company  frequently  receive  the  earliest 
intelligence  through  the  medium  of  Lloyd's. 

With  this  daily  distribution  of  intelligence, 
the  labours  of  the  secretary  and  his  staff, 
however,  are  by  no  means  completed.  The 
geographical  arrangement  of  shipping  news 
in  a  series  of  carefully  digested  books  is 
found  most  useful  to  parties  making  inquiries 
respecting  vessels,  the  names  of  which  may 
be  in  question,  but  whose  ports  of  destination 
are  known :  they  are  of  service,  too,  as  at 
once  indicating  the  shipping  transactions  of 
the  several  ports  of  the  world.  One  of  the 
most  laborious,  however,  of  the  daily  tasks  at 
Lloyd's,  is  that  of  writing  up  the  enormous 
Indexes  to  the  shipping  lists.  These  are 
contained  in  four  thick  folio  volumes,  em- 
bracing the  names  of  all  ships  known  at 
Lloyd's  from  A  to  Z.  The  object  of  these 
Indexes  is  to  enable  persons  to  trace  out  the  j 
several  voyages  of  any  known  vessel,  or  the 
particular  date  of  the  departure  or  arrival  of 
any  ship  from  or  at  any  particular  port  in 
years  past.  Such  date  is  needed  more  fre- 
quently than  might  be  supposed.  For 
instance,  we  will  suppose  a  shipper  wishes  to 
forward  goods  to  Calcutta  by  a  fast-sailing 
vessel ;  several  are  named  to  him  as  taking 
in  cargo,  but  he  cannot  ascertain  which  of 
them  is  likely  to  make  the  best  run  out.  To 
satisfy  himself  on  this  point  he  turns  to 
Lloyd's  Indexes,  and  there  he  finds  against 
the  name  of  each  ship  long  lines  of  abbrevia- 
tions and  figures  in  black  and  red  inks.  These 
abbreviations  notify  the  port,  the  date,  and 
the  particular  column  of  a  particular  issue  of 
Lloyd's  List,  in  which  these  several  move- 
ments may  be  found  recorded ;  and,  to 
simplify  this  data  still  more  completely,  the 
notices  of  arrivals  are  in  black  ink  :  those  of 
departures  or  casualties  are  in  red.  In  this  way 
may  be  found  recorded  the  passages  of  every 
vessel  known,  to  commence  from  the  date  of 
its  maiden  voyage  until  it  be  at  last  entered 
(in  red)  as  having  foundered.  It  may  be  men- 
tioned that  these  Indexes  contain  the  names 
of  forty  thousand  sea-going  ships,  our  coasters 
not  being  included  amongst  them.  So  greatly 
has  the  shipping  of  the  world  increased  of  late 
years — especially  that  of  Great  Britain — that 
the  task  of  writing  up  these  Indexes,  which  a 
dozen  years  since  occupied  one  person  for  about 
six  hours,is  now  the  work  of  two  index-keepers 
from  morning  until  the  close  of  the  office. 

In  addition  to  the  supervision  of  this  mass 
of  daily  labour,  the  secretary  has  not  only  to 
keep  up  the  ordinary  correspondence  with 
agents  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  but  to  satisfy 
persons  making  inquiries  respecting  the  fate 
of  some  ship,  or  of  some  friend — a  passenger 
or  sailor  by  a  vessel  not  heard  of  for  a  long 
period.  To  reply  to  these  is  certainly  no 
portion  of  the  duties  of  Lloyd's  secretary  ;  yet  i 


the  arrangements  made  enable  him  to  attend 
to  these  letters,  and  to  afford  valuable  and 
interesting  information.  It  must  be  obvious 
that  from  the  very  nature  and  extent  of 
the  details  of  these  operations,  each  day  must 
necessarily  see  its  own  work  brought  to  a 
termination ;  a  single  day's  arrears  would 
fling  the  establishment  into  irretrievable 
confusion,  and  seriously  impair  its  usefulness ; 
and  this  is  so  well  understood  that,  let  the 
amount  of  labour  be  what  it  may,  all  remain 
at  their  posts  until  the  last  stroke  of  the  pen 
has  been  made. 

The  progress  of  an  institution  such  as  this, 
marching  onwards  and  expanding  with  the 
pressure  of  the  times,  may  well  serve  to  in- 
dicate the  growth  of  commerce,  not  only  in 
our  own  land,  but  throughout  the  civilised 
world.  Now,  the  oldest  published  Lloyd's 
List  in  existence  bears  date  1745,  and  is  in 
possession  of  the  Committee  of  Lloyd's,  being 
somewhat  more  than  a  century  old  ;  we  are 
thus  enabled  to  draw  a  tolerably  accurate 
comparison  between  the  shipping  operations 
of  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and  the 
middle  of  the  present  century. 

The  old  Lloyd's  List  appears  to  have 
been  the  last  that  was  published  once  in  the 
week  ;  it  is  printed  on  a  narrow  slip  of 
paper  about  a  foot  in  length  ;  and,  besides 
containing  the  price  of  bullion  and  the  stocks, 
gives  the  rates  of  exchange  on  foreign 
countries  ;  these  are  on  one  side.  On  the 
reverse  is  what  was  then  termed  "the 
Marine  List  ;  "  which  gives  a  list  of  twenty- 
three  arrivals  and  twelve  departures  at 
English  ports,  with  thirty-four  ships  at  anchor 
in  the  Downs.  There  are  also  notices  of  four 
arrivals  in  Irish  and  foreign  ports,  with 
advice  of  three  British  ships  taken  by  the 
enemy's  privateers.  Turning  from  this  docu- 
ment, which  gives  a  week's  news,  to  one  of 
the  year  1800,  published  daily,  we  find  it  con- 
tains on  an  average  notices  of  seventy-five 
ships.  This  was  in  time  of  war:  and,  com- 
paring numbers,  we  find  the  ships  noticed 
as  ten  to  one  against  the  previous  date. 
Following  up  the  comparison,  we  turn  to  a 
Lloyd's  List  for  1850  ;  one  of  the  fullest  of 
these  covered  fifteen  pages  in  the  Arrivals 
and  Loss  books  for  one  day,  giving  the 
names  of  about  four  hundred  and  sixty  vessels, 
being  six  times  the  number  of  those  in  1800, 
and  as  numerous  as  the  lists  of  one  entire 
year  in  the  previous  century. 

A  just  idea  of  the  importance  attaching  to 
shipping  advices  by  underwriters  and  others, 
may  be  formed  from  the  number  of  casualties 
of  all  kinds  occurring  on  the  seas  in  all  parts. 
The  documents  existing  at  Lloyd's  show 
these  were,  in  the  year  1847,  not  less  than 
about  two  thousand  two  hundred  ;  of  which 
as  many  as  eight  hundred  were  instances  of 
ships  abandoned  at  sea,  or  wrecked.  In  1850, 
the  total  casualties  of  all  descriptions  were 
still  heavier,  having  been  about  three  thousand 
six  hundred.  These  figures  do  not  include 


Charles  Dickon*.] 


THE  PRESENT  HOLLOW  TIME. 


589 


steam-vessels,  the  casualties  relating  to  which 
•were  seventy-one  iu  1847,  and  one  hundred 
and  eight  in  1850. 

Amongst  the  casualties,  there  were  in  the 
year  1847,  not  less  than  forty-nine  ships 
reported  as  having  put  to  sea,  of  which  no 
further  tidings  were  heard  ;  these  must,  of 
course,  have  gone  down  with  all  hands.  To 
estimate  the  value  of  property  thus  totally 
lost  iu  each  year  would  be  a  matter  of  con- 
siderable difficulty  ;  yet  we  may  arrive  at  an 
approximation.  If  we  value  each  of  the  eight 
hundred  total  losses  in  1847,  with  their 
cargoes,  at  an  average  of  only  three  thousand 
pounds  each,  we  shall  find  the  loss  to  amount 
to  about  two  millions  and  a  half  sterling  ! 
Continuing  this  estimate  to  1850,  we  might, 
by  a  similar  mode  of  calculation,  make  the 
total  of  losses  sustained  by  the  underwriters 
at  Lloyd's  and  elsewhere,  on  the  three  thou- 
sand six  hundred  casualties  in  that  year, 
amount  to  between  four  and  five  millions 
sterling  ! 

Vast,  however,  as  is  the  amount  of  property 
in  constant  jeopardy,  and  heavy  as  are  the 
yearly  losses  on  the  high  seas,  the  Committee 
of  Lloyd's  give  not  all  their  care  to  these 
things :  human  life  claims  their  frequent 
sympathy,  and  these  gentlemen  find  the  time 
and  the  will,  amidst  their  many  duties,  to 
bestow  kindly  aid  to  sufferers  of  many  classes. 
Not  only  do  they  contribute  to  hospitals  for 
the  relief  of  seamen,  and  to  the  maintenance 
of  life-boats  along  our  dangerous  coasts,  but 
they  extend  rewards  to  such  as,  at  risk  tc 
themselves,  save,  or  attempt  to  save,  life  from 
shipwrecks.  In  some  cases  money  is  given, 
but  where  that  would  be  unnecessary,  or  when 
some  more  lasting  memorial  of  courageous 
humanity  would  be  more  highly  esteemed,  a 
medal  is  awarded.  This  is  cast  in  bronze  and 
silver,  and  given  according  to  the  station  in 
life  or  degree  of  merit  of  each  particular  case. 
Since  the  first  award  of  these  medals  in  1837, 
forty  of  them  have  been  thus  bestowed. 

From  the  sketch  attempted  to  be  given, 
it  may  be  seen  of  what  importance  and  value 
is  this  body  of  underwriters.  How  it  has 
grown  with  the  growing  wants  of  the  age, 
and  anticipated  every  new  or  larger  demand 
upon  its  energies.  How  governments  and 
chartered  bodies  look  to  it  for  faithful,  early 
news.  How  none  concerned  in  commerce 
can  live  or  thrive  without  its  aid. 

Like  the  human  body  with  its  many  veins 
and  nerves,  it  feels  the  least  disturbance  in 
the  distant  corners  of  the  earth.  Not  a 
storm  can  rage  in  the  wide  oceans  of  the 
South,  without  a  record  at  Lloyd's.  No 
hurricane  can  rush  through  eastern  seas, 
without  a  chronicle  at  Lloyd's.  Every  gale, 
every  squall,  let  it  be  where  it  may,  is  felt  at 
Lloyd's.  The  smallest  craft  that  tempts  the 
mighty  seas  leaves  those  at  home  who  track 
it  on  its  way  with  anxious,  throbbing  hearts  ; 
and  when  in  some  fierce  storm  it  founders  far 
from  land,  and  its  lost  sailor  sinks  with 


bubbling  groan,  it  is  not  soon  forgotten  :  there 
are  those  who,  hoping  against  hope,  look  long, 
though  vainly,  in  each  coming  mail  for  tidings 
which  will  never  come;  and,  when  long 
months  have  passed,  the  name  is  scored  from 
off  the  books  at  Lloyd's. 


THE  PRESENT  HOLLOW  TIME. 


THE  golden  age,  whensoever  it  may  have 
had  existence  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  was  an 
age  of  solid  gold,  there  is  no  kind  of  doubt. 
It  has  been  observed  by  innumerable  philo- 
sophers and  moralists  —  sometimes  a  little 
disappointed  or  misplaced,  may  be,  but  sound 
sages  and  impartial  judges  none  the  less — 
that  every  succeeding  age,  in  its  turn,  has 
been  hollow.  The  last  has  always  been  the 
hollowest.  We  must  admit  of  the  present 
time  that  it  is  a  very  hollow  time  indeed, 
though  not  a  worse  time  than  another, 
perhaps,  in  the  sage  and  moral  sense  afore- 
said. 

It  is  an  undoubted  and  an  instructive  fact 
that  hollowness  now  plays  an  important  part 
in  engineers'  and  mechanical  constructions  ; 
and  that  it  is  one  mode  of  carrying  out  a  vast 
economy  of  materials.  A  sheet  of  iron  and  a 
few  rivets  now  perform  the  duty  of  ponderous 
castings  or  huge  erections  of  brick,  or  stone, 
or  timber.  A  beam  of  timber  or  a  mass  of 
iron  may  be  treacherous  within-side,  owing  to 
some  inequality  of  structure  which  escapes 
the  eye  of  the  workman  ;  and  in  such  case 
the  interior  portion  is  not  merely  useless :  it  is 
a  positive  burden  and  incumbrance,  a  delusion 
and  a  snare,  an  income-tax  of  a  very  annoying 
kind,  a  bottomless  pit  in  which  the  pay- 
master loses  his  money  and  the  engineer 
loses  his  temper ;  it  renders  no  service  itself, 
and  prevents  the  sounder  portions  from 
rendering  their  service.  It  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, one  of  the  characteristics  of  the  plate- 
and-rivet  system  (if  we  may  coin  a  phrase  to 
designate  it),  that  there  is  no  waste  material, 
no  neglected  material,  no  material  so  far 
beneath  the  surface  as  to  escape  its  due  share 
of  preparation  and  annealing.  None  -of  the 
iron  particles — like  individuals  in  an  Exeter 
Hall  chorus  of  seven  hundred — can  hide  their 
defects  by  being  buried  among  a  mass  of 
others  ;  they  are  all  brought  near  the  front 
row,  and  must  .bear  a  fair  amount  of  scrutiny. 

If  we  watch  the  making  of  these  plates  or 
these  rivets,  we  shall  soon  see  that  the  iron 
passes  through  an  ordeal  which  must  greatly 
toughen  and  strengthen  it.  The  molten  iron, 
liberated  from  its  stony  companions  by  the 
heat  of  the  blast  furnace,  flows  in  a  golden 
stream  from  an  aperture  in  the  lower  part  of 
the  furnace,  and  fills  up  a  series  of  channels 
in  the  sandy  floor  of  the  foundry — a  big 
channel  being  the  sow,  and  sundry  little 
channels  the  pigs.  These  pigs,  when  cold, 
form  oblong  masses  of  crude,  brittle,  and  very 
imperfect  iron,  quite  unfitted  in  this  state 
for  any  engineering  or  mechanical  purposes  ; 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


they  are  refined  in  one  furnace  and  puddled 
in  another,  to  effect  certain  changes  in  the 
iron  ;  the  iron,  in  masses  of  sixty  or  seventy 
pounds,  receives  a  few  mighty  thumps  from  a 
shingling  hammer  weighing  five  or  six  tons  ; 
then  it  is  pressed  between  enormous  rollers, 
then  heated  again,  and  then  rolled  again  to 
its  proper  thickness  as  sheet-iron.  Like  as 
dough  becomes  toughened  by  good  kneading, 
does  the  iron  become  toughened  by  these 
repeated  meltings  and  beatings,  and  rollings 
and  pressings.  And  the  rivets,  too,  share 
this  quality  with  the  sheets,  for  they  are 
formed  of  bar-iron  or  rod-iron,  which  has 
undergone  a  similar  course  of  treatment. 

The  well-kneaded  sheets  and  rivets,  as  we 
have  said,  take  part,  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
in  modern  engineering.  -Steam-engine  boilers 
and  steam-vessel  funnels  are  examples  familiar 
to  every  one.  The  sheets  are  cut  to  the 
proper  sizes  by  shears  of  most  irresistible 
persuasion,  which  sever  the  material  as  effec- 
tually and  as  quietly  as  the  clasp-knife  of  the 
coalheaver  severs  his  bread  and  cheese  into 
coalheaver's  mouthfulls ;  another  machine 
punches  rivet  holes  around  the  margin  of 
each  sheet,  quickly  and  cleanly ;  and  a  third 
machine  cuts  off  pieces  from  a  rod  of  iron  to 
form  tough  and  sturdy  little  rivets.  Then, 
in  order  that  the  flat  sheets  may  acquire  a 
curvature  similar  to  that  of  a  boiler  or  a 
funnel,  they  are  hammered  on  an  anvil, 
a  gauge  or  pattern  being  used  to  prevent  the 
iron  from  overleaping  the  bounds  of  propriety, 
and  acquiring  too  great  a  convexity.  And 
now  comes  the  riveting.  The  riveter  has 
a  boy  at  his  elbow,  which  boy  is  commander- 
in-chief  over  a  small  portable  forge ;  the 
edges  of  two  sheets  are  lapped  one  over 
another,  a  rivet  is  made  hot,  it  is  put  through 
the  coinciding  holes  in  the  two  plates,  and 
two  men  batter  away  at  the  two  ends  of  the 
rivet  with  huge  hammers,  until  the  spreading 
ends  of  the  rivet  bind  with  intense  pressure 
the  two  plates  together.  Thus  does  the  iron 
cool,  and  thus  do  the  rivets  succeed  each  other, 
and  thus  is  a  boiler  or  a  funnel  built  up.  It 
is  hollow,  but  it  is  nevertheless  strong. 

As  a  rule,  keep  at  least  half  a  mile  away 
from  a  boiler  factory  ;  for,  of  all  the  wild 
and  bewildering  noises  presented  by  in- 
dustrial art,  nothing  approaches  in  inten- 
sity that  which  results  from  thousands  of 
rivets  being  hammered  by  dozens  of  lusty 
arms,  day  after  day.  And  yet  (as  extremes 
meet)  we  would  really  suggest  a  visit  to  a 
boiler  factory,  to  see  what  our  Fairbairns 
and  our  Garforths  of  the  busy  north  have 
done  towards  the  silencing  of  this  hulla- 
baloo. Many  may  recollect  the  two  riveting 
machines  which  found  a  place  in  the  Great 
Exhibition,  but  which,  unfortunately,  could 
not  be  shown  in  action ;  the  rivets  are  not 
hammered,  but  the  two  ends  are  treated  with 
such  a  loving  embrace  as  effectually  to  bind 
the  rivet  and  the  two  plates  together.  There 
is  a  lesson  also  in  the  philosophy  of  "  strikes  " 


afforded  by  these  machines.  Mr.  Fairbairn, 
in  the  Official  Illustrated  Catalogue,  gives  us 
this  bit  of  information  :  "  The  invention  of 
the  riveting  machine  originated  in  a  '  turn- 
out '  of  the  boiler-makers  in  the  employ  of 
the  exhibitor  about  fifteen  years  ago.  On 
that  occasion  the  attempt  was  made  to  rivet 
two  plates  together  by  compressing  the  red- 
hot  rivets  in  the  ordinary  punching  press. 
The  success  of  this  experiment  immediately 
led  to  the  construction  of  the  original 
machine."  Improvements  suggested  them- 
selves from  time  to  time,  until,  about  eight 
years  ago,  the  present  riveting-machine  was 
brought  to  a  state  of  great  efficiency.  "  The 
machine  effects  by  almost  instantaneous 
pressure  what  is  performed  in  the  ordinary 
mode  by  a  long  series  of  impacts.  The 
machine  fixes  in  the  firmest  manner  eight 
three-quarter-iuch  rivets  in  a  minute."  And 
what  is  more,  the  process  is  a  sober,  quiet 
one,  and  the  riveting  is  said  to  be  better 
effected  than  by  the  hammer. 

It  is  to  the  humble  plate-and-rivet  that 
we  owe  the  magnificent  Britannia  tubular 
bridge — beautiful  in  an  engineering,  though 
not  in  an  aesthetic  sense.  The  difficulties 
which  pressed  upon  Robert  Stephenson  in 
his  attempt  to  carry  the  Chester  and  Holy- 
head  Railway  over  the  Menai  Straits,  have 
become  notorious.  He  was  required  to 
make  a  bridge  flat  at  the  bottom,  and 
rigid  enough  to  support  railway  trains  with 
very  little  flexure.  At  the  point  chosen,  the 
length  of  the  whole  bridge  is  one  thousand 
three  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  or  thereabouts  ; 
but  the  fortunate  existence  of  the  Britannia 
rock  in  the  middle  of  the  stream,  causes  the 
entire  width  of  the  water  there,  nine  hundred 
feet  and  upwards,  to  be  divided  into  two 
spans  of  about  four  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
each.  These  distances  were  required  to  be 
kept  open  throughout  their  whole  length,  so 
that  vessels  of  large  size  might  pass  every- 
where under  the  bridge,  the  bottom  part  of 
which  was  to  be  one  hundred  feet,  at  least, 
above  high-water  mark.  These  rigorous 
conditions  were  a  sore  puzzle  to  the  engineer  ; 
and  after  all  other  kinds  of  bridge  were  con- 
sidered and  abandoned,  the  plate-and-rivet 
principle  was  thought  of.  Then  occurred  the 
remarkable  experiments  of  Mr.  Fairbairu  and 
Mr.  Hodgkinson,  and  the  wonderful  proofs  of 
strength  which  such  construction  afforded— 
sixty-nine  thousand  six  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  pounds  of  pulling  force  required  to 
separate  plates  kept  together  by  a  half- inch 
rivet  !  Then  came  the  cutting  up  of  nearly 
six  thousand  tons  of  iron  into  plates,  and 
seven  hundred  tons  of  bars  into  rivets,  and 
the  fitting  of  eighty  miles  of  angle- iron,  and 
the  punching  of  seven  million  holes  for  rivets 
and  bolts,  and  the  gradual  building  up  of 
these  enormous  tubes.  Let  it  be  regarded  as 
a  wonderful  evidence  of  economy  of  materials, 
of  strength  produced  by  judicious  arrange- 
ment, that  this  bridge,  with  its  half-inch 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  PRESENT  HOLLOW  TIME. 


591 


walls  (the  plates  are  seven-sixteenths  to  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  in  thickness),  requires  no  ; 
chains   to    hold    it   up,   and   scarcely   yields 
either  to  railway  trains  or  to  hurricanes  of  | 
wind.     The  present  is,  indeed,  a  very  hollow 
time  ;  but   what  a   triumph  is  this  hollow- 
ness  when  considered  (as  it  ought  to  be)  in 
connexion  with  strength  and  efficiency. 

This  tubular  bridge,  this  Menai  marvel, 
has  produced  mighty  results  in  the  few  short 
years  which  it  has  yet  lived.  Engineers  and 
machinists  are  becoming  quite  tubularly 
inclined  ;  cast-iron  is  at  a  discount,  and  plate- 
and-rivet  is  above  par.  Iron  is  used  in 
bridges  in  various  ways.  In  the  simple  cast- 
iron  arch  there  are  often  difficulties  as  to  the 
height  of  the  water-way  beneath  ;  in  the 
simple  cast-iron  girder,  the  difficulty  of  cast- 
ing and  the  weight  in  handling,  give  a  limit  of 
something  like  fifty  or  sixty  feet  to  the  length 
attainable  ;  in  the  built-up  girder,  formed  of 
separate  castings  fitted  closely  at  the  joints 
and  bolted  together,  bridges  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  long  have  been  obtained  ;  in 
the  trussed  girder  there  are  separate  cast- 
ings strengthened  by  tension  rods,  but  the 
union  of  cast-iron  with  wronght-iron  is  seldom 
a  happy  one.  They  cannot  agree,  and  disas- 
trous family  jars  often  result.  They  cannot 
expand  and  contract  equally,  and  thus  (as  is 
supposed)  originated  the  disastrous  fall  of 
the  Dee  bridge  a  few  years  ago.  In  the  bow- 
string girder,  with  a  roadway  suspended  from 
an  iron  arch,  there  has  been  found  an  efficient 
principle  for  many  recently-built  bridges. 
But  the  tubular  bridge  differs  from  all  th«se 
in  the  simplicity  of  its  construction,  and  the 
profitable  way  in  which  every  ounce  of  iron 
renders  its  due  service.  Mr.  Fairbairn's  ex- 
periments led  to  his  being  invited  to  make 
two  tubular  bridges  for  the  Bolton  and  Black- 
burn railway,  of  about  seventy  feet  span  ; 
and  the  excellence  and  cheapness  of  these 
bridges  have  had  their  wonted  effect.  A 
cockney  may  see  how  ugly  these  girder 
bridges  may  be  made,  in  the  examples 
furnished  by  the  railway  which  rejoices  in 
the  ample  name  of  "  The  London  and  Birming- 
ham and  East  and  West  India  Dock  Junc- 
tion ; "  but  as  there  is  no  good  reason  why 
that  which  is  statically  beautiful  should 
be  aesthetically  ugly,  we  may  yet  hope  to  see 
graceful  forms  here  married  to  structural 
efficiency. 

The  route  across  North  Wales  has  afforded 
us  the  first  example  of  this  tubular  plate- 
and- rivet  system  of  bridge-building;  but 
let  us  not  forget  that  the  route  to  South 
Wales  has  just  furnished  another,  comprising 
a  double  application  of  this  singular  principle. 
When  the  South  Wales  Railway  was  about 
to  be  carried  over  the  Wye,  the  tremendous 
tide  of  that  river  at  Chepstow  (sixty  feet 
difference  of  level  between  high  and  low 
water ! )  puzzled  the  engineer  exceedingly,  and 
led  him  to  adopt  a  strange  form  of  bridge, 
in  which  one-half  is  supported  and  the  other 


half  suspended.  The  bridge  itself  belongs  to 
the  plate-and-rivet  genus  ;  and  the  suspended 
portion  hangs  from  enormous  tubes,  which 
are  themselves  plate-and-rivet.  Each  tube  is 
above  three  hundred  feet  long  by  nine  feet  in 
diameter ;  it  is  circular  in  section,  and  was 
built  up  on  shore  of  plates  and  rivets.  The 
hoisting  of  the  first  of  the.se  tubes,  in  April 
1852,  was  a  great  work.  The  traveller  over 
this  unique  bridge  has  rivets  above  him, 
rivets  around  him,  rivets  beneath  him  :  he 
would  be  riveted  to  the  spot,  if  he  were  not 
whizzed  away  by  the  train. 

The  plate-and-rivet  bears  its  honours 
proudly  in  our  noble  iron  steamers,  and 
in  nothing  does  the  system  display  itself 
more  remarkably.  Is  it  not  noteworthy,  for 
instance,  that  the  Great  Britain,  which  bore 
its  rude  fate  so  bravely  on  the  Irish  coast, 
and  which  is  now  going  to  show  its  iron 
sides  among  the  Australians,  should  be  built 
up  of  sheet-iron,  much  in  the  same  way  as  a 
boiler  or  a  funnel  ?  An  iron  keel,  six  inches 
deep  by  three  in  width,  will  suffice  for  a  ship  of 
a  thousand  tons  burden  ;  the  ribs,  analogous 
to  the  futtocks  of  a  iimber  ship,  are  often 
smaller  and  less  heavy  per  yard  than  ordinary 
rails  for  railways  ;  and  the  sheets  of  iron  are 
cut  and  punched  and  bent  and  riveted  with  an 
ease  which  shows  that  the  thickness  is  to  be 
measured,  not  by  inches,  but  by  eighths  of 
an  inch. 

The  hollowness  of  the  present  time  is  well 
illustrated  by  certain  lighthouses  ;  built  to 
bear  the  bluff  attacks  of  wind  and  rain.  A  few 
years  ago,  Mr.  Gordon  constructed  an  iron 
lighthouse  on  a  lagoon  in  Jamaica  ;  where, 
owing  to  local  difficulties,  it  was-  computed  that 
a  tower  of  masonry  could  not  have  been  con- 
structed for  less  than  twenty  thousand  pounds, 
or  in  a  less  period  than  six  years,  with  the 
almost  inevitable  loss  of  many  lives.  Mr. 
Gordon  designed  an  iron  tower,  formed  on 
the  model  of  the  round  towers  of  Ireland  ;  in 
eight  months  after  the  plan  was  determined 
on,  the  iron  skeleton  was  ready  for  shipment 
from  England  ;  and  in  nine  months  after 
that,  the  lighthouse  was  erected  and  ready  for 
lighting.  This  lighthouse  is  formed  of  nine 
tiers  of  cast-iron  plates,  each  about  ten  feet 
by  five,  each  curved  to  the  required  degree  of 
convexity,  and  each  fastened  to  its  neighbours 
by  bolts  and  screws,  and  nuts  and  rivets. 
So  well  did  this  iron  novelty  do  its  duty,  that 
another  such  lighthouse  was  built  a  few 
years  afterwards  at  Bermuda  ;  it  is  a  hundred 
and  five  feet  in  height,  and  is  formed  by 
about  a  hundred  and  fifty  curved  iron  plates, 
connected  in  the  way  before  noticed.  These 
lighthouses  are  not  strictly  examples  of  riveted 
wrought-iron,  but  of  bolted  cast-iron  ;  never- 
theless, the  two  methods  are  first  cousins,  and 
serve  to  illustrate  the  economy  of  material  to 
which  our  modern  industry  is  tending. 

Surely,  if  solidity  be  looked  for  anywhere, 
it  might  be  expected  in  gates  and  barriers 
against  which  water  is  pressing.  But  in 


592 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


this  hollow  time  we  have  altered  all  that ; 
our  friend  plate-and-rivet  has  wedged  in 
his  hollow  principles  even  here.  Let  us  look 
at  the  Keyham  steam-dock,  now  in  process 
of  formation  at  Devonport.  Here  is  a 
basin,  the  water  of  which  is  confined  by  a  gate 
eighty-two  feet  long,  thirteen  feet  wide,  and 
forty-two  feet  deep  ;  and  although  the  flood 
occasionally  presses  on  one  side  of  this  gate,  or 
caisson,  with  a  force  of  fourteen  hundred  tons, 
uncompensated  by  any  pressure  on  the  other 
side,  yet  is  this  barrier  as  hollow  and  honey- 
combed as  the  tubular  girders  and  bridges. 
Mi*.  Fairbairn  (the  presiding  genius  of  this 
species  of  hollowness)  has  so  managed  matters 
that  this  caisson  will  rise  and  sink,  and  permit 
or  obstruct  the  flow  of  water  with  singular 
ease.  Plate-and-rivet  is  the  magic  agency, 
not  only  to  the  economy  of  material,  but 
to  the  great  furtherance  of  the  purposes 
for  which  the  basin  is  intended.  And  that 
which  is  good  at  Devonport  cannot  be  far 
otherwise  at  Hartlepool,  where  tubular  dock- 
gates  have  just  been  applied.  The  mightily 
busy  coal  people  of  Hartlepool  require  enlarged 
•docks  for  their  increasing  trade  ;  and  they 
have  consequently  opened  recently  a  new  dock 
fourteen  acres  in  extent.  The  dock  is  con- 
nected with  the  harbour  or  basin  at  one  end, 
and  with  the  old  dock  at  the  other  ;  and,  at 
these  points  of  junction,  there  are  lock-gates 
fifty  or  sixty  feet  across,  formed  almost 
•wholly  of  wrought-iron  plates  riveted  together. 
Hollow  as  they  are,  they  swing  on  their  hinges, 
.and  resist  the  watery  pressure  more  bravely 
than  gates  formed  of  ponderous  timbers. 

The  gallant  spirit  of  plate-and-rivet  yields 
neither  to  pulling  nor  pushing,  to  hanging  nor 
pressing,  to  water-impulse  nor  dry-impulse. 
A  crane,  the  well-known  instrument  for 
lifting  heavy  weights,  might  reasonably  be 
expected  to  present  a  thorough  solidity  in 
every  part ;  yet  Mr.  Fairbairn,  as  if  to  show 
that  he  can  beat  every  one  hollow  by  every- 
thing hollow,  now  makes  his  cranes  hollow, 
and  of  the  very  self-same  kind  of  plates  and 
rivets  as  he  makes  his  bridges  and  girders, 
and  caissons  and  gates.  Sir  David  Brewster, 
at  the  meeting  of  the  British  Association  in 
1851,  took  occasion  to  speak  of  these  remark- 
able cranes  in  the  following  terms  : — 

"  These  structures  indicate  some  additional 
examples  of  the  extension  of  the  tubular 
system,  and  the  many  advantages  which  may 
yet  be  derived  from  a  judicious  combination  of 
wrought-iron  plates,  and  a  careful  distribution 
of  the  material  in  all  those  constructions 
which  require  security,  rigidity,  and  strength. 
The  projection  or  radius  of  the  jib  of  these 
cranes  is  thirty-two  feet  from  the  centre  of 
the  stem,  and  its  height  thirty  feet  above  the 
ground.  It  is  entirely  composed  of  wrought- 
iron  plates,  firmly  riveted  together  on  the 
principle  of  the  upper  side  being  calculated  to 
resist  tension,  and  the  under  or  concave  side — 
which  embodies  the  cellular  construction — fo 
resist  compression.  The  form  is  correctly 


that  of  the  prolonged  vertebrae  of  the  bird 
from  which  this  machine  for  raising  weights 
takes  its  name ;  it  is  truly  the  neck  of  the 
crane." 

One  of  the  cranes,  thus  built  up  of  mere 
sheet-iron,  has  had  as  great  a  weight  as 
twenty  tons  (nearly  forty -five  thousand 
pounds)  suspended  from  it  without  any  frac- 
ture or  injury. 

Wherever  we  turn,  east,  west,  north,  or 
south,  in  the  old  world  and  in  the  new,  we 
find  a  determination  existing  to  make  a 
hollow  time  of  it  everywhere.  Bending  sheet- 
iron  into  flutes  or  hollows  is  the  new  way  of 
constructing  portable  houses — for  California, 
if  you  choose  to  go  there.  California  ? 
What !  the  tubular  principle,  the  Fairbairn 
hollowness,  the  plate-and-rivet,  going  to  Cali- 
fornia 1  Even  so.  It  is  now  almost  as  easy 
to  go  to  the  diggings  with  an  iron  house  to 
your  back,  as  to  go  to  Alabama  with  a  banjo 
on  your  knee.  The  Eagle  Foundry  at  Man- 
chester will  tell  us  all  about  this  corrugated 
iron.  In  1849,  iron  houses  for  California  began 
to  be  made  at  those  works.  One  such  house 
was  twenty  feet  long  by  ten  wide :  it  com- 
prised a  sitting-room  and  a  bed-room,  one 
outer  and  one  inner  door,  and  a  window  to 
each  room.  The  walls  and  roof  were  formed 
of  sheet-iron,  only  one-eighth  of  an  inch  in 
thickness,  in  sheets  sixty  inches  by  thirty. 
The  upright  supports  were  of  hollow  rolled 
iron  filled  up  with  wood ;  the  doors  had 
frames  of  bar-iron,  with  panels  of  sheet-iron, 
and  the  window  shutters  were  similarly  con- 
structed. Every  sheet,  and  every  bit  of  angle- 
iron  and  T-iron  and  bolt  and  rivet,  were 
numbered,  so  that  three  or  four  men  could 
put  up  the  house  in  three  or  four  days  ;  and 
thus  was  a  fifty-pound  house  built  in  a  Man- 
chester factory  in  a  week,  and  neatly  packed 
off'  ship-wise  to  the  far  west.  Another  iron 
house  for  California  was  of  loftier  pretensions, 
— and  if  it  ever  come  to  the  hammer  of  a  Cali- 
fornian  auctioneer,  he  will  doubtless  describe 
it  in  his  advertisements  as  "  a  spacious  de- 
tached residence,  capable  of  accommodating  a 
family  of  distinction" — it  was  twenty-seven 
feet  long  by  twenty-two  wide ;  was  two 
stories  high,  and  had  eight  rooms ;  but  still 
its  walls  and  roofs  were  mere  sheet-iron.  The 
Prince  Consort  admired,  it  is  said,  a  little 
model  iron  house  at  the  Great  Exhibition,  and 
forthwith  ordered  a  corrugated  ball-room  for 
Balmoral ;  that  is,  a  convenient  sheet-iron 
detached  building  ;  which,  without  provision 
as  a  living  room,  might  be  serviceable  for  balls 
and  occasional  purposes.  This  iron  pavilion 
is  about  sixty  feet  long,  twenty  feet  wide, 
and  seventeen  high  to  the  ridge  of  the  roof ; 
it  has  cast-iron  pilasters  (hollow,  of  course,) 
and  base  plates,  two  plate-iron  doors,  eight 
French  windows,  and  corrugated  sheet-iron 
walls  and  roof.  Perhaps  this  is  the  first  ball- 
room, except  one  of  canvas,  which  has  walls 
only  one-sixteenth  of  an  inch  in  thickness  ; 
yet  the  wind  is  always  busy ;  and,  sometimes, 


Charles  Dickent.] 


DOWN  IN  A  SILVER  MIiNE. 


593 


outrageously  powerful  iu  that  part  of  the 
country. 

And  thus — with  tubular  bridges,  tubular 
girders,  tubular  caissons,  tubular  lock-gates, 
tubular  cranes,  sheet-iron  ships,  and  sheet- 
iron  houses — with  the  hollowness  of  all  sorts 
of  materials  producing  economy  and  strength, 
the  present  is  indeed  the  hollowest  of  hollow 
times. 

DOWN  IN  A  SILVER  MINE. 


THE  sojourner  in  Leipsic,  while  strolling 
through  its  quaint  old  streets  and  spacious 
market-place,  will  be  attracted,  among  other 
peculiarities  of  national  costume,  by  one 
which,  while  startling  and  showy,  is  still  at- 
tractive and  picturesque.  The  wearer  is  most 
probably  a  young  man  of  small  figure  and 
of  pallid  appearance.  He  is  dressed  in  a 
short  jacket,  which  is  black,  and  is  enriched 
•with  black  velvet.  The  nether  garments  are 
also  black.  His  head  is  covered  with  a  black 
brimless  hat,  and  a  small  semi-circular  apron 
of  dark  cloth  is  tied,  not  before,  but  behind. 
This  is  one  of  the  Berg-leute,  mountain 
people  ;  he  comes  from  the  Freiberg  silver  dis- 
trict, and  is  attired  in  the  full  dress  of  a  miner. 

Doubtless,  these  somewhat  theatrically 
attired  mountaineers  hold  a  superior  position 
to  the  diggers  and  blasters  of  the  earth.  The 
dress  is,  perhaps,  more  properly  that  worn  in 
the  mountains,  than  that  of  the  miners  them- 
selves. Still,  even  their  habiliments,  as  I  after- 
wards learned,  are  but  a  working-day  copy  of 
this  more  costly  model  ;  and  the  semi-circular 
apron  tied  on  behind,  is  more  especially  an 
indispensable  portion  of  the  working  dress  of 
the  labouring  miner. 

From  Leipsic,  the  mines  are  distant  about 
seventy  English  miies.  We — who  are  a 
happy  party  of  foot-wanderers  bound  for 
Vienna — spend  three  careless  days  upon  the 
road.  Look  at  this  glorious  old  castle  of  Al- 
tenburg,  gravely  nodding  from  its  towering 
rock  upon  the  quaint  town  below.  It  is  the 
first  station  we  come  to,  and  is  the  capital 
of  the  ancient  dukedom  of  Saxon- Altenburg. 
Look  at  the  people  about  us  !  Does  it  not 
strike  you  as  original,  that  what  is  here 
called  modest  attire,  would  elsewhere  be  con- 
demned as  immoral  and  ridiculous  ?  Each 
of  the  males,  indeed,  presents  a  true  old 
German  portrait,  with  short  plaited  and 
wadded  jacket,  trunk  breeches,  shoes  and 
buckles,  and  the  low,  steeple-crowned  hat, 
with  a  broad  and  rolled  brim.  But  the 
•women  !  With  petticoats  no  deeper  than  a 
Highlandman's  kilt,  their  legs  guiltless  of 
shoes  or  stockings ;  while  the  bust  and  neck 
are  hideously  covered  by  a  wooden  breast- 
plate ;  which,  springing  from  the  waist,  rises 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  as  high  as 
the  chin  ;  on  the  edge  of  which  is  fastened 
a  handkerchief,  tied  tightly  round  the  neck. 
A  greater  disfigurement  of  the  female  form 
could  scarcely  have  been  devised.  Yet,  to 


these  good  people,  it  is  doubtless  beauty  and 
propriety  itself ;  for  it  is  old,  and  national. 

Through  pretty  woods  and  cultivated  lands ; 
beside  rugged,  road-side  dells,  we  trudge 
along.  We  halt  in  quiet  villages,  snug  and 
neat  even  in  their  poverty  ;  or  wend  our  way, 
in  the  midst  of  sunshine,  through  endless 
vistas  of  frait-laden  woods,  the  public  road 
being  one  rich  orchard  of  red-dotted  cherry- 
trees  :  purchaseable  for  a  mere  fraction,  but 
not  to  be  feloniously  abstracted.  Through 
Altenburg,  Zwickau,  Oederon,  and  Chemnitz  ; 
up  steep  hill  paths,  and  by  the  side  of  unpro- 
nounceable villages,  until,  on  the  morning  of 
the  fourth  day,  we  straggle  into  Freiberg. 

Freiberg  is  the  walled  capital  of  the  Saxon 
ore  mountains,  the  Erzgebirge  ;  the  centre  of 
the  Saxon  mining  administration.  One  of 
its  most  spacious  buildings  is  the  Mining 
Academy,  which  dates  from  1767.  Here  are 
rich  collections  of  the  wonderful  produce  of 
these  mountains  ;  models  of  mining  machines, 
of  philosophical  and  chemical  apparatus  ;  class 
and  lecture  rooms,  and  books  out  of  number. 
Here  Werner,  the  father  of  geology,  and  Hum- 
boldt,  the  systematiser  of  physical  geography,, 
were  pupils.  The  former  has  bequeathed  an 
extensive  museum  of  mineralogy  to  the 
Academy,  which  has  been  gratefully  named 
after  its  founder,  the  Wernerian  Museum. 

Freiberg  holds  up  its  head  very  high.  The- 
Mining  Academy  stands  one  thousand  two 
hundred  and  thirty-one  feet  above  the  sea, 
although  this  is  by  no  means  the  greatest 
altitude  in  the  long  range  of  mountains ;  which 
form  a  huge  boundary  line  between  the  king- 
doms of  Saxony  and  Bohemia.  The  general 
name  for  the  whole  district  is  the  Erzgebirg- 
Kreis — the  circle  of  ore  mountains — and  truly 
they  form  one  vast  store  of  silver,  tin,  lead, 
iron,  coal,  copper,  and  cobalt  ores  ;  besides  a 
host  of  chemical  compounds  and  other  riches. 
The  indefatigable  Saxons  have  worked  and 
burrowed  in  them  for  more  than  seven  hun- 
dred years. 

We  proceed  to  the  Royal  Saxon  Mining 
Office,  and  request  permission  to  descend  into  , 
the  "  bowels  of  the  land."  This  is  accorded  us 
without  difficulty,  and  we  receive  a  beau- 
tiful specimen  of  German  text,  in  the  shape 
of  a  lithographed  Fahrschein,  or  permission 
to  descend  into  Abraham's  Shaft  and  Him- 
melfahrt,  and  to  inspect  all  the  works  and 
appliances  thereunto  belonging.  This  Fahr- 
schein especially  informs  us,  that  no  person, 
unless  of  the  Minerstand  (fraternity  of  miners), 
can  be  permitted  to  descend  into  the  Zechen 
or  pits,  who  is  not  eighteen  years  old ;  nor  can 
more  than  two  persons  be  entrusted  to  the  care 
of  one  guide.  We  cheerfully  pay  on  demand 
the  sum  of  ten  silver  groschens  each  (about 
one  shilling),  for  the  purpose — as  we  are- 
informed  in  a  note  at  the  bottom  of  the 
Fahrschein — of  meeting  the  exigencies  of  the 
Miners'  Pension  and  Relief  Fund. 

The  mine  we  are  about  to  inspect,  which 
bears  the  general  title  of  Hinimelsfiirst— 


594 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


Prince  of  Heaven — is  situated  near  to  the 
village  of  Brand.  How  fond  these  old  miners 
were  of  Biblical  designations  !  and  what 
an  earnest  spirit  of  religion  glowed  within 
them  !  There  is  another  mine  in  the  vicinity, 
at  Voightberg,  called  the  Old  Hope  of  God  ; 
but  we  must  recollect  that  Freiberg  was  one 
of  the  strongholds  of  early  Protestantism, 
and  that  the  first  and  sternest  of  the  re- 
formers clustered  about  its  mountains.  They 
have  a  cold,  desolate  look ;  and  we  think 
of  the  gardens  we  have  left  at  their  bases, 
and  of  the  forests  of  fir-trees  which  wave 
upon  some  of  the  loftier  pinnacles  of  these 
same  Erzgebirge.  Nor  are  the  few  men  we 
meet  of  more  promising  appearance :  not 
dwarfed  nor  stunted,  but  naturally  diminu- 
tive, with  sallow  skins  and  oppressed  de- 
meanour. How  different  are  the  firm,  lithe, 
sun-tanned  mountaineers,  who  breathe  the 
free  air  on  the  summits  of  their  hills  ! 

We  are  near  the  entrance  of  the  mine  ; 
and,  entering  the  neat,  wooden  office  of  the 
Schachtmeister,  or  mine-controller,  we  produce 
our  credentials.  Having  signed  our  names 
in  a  huge  book,  (in  which  we  decipher  more 
than  one  English  name,)  we  are  passed  to 
the  care  of  an  intelligent- looking  guide  ;  who, 
although  still  in  early  manhood,  is  of  the 
same  small  and  delicate  growth  observable  in 
the  miners  generally. 

Our  guide,  providing  himself  with  small 
lanterns  and  an  ominous -looking  bundle, 
leads  the  way  out  of  the  Schachtmeister's 
office  to  another  portion  of  the  same  building. 
Here  are  heaps  of  dark  grey  macadamised 
stones ; — silver  and  lead  ores  just  raised 
from  the  pit ;  over  whose  very  mouth  we 
are  unknowingly  standing.  The  windlass  is 
in  the  centre  of  the  chasm  ;  and  it  is  by 
means  of  this  windlass  that  the  metal- 
liferous substance  is  raised  to  the  surface 
in  square  wooden  boxes.  Here  the  dressing  of 
the  ores  commences  ;  boys  cluster  in  all  direc- 
tions, under  the  wooden  shed,  and  in  other 
sheds  beyond  that.  Here  the  ores  are  picked 
and  sorted,  washed  and  sieved,  and,  we 
believe,  crushed  or  pulverised,  according  to 
the  amount  of  metal  contained  in  them,  till 
they  are  in  a  fit  state  for  the  smelting  furnace. 
We  are  not  admitted  to  a  minute  inspection 
of  these  processes ;  but,  under  the  direction  of 
our  guide,  turn  towards  the  mouth  of  the  pit 
which  we  are  to  descend.  Ere  we  leave  the 
shed,  we  pick  out  a  small  block  of  ore  as  a 
memorial  of  the  visit,  and  are  astonished  at 
its  weight  ;  bright  yellow,  and  dull  lead- 
coloured  crystals  gleam  over  its  surface  ;  and 
a  portion  of  the  gneiss,  from  which  it  has 
been  broken,  still  adheres  to  it. 

We  follow  our  guide  across  a  dusty  space 
towards  a  wooden  building  with  a  conical  roof; 
and,  as  we  approach  it,  we  become  conscious  of 
rather  than  hear,  the  sweet,  melancholy  sound 
of  a  bell,  which,  at  minute  intervals,  tones 
dreamily  through  the  air.  Whence  comes 
that  sad  sound  ?  In  the  centre  of  the  shed 


s  a  square  box,  open  at  the  top ;  and  imme- 
diately above  hangs  the  small  bell :  thence 
conies  the  silvery  voice. 

"  For  what  purpose  is  this  bell  ?  "  we  inquire 
of  our  guide. 

"  It  is  the  bell  of  safety." 

"  Does  it  sound  a  warning  ? " 

"No,  the  reverse  ;  its  silence  gives  the 
warning.  The  bell  is  acted  upon  by  a  large 
water-wheel,  immediately  below  the  surface. 
By  means  of  this  wheel,  and  others  at  greater 
depths,  the  whole  drainage  of  this  mine  is 
effected.  If,  by  any  means,  these  water- 
wheels  should  cease  to  act,  the  bell  would 
cease  to  sound,  and  the  miners  would  hasten 
to  the  day,  for  no  man  could  tell  how  soon 
his  working  might  be  flooded." 

"And  can  it  be  heard  throughout  the 
mine  ? " 

"  Through  this  portion  of  it.  Probably  the 
water  acts  as  a  conductor  of  the  sound  ;  but 
the  miners  listen  earnestly  for  its  minute 
tolling." 

Toll  on,  thou  messenger  of  comfort !  May 
thy  voice  ever  tell  of  safety  to  the  haggard 
toiler,  deep  in  the  earth  ! 

Our  guide  now  directs  us  to  attire  our- 
selves in  the  garments  disgorged  from  the 
portentous-looking  bundle.  They  consist  of 
a  pair  of  black  calico  trousers,  a  dark,  lapelled 
coat,  a  leathern  semi-circular  apron,  buckled 
on  behind — the  strap  of  which  serves  to  hook 
a  small  lantern  on  in  front — and  a  terrible 
brimless  felt  hat,  which  we  feel  to  be  a  curse 
the  moment  we  put  it  on,  and  which  we 
never  cease  to  anathematise,  up  to  the  instant 
when  we  take  it  off.  These  habiliments, 
being  drawn  over  our  ordinary  clothing,  do 
not  facilitate  our  motions,  or  help  to  keep 
us  in  so  cool  a  state  as  might  be  desirable. 

Over  the  edge  of  the  square  box,  and  down 
a  stone  staircase  cut  through  the  solid  granite, 
we  follow  our  guide.  We  pause  on  the  first 
few  steps,  and  are  just  able  to  distinguish  the 
huge,  broad  water-wheel,  slowly  revolving  in 
its  stony  chamber :  its  spokes,  like  giant 
arms,  sweep  through  the  wet  darkness  with 
scarcely  a  sound,  but  a  low  dripping  and 
gurgling  of  water.  That  terrible  staircase  ! 
dark  and  steep  and  slimy!  Water  drips  from 
its  roof  and  oozes  from  its  walls.  It  is  so  low, 
that  instead  of  bending  forward  as  the  body 
naturally  does  when  in  the  act  of  descent,  we 
are  compelled  to  throw  our  heads  back  at 
the  risk  of  dislocating  our  necks,  in  order  that 
the  detestable  hat  may  not  be  driven  over  our 
eyes  by  coming  in  contact  with  the  roof. 
Down,  down  the  slippery  steps  ;  feeling  our 
way  along  slimy  walls  ;  through  the  dense 
gloom,  and  heavy,  moist  air  !  The  way  seems 
to  wave  and  bend  we  scarcely  know  how ; 
sometimes  we  traverse  level  galleries,  but 
they  only  lead  us  again  to  the  steep,  clammy 
steps,  cut  through  the  tough  rock,  always  at 
the  same  acute  angle.  Down,  down,  six 
hundred  feet !  and  our  guide  whispers  to  us 
to  be  careful  how  we  go,  for  we  are  in  a 


Charles  Uickens.1 


DOWN  IN  A  SILVER  MINE. 


595 


dangerous  place  :  he  has  brought  us  to  this 
portion  of  the  mine  to  show  us  how  the  water 
accumulates  when  undisturbed. 

The  vein  of  ore  has,  in  this  part,  ceased  to 
yield  a  profit  for  the  necessai-y  labour,  and 
the  works  have  been  abandoned.  We  creep 
breathlessly  down  until  our  guide  bids  us  halt ; 
and,  holding  out  his  lantern  at  arm's  length, 
but  half  reveals,  in  the  pitchy  darkness,  a  low- 
roofed  cavern,  floored  by  an  inky  lake  of 
still  dead  water ;  in  which  we  see  the  light  of 
the  lantern  reflected  as  in  a  mirror.  It  is 
fearful  to  look  on — so  black  and  motionless  : 
a  sluggish  pool,  thick  and  treacherous,  which 
seemingly  would  engulf  us  without  so  much 
as  a  wave  or  a  bubble  ;  and  we  are  within  a 
foot  of  its  surface  !  We  draw  involuntarily 
back,  and  creep  up  the  steep  stair  to  the  first 
level  above  us. 

Along  a  narrow  gallery  we  proceed  for  a 
short  space,  and  then  down  again  ;  still  down 
the  interminable  steps,  till  our  knees  crack 
•with  the  ever  uniform  motion,  and  the  hot 
perspiration  streams  from  every  pore.  The 
air  is  so  thick  and  heavy,  that  we  occasionally 
draw  breath  with  a  half  gasp ;  and  still  we 
descend,  till  we  hear  the  muffled  ring  of  steel, 
tink,  tink,  tink,  immediately  near  us,  and 
are  suddenly  arrested  in  our  downward  course 
by  the  level  ground. 

We  are  in  a  narrow  gallery,  considerably 
loftier  than  any  we  have  yet  seen  ;  for  we  can 
walk  about  in  it  without  stooping.  At  the 
further  end  are  two  miners,  just  distinguish- 
able by  the  tiny  glow  of  their  lanterns.  From 
these  proceed  the  ring  of  steel — the  muffled 
tinkling  in  the  thick  air  we  had  heard — and 
we  see  that  they  are  preparing  for  a  "  blast." 
With  a  long,  steel  rod,  or  chisel,  they  are 
driving  a  way  into  the  hard  rock  (geologists 
say  there  is  little  else  in  the  Erzgebirge  than 
the  primitive  gneiss  and  granite),  amd  thus 
prepare  a  deep,  narrow  chamber,  within  which 
a  charge  of  gunpowder  is  placed  and  exploded. 
The  hard  material  is  rent  into  a  thousand  pieces, 
bringing  with  it  the  ore  so  indefatigably  sought. 

With  every  limb  strained  and  distorted, 
the  miners  pursue  their  cramping  labours, 
grovelling  on  the  earth.  The  drilling  or 
boring  they  are  engaged  in  is  a  slow  process, 
and  the  choice  of  a  spot,  so  that  the  explosion 
may  loosen  as  much  of  the  lode  and  as  little 
of  the  rock  as  possible,  is  of  considerable 
importance.  They  cease  their  labours  as  we 
enter,  and  turn  to  look  at  us.  The  curse  of 
wealth- digging  is  upon  them.  They,  in  their 
stained  and  disordered  costume,  seated  on 
the  ground  on  their  semi-circular  leathern 
aprons  (for  that  is  the  obvious  use  of  this 
portion  of  the  dress,  in  these  moist  regions)  ; 
we,  in  our  borrowed  garments  and  brimless 
beavers,  with  flushed  features  and  dripping 
hair.  The  miners  do  not  wear  the  abominable 
hats,  at  least  "  beneath  the  day,"  that  is,  in 
the  mines. 

"  Is  this  the  bottom  of  the  mine  1 "  we 
inquire  anxiously. 


The  guide  smiles  grimly  as  he  answers, 
"We  are  little  more  than  half-way  to  the 
bottom  ;  but  we  can  descend  no  deeper  in 
this  direction." 

Heaven  knows  we  have  no  desire  ! 

"  This  is  the  first  working,"  he  continues. 
"  The  rest  of  the  mine  is  much  the  same  as 
you  have  already  seen.  We  have  no  other 
means  of  reaching  the  workings  than  by  the 
stone  staircases  you  have  partly  descended." 

"What  are  the  miners'  hours  of  work  ?" 

"  Eight  hours  a  day  for  five  days  in  the 
week  at  this  depth,"  is  the  answer,  "  In  the 
deeper  workings  the  hours  are  fewer." 

"  What  is  the  extent  of  the  mine  1 "  we 
demand. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  There  is  no  miner  living 
who  has  traversed  them  all.  The  greater 
portion  is  out  of  work,  and  spreads  for  miles 
underground." 

"And  the  depth?" 

"  About  two  hundred  fathoms  —  twelve 
hundred  feet — the  sea  level.  The  '  Old  Hope 
of  God '  is  sixty  feet  below  the  level  of  the  sea." 

"  Are  there  many  mines  like  this  1  " 

"There  are  about  two  hundred  mines  in 
all,  with  five  hundred  and  forty  pits :  in  all 
the  mines  together  there  are  some  four 
thousand  eight  hundred  hands,  men  and  boys. 
This  mine  occupies  nine  hundred  of  them." 

"  And  your  pay  1 " 

"  One  dollar  a  week  is  a  good  wage  with  us." 

One  dollar  is  about  three  shillings  of  English 
money  !  This  seems  small  pay,  even  in  cheap 
Saxony. 

"  But,"  we  pursue  our  inquiries,  "  you  have 
no  short  time,  and  are  pensioned  1 — at  least, 
so  says  our  Fahrscheiu." 

"  We  are  paid  our  wages  during  sickness, 
and  are  never  out  of  work.  When  we  can  no 
longer  use  the  pick,  nor  climb  these  stair- 
cases, we  can  retire  upon  our  pension  of  eight 
silver  groschens  a  week." 

Tenpence !  Magnificent  independence !  This 
is  digging  for  silver  with  a  vengeance. 

But  we  are  faint  with  fatigue  ;  and,  bidding 
adieu  to  the  two  miners,  we  gladly  agree  to 
our  guide's  suggestion  of  ascending  to  the 
happy  daylight.  Our  way  is  still  the  same  ; 
although  we  mount  by  another  shaft,  most 
appropriately  named  Himmelfahrt — the  path 
of  heaven  ;  but  we  clamber  up  the  same  steep 
steps  ;  feel  our  way  along  the  same  slimy 
walls,  and  occasionally  drive  our  hats  over 
our  eyes  against  the  same  low,  dripping  roof. 
With  scarcely  a  dry  thread  about  us  ;  our 
hair  matted  and  dripping  ;  beads  of  perspi- 
ration streaming  down  our  faces,  we  reach 
the  top  at  last ;  and  thank  heaven,  that  after 
two  hours'  absence  deep  down  among  those 
terrible  "diggings,"  we  are  permitted  once 
more  to  feel  the  bracing  air,  and  to  look  upon 
the  glorious  light  of  day. 

Our  labours,  however,  are  not  over.  Dis- 
tant rather  moi*e  than  an  English  mile  from 
Himmelsfurst,  are  the  extensive  amalgama- 
tion works,  the  smelting  furnaces,  audretining 


596 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


ovens.  Painfully  fatigued  as  we  are,  we  can- 
not resist  the  temptation  of  paying  them  a 
brief  visit.  The  road  is  dusty  and  desolate  ; 
nor  are  the  works  themselves  either  striking 
or  attractive.  An  irregular  mass  of  sheds, 
brick  buildings,  and  tall  chimneys,  present 
themselves.  As  we  approach  them  we  come 
upon  a  "sludge  hole  ;  " — the  bed  of  a  stream 
running  from  the  dredging  and  jigging  works ; 
where,  by  the  agency  of  water,  the  ore  is 
relieved  of  its  earthy  and  other  \vaste  matter, 
and  the  stream  of  water — allowed  to  run  ofi 
in  separate  channels — deposits,  as  it  flows, 
the  smaller  particles  washed  away  in  the 
process.  These  are  all  carefully  collected, 
and  the  veriest  atom  of  silver  or  lead  extrac- 
ted. It  is  only  the  coarser  ores  that 
undergo  this  process ;  the  richer  deposits 
being  pulverised  and  smelted  with  white  or 
charred  wood  and  fluxes,  without  the  applica- 
tion of  water,  and  refined  by  amalgamation 
with  quicksilver.  The  two  metals  are  after- 
wards separated  by  distilling  off  the  latter. 

Here,  are  heaps  of  scoria — stacks  of  pig- 
lead,  wood,  coke,  limestone,  and  waste  earth, 
everything  indeed  but  silver  :  although  we 
are  emphatically  in  a  silver  mining  district, 
silver  is  by  no  means  the  material  which 
presents  itself  in  the  greatest  bulk.  Having 
placed  ourselves  under  the  direction  of  one 
of  the  workmen,  we  are  led  into  some  newly 
built  brick  buildings,  where  force-pumps  and 
other  water  appliances  erected  at  great  cost 
by  the  Saxon  government  are  gratefully 
pointed  out  to  us.  These  water-works  are 
equally  applicable  to  the  extinction  of  fire, 
as  to  the  preparation  of  ores. 

Into  what  an  incomprehensible  maze  of 
words  should  we  be  betrayed,  were  we  to 
attempt  a  description  of  the  multifarious 
operations  for  the  -extraction  and  refining  of 
metals  !  Every  description  of  ore,  or  metalli- 
ferous deposit,  requires  a  different  treatment : 
each  suggested  and  verified  by  laborious  ex- 
perience, and  vigilant  attention.  In  some 
cases  the  pure  silver  is  separated  by  me- 
chanical means  ;  in  others  the  ore  is  roasted, 
in  order  to  throw  off  the  sulphur,  arsenic, 
and  other  volatile  matters,  which  are  sepa- 
rately collected  and  form  no  inconsiderable 
portion  of  the  valuable  produce  of  the  mine. 
These  roastings  again  are  smelted  with  a 
variety  of  fluxes,  and  in  different  states  of 
purification ;  until  they  are  ready  for  refining. 

Here  are  roasting  furnaces,  dull  and 
black  ;  huge  brick  tubes  with  swollen  ends  ; 
others  built  in,  and  ready  for  ignition. 
Everywhere,  we  see  pigs  of  lead,  sometimes 
lying  about  in  reckless  confusion,  at  others, 
neatly  packed  in  square  stacks.  Now,  they 
bring  us  to  a  huge  circular  oven,  with  at 
least  half-a-dozen  firmly  closed  iron  doors, 
and  as  many  glowing  caves  ;  and  a  swarthy 
man,  armed  with  an  iron  rake,  swinging  open 
one  of  the  iron  doors  with  a  ring  and  a  clatter, 
we  look  in  upon  a  small  lake  of  molten 
silver,  fuming,  and  steaming,  and  bubbling. 


The  iron  rake  is  thrust  in,  and  scrapes  off 
the  crumbling  crust — the  oxide  of  lead, 
which  has  formed  upon  its  surface.  The 
silver  fumes  and  flashes,  and  a  white  vapour 
swims  in  the  air.  The  swarthy  man  swings 
the  iron  door  to  with  a  clang,  takes  us  by  the 
arm,  and  bids  us  look  through  into  a  dark 
cavity,  and  watch  the  white  drops  which  fall 
at  intervals  like  tiny  stars  from  above.  This 
is  the  quicksilver  evaporated  from  the  heated 
silver  in  the  furnace,  which  passes  through 
the  chimney  into  a  kind  of  still,  and  is  re- 
stored to  its  original  condition. 

And  what  is  the  result  of  all  this  skill  and 
labour  1  We  find  that  the  average  produce 
of  the  Saxon  mines  is  from  three  to  four 
ounces  of  silver  to  the  hundred  pounds' 
weight  of  ore ;  and  that  the  mines  about 
Freiberg  yield  annually  nearly  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  ounces  of  silver. 
We  find  further  that  the  total  mines  of  the 
Erzgebirg-Kreis — "  circle  of  ore  mountains  " 
— of  which  those  of  Freiberg  form  a  portion, 
produce  a  total  of  seven  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  ounces  of  silver  every  year  ;  besides 
from  four  hundred  to  five  hundred  tons  of 
lead,  one  hundred  and  forty  tons  of  tin,  about 
thirty  tons  of  copper,  from  three  thousand 
five  hundred  to  four  thousand  tons  of  iron,  and 
six  hundred  tons  of  cobalt.  They  are  rich 
also  in  arsenic,  brimstone,  and  vitriol,  and 
contain,  in  no  inconsiderable  quantities,  quick- 
silver, antimony,  calamites,  bismuth,  and 
manganese.  Even  precious  stones  are  not 
wanting  ;  garnets,  topazes,  tourmalines, 
amethysts,  beryls,  jaspers,  and  chalcedonies 
having  been  found. 

A  shrewd  old  workman  tells  us  with  a 
proud  satisfaction,  that  when  Napoleon's 
power  was  crushed,  and  Saxony  had  to 
pay  the  penalty  of  her  adhesion  to  the 
French  conqueror,  in  the  shape  of  various 
parings  and  loppings  of  her  already  narrow 
territories — that  Prussia  gloated  with  greedy 
eyes,  and  half  stretched  out  an  eager  hand  to 
grasp  the  Erzgebirge,  and  their  mineral 
riches.  "  Aber,"  exclaims  he,  with  a  chuckle, 
"  die  sind  noch  Siichiscke,  Gott  set/  dank !  " 
"  But  they  are  still  Saxon,  thanks  be  to  God  ! " 

All  things  considered  (the  Australian  dig- 
gings included),  we  came  to  the  conclusion, 
from  our  small  experience  of  Saxon  mines, 
that  there  are  more  profitable,  and  even  more 
agreeable  occupations  in  the  world  than  mining 
— pleasanter  ways,  in  short,  of  getting  a  living 
than  digging  for  silver  in  Saxony,  or  even. 
for  gold  in  Australia. 


On  the  20th  of  September  will  le  published,  price  5s. 
neatly  bound  in  Cloth, 

THE    FIFTH    VOLUME 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

Containing  the  Numbers  issued  during  tlie  half-year  ending 
on  Saturday,  September  llth,  1852. 


Published  at  the  OtSce,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BSJIDBOBT  &  ETAHS,  Whitefriore,  London. 


"  Familiar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD   WORDS." — SHAKESPEABB. 


HOUSEHOLD    WORDS. 

A    WEEKLY    JOURNAL 
CONDUCTED    BY    CHARLES    DICKENS. 


129.] 


SATURDAY,  SEPTEMBER  11,  1852. 


[PRICE 


BOYS  TO  MEND. 


UMBRELLAS  to  mend,  and  chairs  to  mend, 
and  clocks  to  mend,  are  called  in  our  streets 
daily.  Who  shall  count  up  the  numbers  of 
thousands  of  children  to  mend,  in  and  about 
those  same  streets,  whose  voice  of  ignorance 
cries  aloud  as  the  voice  of  wisdom  once  did, 
and  is  as  little  regarded  ;  who  go  to  pieces  for 
the  want  of  mending,  and  die  unrepaired  ! 

People  are  naturally  glad  to  catch  at  any 
plea,  in  mitigation  of  a  great  national  wicked- 
ness. Many  good  persons  will  urge,  now-a- 
days,  as  to  this  neglected  business  of  boy-mend- 
ing, "  O  !  but  there  are  the  Eagged  Schools  ! " 
Admitting  the  full  merit  of  the  ragged  schools ; 
rendering  the  highest  praise  to  those  disin- 
terested and  devoted  teachers,  of  both  sexes, 
who  labour  in  them  ;  urging  the  consideration 
of  their  claims  on  all  who  pass  through  the 
streets  of  great  towns  with  eyes  in  their 
heads,  and  awakened  hearts  in  their  breasts  ; 
we  still  must  not  disguise  the  plain  fact  that 
they  are,  at  best,  a  slight  and  ineffectual  pallia- 
tive of  an  enormous  evil.  They  want  system, 
power,  means,  authority,  experienced  and 
thoroughly  trained  teachers.  If  the  instruc- 
tion of  ordinary  children  be  an  art  requiring 
such  a  peculiar  combination  of  qualities  and 
such  sound  discretion,  that  but  few  skilled 
persons  arrive  at  perfection  in  it,  how  much 
more  difficult  is  the  instruction  of  those  who, 
even  if  they  be  children  in  years,  have  more 
to  unlearn  than  they  have  to  learn  ;  whose 
ignorance  has  been  coupled  with  constant 
evil  education  ;  and  among  whose  intellects 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  virgin  soil  to  be 
found  !  Good  intentions  alone,  will  never  be 
a  sufficient  qualification  for  such  a  labour, 
while  this  world  lasts.  We  have  seen  some- 
thing of  ragged  schools  from  their  first  esta- 
blishment, and  have  rarely  seen  one,  free 
from  very  injudicious  and  mistaken  teaching. 
And  what  they  can  do,  is  so  little,  relatively 
to  the  gigantic  proportions  of  the  monster 
with  which  they  have  to  grapple,  that  if  their 
existence  were  to  be  accepted  as  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  leaving  ill  alone,  we  should  hold  it 
far  better  that  they  had  never  been. 

Where,  in  England,  is  the  public  institution 
for  the  prevention  of  crime  among  that 
neglected  class  of  youth  to  whom  it  is  not 
second  but  first  Nature  ;  who  are  born  to 


nothing  else,  and  bred  to  nothing  else  ? 
Where,  for  these,  are  the  bolts  and  bars, 
outside  the  prison-door,  which  is  so  heavily 
fastened  within  ?  Nowhere,  to  our  know- 
ledge. The  next  best  thing — though  there  is 
a  broad,  deep  gulf  between  the  two — is  an 
institution  for  the  reformation  of  such  young 
offenders.  And  to  that,  we  made  a  visit  on 
one  of  these  last  hot  summer  days. 

A  dull  mist  of  heat  had  taken  possession 
of  the  streets.  Through  the  warm  mist  we 
roll  in  a  warm  omnibus.  Over  the  parapet 
of  London  Bridge  we  see  London  in  a  heavy 
lump  with  the  hot  mist  about  it,  and  almost 
expect  that  St.  Paul's  presently  will  throw  out 
a  spark,  and  the  whole  town,  like  a  firework, 
begin  to  fizz  and  crackle.  There  is  nothing 
that  we  might  not  be  permitted  to  expect  as 
a  result  of  heat,  upon  the  hottest  morning  of 
the  hottest  dog-days  within  the  memory  of 
the  oldest  dog. 

People  who  sit  with  us  in  the  carriages  of 
the  Brighton  train,  wonder  (and  really  not 
without  occasion,  as  we  ignorantly  think)  why 
a  terminus  must  be  built  with  a  cover  in  the 
shape  of  an  oven,  and  why  it  must  bake  batches 
of  passengers  in  railway  trains  like  cakes  in 
tins.  Now  we  are  off,  and  it  is  cooler.  We 
pass  over  the  red,  underdone  surface  of  Lou- 
don,  upon  which  the  blacks  are  falling  cruelly ; 
if  London  be  now  frying,  it  will  make  a  dirty 
dish,  we  fancy.  Here  are  market  gardens, 
fields,  hills,  stations,  woods,  villages,  and  way- 
side inns.  Here  is  Red  Hill,  where  the  train 
stops,  and  we  get  out. 

There  is  a  cluster  of  inns  outside  the  station, 
and  certain  freeholders  of  East  Surrey,  warm 
with  sun  and  politics,  seek  coolness  in  beer  out- 
side the  inns.  They  are  a  little  noisy ;  but,  pass- 
ing between  hedges  we  begin  to  toil  up  hill. 
The  distant  song  of  the  freeholders  is  drowned 
by  the  nearer  song  of  the  thrush  ;  and  the  dog 
roses  that  make  a  roadside  garden  of  each 
hedge,  put  our  hearts  in  good  humour  with 
the  dog-days.  Every  hedge  is  a  garden. 
Where  did  we  ever  see  more  wild  flowers 
clustered  together  1  There  is  a  very  California 
of  honeysuckle.  There  are  clumps  of  mallow, 
blossoming  on  hillocks  beside  every  gate 
that  leads  into  the  corn  fields  ;  there  are 
yellow  stars  of  the  ranunculus,  and  crimson 
poppy  blossoms,  and  the  delicate  peaked  fairy 
hats  of  which  Bindweed  is  ostensibly  the 


129 


C98 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


maker.  There  are  helmets,  by  Foxglove,  for 
the  same  community.  There  are  also  the 
•well  known  little  yellow  "  shoes  and  stock- 
ings." There  is  veronica,  there  are  the  pink 
blossoms  of  the  wild  geranium  and  the  red 
lychnis  blossoms  ;  there  is  lucerne,  and  there 
is  an  odd  orchis  here  and  there.  There  is 
agrimony  ;  there  are  ambitious  daisies  length- 
ening their  stalks  that  they  may  show  their 
heads  above  the  grass  ;  there  are  the  tiny  blue 
clusters  of  mouse  ear  ;  there  is  fern  in  abund- 
ance ;  and  there  are  the  elegant  grass  blossoms 
that  would  wave  were  there  a  breath  of  wind. 
They  are  as  still  as  painted  grass  blossoms, 
because  there  is  no  breath  of  wind  ;  the  sun 
shines  steadily  out  of  a  deep  blue  sky,  between 
the  high  banks  and  the  hedges,  down  into 
the  dusty  lane. 

Obedient  to  sign-post,  which  directs  us  to 
the  right  if  we  desire  to  find  the  Philan- 
thropic Farm  School,  at  Red  Hill,  we  take 
the  appointed  turning ;  thinking  as  we  go, 
How  beautiful  the  blessed  earth  and  sky,  and 
Is  this  really  the  world  so  ugly  to  us  last 
night  with  its  courts  and  alleys,  and  its  vice 
and  misery,  and  its  ragged  scholars,  in  whose 
minds  the  wild  flowers  have  been  trampled 
down,  and  nothing  left  but  baleful  weeds  and 
poisons  ? 

It  is  more  than  seventy  years  since  there 
was  established  in  this  country  a  society 
whose  object  was  to  divert  children  from  the 
paths  of  crime.  We  all  know  that  the  young 
criminal  is  bred  under  the  most  pitiable  cir- 
cumstances. Of  eighty-two  received  in  one 
year  at  Red  Hill,  for  example,  twenty-seven 
were  orphans,  either  by  the  death  or  trans- 
portation of  their  parents,  or  by  being  born 
like  brutes,  and  bred  in  ignorance  of  any 
home.  Nineteen  were  fatherless,  and  of  these 
almost  all  had  step-fathers ;  twelve  were 
motherless,  and  most  of  these  were  furnished 
with  step-mothers,  ignorant,  brutal,  and  jealous. 
Only  twenty-four  had  both  parents  living ;  and 
of  these,  who  shall  say  how  many  had  received 
parental  care  ? 

Even  the  most  anxious  of  poor  parents  must 
be  absent  for  some  ten  hours  at  their  daily  work, 
while  the  child's  school-time — when  he  has 
been  sent  to  school — can  occupy  but  six  hours 
in  the  day.  The  streets  are  the  child's  play- 
ground. If  there  be  so  much  danger  to  the 
best  among  the  children  of  the  very  poor, 
how  is  it  with  those  bred  in  squalor,  igno- 
rance, and  vice  ?  How  is  it  with  the  wretched 
untaught  orphans,  forced  to  calculate  for 
themselves  the  chances  of  existence,  and  to  beg, 
or  steal,  or  die  1  O  honorable  friend,  member 
for  Verbosity,  your  boy  of  fourteen — who 
brought  home  his  prize  from  school  this  Mid- 
summer, and  told  you  with  some  glee  of  his 
boyish  escapades — is  a  fine  fellow  ;  in  spite 
of  his  juvenile  offences  he  will  grow  up  one 
of  these  days,  to  be  a  noble,  honest  man.  But, 
had  he  been  deprived  of  your  assistance,  0 
honorable  friend,  of  your  good  thought  on 
his  behalf  and  your  wife's  tender  solicitude ; 


had  your  birthplace  been  a  filthy  fever- 
breeding  alley  ;  had  no  voice  of  teacher 
ever  sounded  in  your  ears ;  had  you  been 
made  a  callous  man  by  rubbing  constantly 
against  the  hardest  side  of  society  ;  had 
your  wife  died  of  the  gin  with  which  she 
sought  to  di-own  the  despondent  sense  of 
a  most  wretched  existence  ;  had  you  gone 
to  your  daily  work,  leaving  your  boy  in  the 
pestiferous  alley  ;  what  would  he,  what  could 
he,  have  been  !  He  might  be  the  object  of 
parental  care  to  the  whole  nation  represented 
by  the  State  ;  since  (to  take  the  very  lowest 
ground),  it  is  expensive  to  allow  swarms  of 
young  children  to  grow  up  yearly  into  a 
mass  of  wild  brutes,  preying  on  society.  The 
State  might  teach  and  tend  neglected  children, 
and  compel  those  parents  who  are  able,  to 
pay  pence  on  their  behalf.  It  might  make  a 
parent  answerable  in  some  wholesome  mea- 
sure for  the  crimes  of  a  neglected  child.  It 
might  send  its  lifeboats  out,  to  provide  for  all 
an  opportunity  of  rescue  from  the  waves  of 
ignorance  and  vice  before  those  waves  had 
overwhelmed  the  shipwrecked.  These  things 
might  be,  but  they  are  not.  Your  child,  had 
you  been  so  much  less  respectable  than  you 
are,  would  have  been  ragged,  and  would  have 
been  pronounced  by  sitting  magistrates,  a 
hardened  little  fellow  ;  and  the  times  he  had 
been  before  the  sitting  magistrates  would  have 
been  elaborately  counted  up  ;  and  he  would 
have  been  whipped  so  many  times,  to(  the 
great  comfort  and  profit  of  society,  and  not  at 
all  to  the  mockery  of  reason,  justice,  and 
humanity.  He  would  have  learned  to  swear, 
and  steal,  and  lie  ;  he  would  have  felt  no  sense 
of  obligation  to  society  since  society  displayed 
no  sense  of  obligation  towards  him.  The 
British  nation  would  have  arrayed  itself  to 
fight  him  ;  to  whip  him,  imprison  him,  trans- 
port him,  and  perhaps  hang  him.  He,  war 
being  declared,  would  feel  at  liberty  to  strike 
the  British  nation  where  and  when  he  could 
— and  he  would  most  certainly  do  it. 

Seventy  years  ago,  a  body  of  gentlemen 
under  the  name  of  the  Philanthropic  Society 
organised  a  method  of  receiving  and  assisting 
criminal  children,  on  a  plan  that  very  much 
resembled  the  more  recent  methods  practised 
at  Mettray. 

"  The  mode  of  living,"  says  the  old  report, 
for  the  children  received  into  the  Philan- 
thropic in  1788-9,  "  is  in  distinct  houses,  as 
separate  families.  A  manufacturer  has  a 
house  for  himself  and  his  wife,  if  married, 
and  a  certain  number  of  wards,  whom  they 
are  to  regard  as  their  own  children.  In  these 
respects  the  design  is  to  approach  as  nearly 
as  possible  to  common  life."  The  institution 
indeed  began  with  a  single  child,  who  was 
put  out  to  nurse.  It  widened,  and  became 
eventually  incorporated,  in  the  year  1806,  by 
Act  of  Parliament,  and  comprised  within 
the  walls  of  a  single  building  in  St.  George's 
Fields  under  the  name  of  the  Philanthropic 
Society. 


Charles  Dickens 


BOYS  TO  MEND. 


599 


Somewhat  recently,  it  was  resolved  to , 
remove  the  institution  out  of  town  ;  to  enlarge  : 
and  improve  its  character  ;  and,  by  training 
the  boys  on  a  farm  school  in  the  country,  to  ' 
qualify  them  for  emigration,  or  for  home 
employment  distant  from  their  old  evil 
companions.  The  Farm  School  at  Eed  Hill 
was  therefore  opened  in  April  1849,  and  by 
degrees  the  entire  substance  of  the  town 
establishment  was  carried  off  into  East  Surrey. 
To  the  Philanthropic  Farm  School,  follow- 
ing the  information  written  on  the  sign- post, 
•we  direct  our  steps,  recalling  thus  the  history 
of  the  place.  Our  way  is  down  hill  now,  and 
between  the  luxuriant  hedges  crowning  the 
high  banks  of  red  sandstone.  Distant  peeps 
are  caught  of  a  broad  richly  wooded  plain  that 
lies  below.  It  is  but  a  peep  of  country  many 
miles  away  that  can  be  seen  over  the  trees 
that  shade  our  down-hill  path. 

A  dog  has  bidden  us  good  morning  in  a 
distant  way,  and  walks  before  us,  pausing 
when  we  pause,  returning  half-way  when  we 
linger,  yet  decidedly  repulsing  all  familiarities. 
A  small  bird,  newly  fledged,  is  fluttering 
among  the  fern  by  the  way  side,  and  dies 
in  the  dog's  mouth  despite  our  intervention. 
Such  a  dog  might  contain  the  spirit  of  a 
Mephistopheles ;  we  quarrel  with  him  in- 
stantly, but  still  he  goes  before,  and  duly 
takes  the  final  turning  that  will  bring  us  to 
the  Philanthropic  Farm  School. 

A  pleasant,  rustic  house  by  the  hill-side, 
with  roses  shining,  in  the  hot  sun,  around  its 
windows  !  Through  a  flower-garden  we  come 
to  the  door  ;  and,  keeping  out  the  dog,  obtain 
admittance  to  the  dwelling  of  the  chaplain. 
While  we  wait  in  the  drawing-room,  the  dog, 
who  has  coursed  round  the  house,  plunging 
among  roses,  makes  a  triumphant  entry 
through  the  open  window,  and  looks  at  us 
for  applause. 

Aided  by  the  resident  chaplain  upon  whom 
devolve  all  duties  of  superintendence,  and 
who  is  in  fact  the  local  manager  of  the  whole 
scheme,  we  proceed  to  walk  about  the  Eed  Hill 
farm  and  watch  the  labours  of  its  youthful 
population.  We  receive  it  as  an  encouraging 
sign,  that  the  good  chaplain  does  not  deem 
it  needful  to  put  on  his  religion  in  the  out- 
ward and  visible  form  of  a  grievous  waistcoat ; 
or  to  make  it  known  to  all  men  by  wearing 
a  clear-starched  dog-collar  round  his  throat. 

The  number  of  boys  now  at  Ked  Hill  is  a 
little  over  a  hundred ;  and  the  number  of  acres 
on  the  farm  is  about  a  hundred  and  thirty. 
The  boys  vary  in  age  from  ten  or  eleven  to 
eighteen,  and  they  vary  also  in  the  terms  on 
which  they  have  been  admitted.  Some  of  the 
youngest  are  children  who  have  been  sen- 
tenced to  transportation,  and  recommended 
by  the  directors  of  Government  prisons  as 
more  fit  to  be  kindly  taught  than  harshly 
punished.  These  are  compelled  to  stay. 

Others,  are  boys  who,  having  suffered 
punishment  by  law,  are  sent  by  their  parents 
to  receive  corrective  training — the  parent; 


paying  a  part  of  the  expense  incurred  on  their 
behalf.  These  may  be  removed  at  the  dis- 
cretion of  their  parents. 

Others,  are  boys  who  come  as  volunteers, 
on  the  expiration  of  their  punishment,  from 
various  Houses  of  Correction ;  being  assisted 
in  their  own  desire  to  become  honest  men. 
These  may  remove  themselves  at  their  own 
discretion. 

Others,  are  boys  who,  by  a  recent  law,  have 
received  conditional  pardons,  and  have  been, 
ixcused  some  of  the  last  months  of  a  term  of 
imprisonment,  on  condition  that  they  be  trans- 
ferred to  some  place  where  they  will  receive 
?or  a  longer  term  educational  discipline. 
These  may  be  compelled  by  law  to  stay  ;  but, 
after  the  term  of  their  first  sentence  has  ex- 
pired, it  becomes  necessary  to  regard  them 
very  much  as  volunteers. 

Tt  is  obvious  that  boys  differing  so  greatly  in 
age,  and  working  upon  the  farm  under  so 
many  differing  circumstances,  cannot  be 
managed  by  one  rigid  system.  Military  dis- 
dpline  does  not  suit  children;  the  drill-ser- 
geant is  an  excellent  man  in  his  way,  but, 
they  are  not  to  be  drilled  into  honesty  and 
virtue.  We  have  twice  visited  Parkhurst, 
and  have  taken  pains  to  get  what  information 
we  could  upon  the  subject  of  that  Government 
Eeformatory,  and  we  are  convinced  that  its 
failure — there  can  be  no  doubt  that  it  fails 
utterly — is  the  natural  result  of  a  blind  reliance 
upon  discipline,  too  many  unbending  rules  and 
regulations,  too  little  comprehension  of  the 
wants  and  humours  of  a  child,  too  much  letter 
and  too  little  spirit.  We  are  glad,  therefore,  to 
find  at  Eed  Hill  that  the  rules  are  few,  the 
punishments  still  fewer.  Boys  are  trained  to 
think  for  themselves  ;  each  is  judged  on  his 
own  merits,  and  guided  as  far  as  possible 
with  a  strict  view  to  the  development  of  his 
own  character.  Good  people  are  multiform 
as  blossoms  in  the  summer  hedge.  A  military 
man,  turned  gardener,  might  drill  everything 
he  found  in  a  garden,  into  rows  of  plants, 
properly  arranged  according  to  their  heights 
and  sizes  ;  and  might  then  proceed  to  prune  ' 
them  all,  water  them  all,  smoke  them  all, 
precisely  in  the  same  way.  In  a  year  or  two 
his  process  would  be  as  clear  a  failure  as  the 
human  gardening  in  Parkhurst. 

The  boys  at  Eed  Hill  are  taught,  if  possible, 
to  think  and  act  on  honest,  kindly  prin- 
ciples. Eesponsibilities  are  placed  upon  their 
shoulders ;  they  are  even  trusted  out  of  sight, 
and  are,  as  it  were,  prisoners  on  parole,  living 
where  there  are  no  bars  to  break,  no  walls 
to  climb.  Dispersed  about  the  grounds, 
are  houses  containing  dormitories,  washing- 
rooms,  and  other  chambers,  a  forge,  a  carpen- 
ter's shop,  a  cottage  for  the  farm-bailiff, 
a  dairy,  cowsheds,  piggeries,  and  other  build- 
ings. In  one  part,  a  new  house  is  being  built 
to  contain  dormitories  ;  and,  to  increase  the 
accommodation  for  boys  on  the  farm,  and 
elsewhere,  a  new  blacksmith's  shop  is  being 
built.  All  such  opportunities  are  uaed  for 


600 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


giving  to  those  boys  to  whom  the  knowledge 
will  be  valuable — boys  who  will  soon  be  emi- 
grants— some  practical  experience  in  bricks  and 
mortar.  Adjoining  the  dining-hall  and  school- 
room (one  large-windowed  rural  hall  serves 
both  uses)  is  a  neat  and  ample  chapel  in  which 
the  resident  chaplain,  the  Reverend  Sydney 
Turner,  reads  morning  prayers,  and  officiates 
on  Sunday  before  a  congregation  of  remarkably 
attentive  boys.  The  boys  at  Red  Hill  have 
faith  in  their  chaplain.  They  live  under  his 
eye,  and  experience  the  kind  spirit  of  religion 
which  dictates  his  daily  care  on  their  behalf. 
They  feel  the  genuineness  of  his  admonitions, 
and  are,  therefore,  notably  attentive  in  the 
chapel. 

There  are  corn  fields,  and  fields  containing 
vegetables  in  so  immature  a  state,  that  our  ex- 
perience in  agriculture  declines  to  pronounce 
what  they  may  be.  In  such  fields,  boys  are 
hoeing.  That  is  the  work  least  agreeable  to 
the  young  labourers.  Here  is  a  hay  field. 
We  have  got  over  stiles,  through  hedges  now 
and  then,  and  over  ditches.  There  is  no  sign 
of  prison.  It  is  all  a  simple  farm  scene  ;  and 
the  farm,  being  upon  a  hill,  has,  spread  about 
it — under  the  eyes  of  the  poor  boys  who  have 
too  often  been  bred  to  vice  over  the  gutter  of 
a  miserable  court — a  wide  rich  woodland 
prospect. 

Here  are  the  boys  under  the  burning  sun 
extremely  busy  with  their  long  forks  tossing 
up  the  hay.  On  this  the  hottest  day,  cut  grass 
may,  I  suppose,  be  dried  in  half-an-hour  ;  but 
I  will  not  venture  an  opinion,  lest  I  be  laughed 
at,  even  by  this  very  little  boy  of  ten  years 
old.  He  is  a  new  comer,  from  prison  in 
Liverpool.  He  never  made  hay  before. 

"  What  did  you  make  ? " 

"Nothin." 

"  What  had  you  been  doing  I  " 

"  Walking  about  the  streets." 

"  Nothing  else  ? " 

"  I  went  to  school." 

That  is  the  old  story,  the  school  and  the 
street ;  the  street  getting  the  better  of  the 
school ;  a  great  deal  learned  in  the  street ; 
a  very  little  in  the  school. 

The  professor  of  haymaking  has  some 
conversation  with  us,  apart  from  his  class, 
concerning  neighbour  Bunter,  whose  hay  had 
been  spoiling  for  want  of  hands,  and  who  had 

fot  it  in  by  the  help  of  half-a-dozen  Red  Hill 
oys.  He  had  wished  he  might  have  twenty 
such  to  help  him.  Two  other  farmers  in  the 
like  perplexity  had  asked  for  hands.  The 
boys  on  such  occasions  feel  proud  of  the  trust 
put  in  their  good  behaviour.  "  You  must  be 
warned,"  some  of  the  boys  are  told,  "  how 
you  behave  at  Farmer  Mallow's  ;  he  is  a  kind- 
hearted  man,  but  he  looks  rough  outside. 
Take  care  you  don't  answer  if  he  scolds,  and 
mind  you  are  very  obedient !"  One  or  two 
faces  are  lighted  up  with  that  shrewd  look  of 
comprehension,  which  small  boys  get  when 
they  are  cast  upon  the  world  to  prey  upon 
the  weaknesses  of  human  character. 


It  must  not  be  supposed  that  every  de- 
praved boy  who  has  been  in  jail  and  thence 
transferred  to  Red  Hill,  is  transformed  at 
the  same  time  into  a  pattern  of  obedience  and 
virtue.  The  truth  is  very  different.  In  the 
first  place,  the  authorities  at  Red  Hill  have 
not  the  advantage  of  applying  their  efforts  to 
a  single  class  of  offenders.  It  wants  the  aid  of 
other  institutions  with  which  it  might  divide 
the  work  that  must  be  done.  One  institution 
might  then  take  the  class  of  offenders  whose 
stay  at  the  Reformatory  is  upon  compulsion ; 
another,  might  take  those  sent  by  their  friends, 
as  to  a  school ;  another,  those  who  come  ot 
their  own  free  will.  One  might  take  children, 
and  another  might  take  youths. 

In  the  first  instance  it  was  attempted  at 
Red  Hill  to  part  the  boys  into  families ; — to 
adopt  the  home  system  of  discipline  that  has 
been  so  successful  at  Mettray.  That  plan  failed 
for  want  of  Englishmen  competent — at  any 
rate  on  the  temptation  of  small  salary — to 
administer  it.  The  several  heads  of  houses  fell 
together  by  the  ears.  It  was  necessary  to 
return  to  the  old  system  of  official  and  sub- 
official,  and  even  then  to  make  many  changes. 
It  is  very  easy  to  imagine  that,  if  the  experi- 
ment at,  Red  Hill  had  been  directed  by 
anything  less  genuine  than  the  sense,  earnest- 
ness, and  devotion  of  its  present  director,  it 
would  have  been,  at  its  beginning,  a  complete 
failure. 

But,  it  has  not  failed.  Four  boys  out  of 
five  are  rescued  by  it.  The  fifth  very  often 
takes  advantage  of  the  un  walled  grounds,  and 
unbarred  windows,  to  escape.  They  who 
escape,  are  almost  invariably  retaken.  They 
elude  detection  while  they  roam  the  country  ; 
but,  they  come  to  London  in  the  end,  and 
there  they  come  into  the  glare  of  the  bull's 
eye.  One  boy  who  had  escaped,  was  lost 
sight  of,  about  the  country,  for  a  year.  Then 
he  thought  he  might  venture  upon  London  ; 
in  London  he  was  seized  immediately.  The 
recovered  boys  are  treated  as  their  cha- 
racters require.  The  Society  never  dwells 
upon  the  topic  of  its  outraged  dignity  ;  the 
object  is  to  save  as  many  boys  as  possible,  and 
if  a  boy  can  be  saved  he  is  forgiven  and  re- 
stored to  trust.  In  other  cases,  it  is  requisite 
to  use  the  power  of  carrying  him  before  the 
offended  majesty  of  law.  The  one  in  five  who 
cannot  be  reformed  at  Red  Hill,  certainly 
would  not  be  improved  for  the  purposes  of 
free  life  by  prison  discipline.  He  might  make 
a  good  prisoner,  but  be  good  for  nothing  else. 
He  is  a  lost  man  to  society.  The  other  four, 
who  would  all  be  lost  under  the  common - 
system  of  neglect,  are  usually  sent  out  to 
the  colonies,  where  they  obtain  situations  as 
farm  servants  or  in  other  capacities  ;  and — 
with  the  exception  of  a  few  who  prove  to 
belong,  after  all,  to  the  unredeemed  fifth  part, 
— do  well  and  live  as  honest  men. 

There  has  been  some  tree  clearing,  and 
there  is  a  long  ditch  and  fence  made  by  the 
boys.  Making  a  fence,  though  hard  work, 


Charles  Dickens.j 


BOYS  TO  MEND. 


601 


is  a  favorite  employment.  There  is  something 
to  show,  there,  for  one's  labour.  A  boy  who 
has  run  away  several  times,  is  planting  a 
gate-post  in  the  ground  (assisted  by  a  smaller 
boy),  and  working  with  great  energy.  It  is 
remarkable  of  most  of  the  boys  that  they 
work,  decidedly  with  a  will,  and  "  go  at  it " 
in  a  manner  cheering  to  behold.  In  another 
field,  passing  the  pond  at  which  the  bays  have 
fixed  hours  for  bathing,  we  come  to  a  field  of 
grass,  in  which  some  elder  boys  are  mowing. 
To  become  a  mower,  is  to  graduate  with 
honours  in  the  Farm  School. 

It  is  now  full  noon,  and  at  half-past  twelve 
the  boys  will  dine ;  so,  we  cross  fields,  and 
stiles,  and  brooks,  again,  to  find  the  dining- 
room.  Meanwhile,  the  boys  who  are  leaving 
work,  run  on  before  us,  and  gambol  about,  and 
roll  over  one  another  on  the  grass,  with  a 
confidence  in  meeting  with  no  check  while 
they  do  no  wrong,  which  strongly  inclines  us 
then  and  there  to  embrace  the  chaplain.  In 
a  conversation  relating  to  "  Irish  boys,"  and 
the  more  errant  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of 
Erin  in  general,  we  learn,  "  O  yes,  by  the  by, 
we  certainly  have  one  steady  careful  Irish 
boy  here."  On  our  expressing  a  desire  to  be 
introduced  to  this  phenomenon,  he  is  called 
up,  but  scarcely  justifies  his  reputation  ; 
having,  that  morning,  "lost"  his  boots,  and 
provided  himself  with  such  an  astonishing 
pair  of  dilapidated  canoes  from  some  dung- 
hill, that  he  drags  a  train  of  rotten  leather, 
a  foot  or  so  in  length,  at  each  of  his  heels. 

The  boys  all  dress  like  rustic  labourers, 
in  thick  field  shoes  and  corduroy  trousers, 
Avhich  they  learn  to  mend  for  themselves,  in 
shoemaking  and  tailoring  shops  erected  on 
the  farm.  They  rise  at  the  same  time  as  the 
labourers  in  the  surrounding  country,  and  live 
on  labourer's  fare  ;  eating  meat  only  twice  a 
week.  They  are  vigorous  and  healthy,  thanks 
to  sufficient,  though  coarse,  food,  exercise,  and 
country  air.  About  three  cases  of  slight  sick- 
ness in  a  twelvemonth  are  all  the  ills  of  flesh 
they  know. 

Though  moral  discipline  and  kindness — 
a  true  spirit  of  religion — are  relied  upon 
for  the  main  work  of  reformation,  corporal 
punishment  is  not  entirely  taken  from  the 
code.  It  is  administered  only  as  a  last 
resource  ;  sometimes  not  once  during  six 
months,  and  only  by  the  chaplain  himself 
a  week  after  the  commission  of  the  offence. 
The  ordinary  punishments  consist  in  the  sub- 
traction of  reward.  For  all  the  labour  done 
by  them,  the  boys  are  paid  a  trifling  price,  at 
a  fixed  scale,  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
work ;  so  that  each  earns  from  a  penny  to 
eight-pence  every  week.  Out  of  his  earnings 
he  pays  fines  proportioned  to  the  week's 
oifences.  The  balance  in  his  favour  is  put 
down  as  cash  to  his  account ;  but,  if  the  balance 
be  against  him,  he  is  put,  according  to  the 
amount  of  deficit,  in  a  fourth  or  a  fifth  class, 
and  pays  by  eating  bread  instead  of  pudding, 
and  by  other  changes  in  the  character  of  his 


provisions.  One  week's  losses  are  not  carried 
on  against  the  next  week's  gains.  Each  week  is 
independent  of  all  others.  The  money  earned 
in  this  way  is  not,  of  course,  given  to  the 
boy,  but  is  spent  in  accordance  with  his  wishes. 
He  will  buy  with  it,  perhaps,  treacle  to  improve 
his  pudding,  or  the  prerogative  of  setting  up 
his  knife,  which  is  the  schoolboy's  substitute 
for  setting  up  a  carriage.  Sometimes  he  will 
ask  leave  to  spend  it  on  a  visit  to  some  rela- 
tive, or  will  save  it  up  for  months  to  pay 
his  mother's  cost  in  coming  down  to  see  liim 
at  Red  Hill. 

When  offences  pass  beyond  the  fine  and 
the  fifth  class,  there  is  an  alternative  of 
solitary  confinement  for  a  short  time,  accom- 
panied with  gentle  admonition.  Except  in 
cases  that  demand  immediate  care,  the  record 
of  the  week's  misdeeds  is  kept,  and  the  mis- 
deeds remain  to  be  accounted  for,  till  Saturday 
in  every  week ;  when,  after  dinner,  the  awards 
are  made. 

While  waiting  for  the  dinner-time,  we  visit 
the  boys  who  are  locked  up  in  light  separate 
cells,  for  a  few  hours  of  reflection.  One  of  them 
is  an  Irish  lad  of  sixteen  or  older,  who,  after  a 
quarrel  on  the  previous  night,  decamped  from 
the  establishment,  and  was  recovered  with  a 
coat  in  his  possession  that  did  not  belong  to 
him.  The  coat  he  declared  obstinately  that  he 
had  picked  up,  and  no  kind  of  reasoning  would 
make  him  tell  another  tale.  We  shared,  for 
some  minutes,  his  confinement ;  and  though  he 
was  one  of  the  most  hopeless  boys  on  the  es- 
tablishment, he  spoke  kindly — in  his  absence 
—of  the  chaplain,  and  recognised  the  good 
feeling  at  Red  Hill.  He  would  like  it,  he 
said,  if  there  were  not  about  three  dozen  boys, 
who  teazed  him  because  he  was  Irish.  That 
was  his  view  of  the  case.  He  was  an  orphan, 
who  had  been  thirteen  or  fourteen  years  away 
from  Ireland.  His  relatives  were  an  uncle 
and  aunt  in  Liverpool,  about  whose  occupations 
he  seemed  unwilling  to  be  communicative. 

There  is  another  boy,  confined  for  general 
idleness,  and  lying  all  along  (and  very  like  an 
idle  boy  indeed)  asleep  on  the  cool  floor,  with 
his  head  at  the  door,  like  a  mat.  He  is  young 
— about  ten — and  small  for  his  age.  We  have 
seen  that  head,  in  prisons,  many  a  time.  A 
sullen,  lowering,  overhanging,  beetle-browed, 
heavy  head,  with  confused  eyes  in  it  that  will 
look  anywhere  rather  than  at  other  eyes.  As 
the  chaplain  turns  it  up  towards  him  by  the 
chin,  and  says  a  word  or  two  of  gentle  re- 
monstrance, there  is  no  hope  in  it — very  little 
accountability — no  more  power  of  straight 
thinking  than  there  is  of  straight-walking  in 
a  twisted  foot.  Touching  the  difficulty  into 
which  this  head  has  got  itself  and  society,  we 
would  rather  advise  with  our  good  friend  Dr. 
Conolly,  than  with  the  quarter  sessions. 

There  is  another  boy,  for  a  graver  offence. 
Being  at  work  in  the  carpenter's  shop,  he 
pocketed  a  knife,  and  so  from  good  repute  is 
brought  to  cellular  disgrace.  The  carpenter 
to  whom  we  spoke  about  it  just  now,  as 


602 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Conducted  by 


he  stood  on  a  ladder  up  among  the  green 
leaves  working  at  the  roof  of  the  new  smith's 
shop,  thinks  it  was  a  sudden  temptation  that 
was  too  much  for  the  boy  ;  the  boy  had  done 
very  well  indeed  before  ;  he  had  no  reason  to 
complain  of  the  boy  at  all ;  thought  very  well 
of  him.  We  had  a  bright  idea  that  it  might 
be  a  knife  with  a  handle  full  of  extraor- 
dinary temptations — corkscrews,  boot-hooks, 
picks,  gimlets,  punches,  and  so  forth ;  but 
the  carpenter  said  (unwillingly,  as  a  good- 
natured  man  who  perceived  our  drift)  No,  it 
was  just  a  common,  knife !  This  is  a  good- 
looking  culprit,  considered  likely  to  reform. 
Seems  to  have  a  manly  sort  of  repentance 
breaking  out  in  him,  which  promises  well. 

Dinner-time  now ;  the  boys  are  at  their 
tables  ;  and  it  is  suet-pudding  day.  One  boy 
says  grace,  and  all  the  boys  eat  pudding, 
except  those  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  classes, 
who  eat  respectively,  bread  and  cheese,  and 
bread.  The  allowance  of  pudding  is  suited  to 
an  agricultural  appetite.  The  puddings  are 
baked  like  bread,  in  tins ;  so  that  there  is  a 
crust  all  round,  and  the  juvenile  taste  runs 
upon  scooping  out  the  pudding  first,  and  then 
eating  its  shell.  Some  rejoice  in  their  privi- 
lege of  treacle.  Class  the  Fifth  is  not  happy  in 
a  taste  for  bread.  One  little  fellow  has  spilt 
water  on  the  table  and  has  deposited  his  bread 
in  it,  in  order  to  complain  that  it  is  wet. 
His  neighbour  complains  that  the  school- 
master who  teaches  him,  like  his  companions, 
for  two  hours  daily,  has  a  "  spite  again  him." 
We  inspect  the  register  of  offences.  The 
column  headed  disorder,  is  the  one  that  is 
most  filled.  Order  is  necessary,  although  we 
are  not  thunderstruck  at  finding  that  the 
boys  in  this  hot  weather  are  found  in  the 
pond  at  unseasonable  hours  ;  and  that,  be- 
coming restless  at  night,  they  will  get  out  of 
bed  and  walk  about,  to  the  distress  of  their 
companions. 

Bemembering  that  every  one  of  these  boys 
has  been  walled  in  a  prison,  for  which  he 
qualified  through  scenes  of  filth  and  vice, 
it  is  a  fact  most  honorable  to  the  chaplain 
and  demonstrative  of  his  real  influence  over 
them,  that  the  offence  of  profanity  and 
bad  language  occurs,  throughout  the  whole 
community  of  more  than  a  hundred  boys, 
only  about  three  or  four  times  in  a  week. 
The  trust  reposed  by  the  boys  in  their 
chief  guide,  is  manifest  in  the  frank  looks 
with  which  he  has  been  met  throughout  the 
morning,  and  the  free  and  frequent  communi- 
cation which  the  children  have  evidently 
claimed,  whenever  they  have  had  anything  to 
ask  or  tell. 

Dinner  is  soon  over  and  all  stand  up.  After 
a  pause,  during  which  perfect  silence  is 
established,  grace  is  said.  The  schoolmaster 
then  strikes  his  tuning-fork  and  leads  in  the 
doxology.  There  is  a  little  organ  in  the  well- 
appointed  chapel,  and  every  opportunity  is 
taken  of  introducing  music  into  the  routine 
of  the  school.  For  our  especial  pleasure,  the 


tuning-fork  is  again  put  in  requisition,  and 
the  juvenile  offenders  against  law,  with  reve- 
rent (though,  of  course,  here  and  there  un- 
promising) fiices,  and  with  good  voices,  sing 
a  hymn  in  praise  of  faith  and  kindness  one 
towards  another. 

The  singing  of  the  boys  remained  as  melody 
upon  our  minds  after  we  had  left  the  Farm, 
and  wandered  out  again  into  the  sunny  ways. 
Returning  by  new  paths,  we  dived  into  the 
coolness  of  a  narrow  sheltered  lane,  through 
which  a  brook  was  flowing.  A  heu  with 
her  young  brood  fluttered  before  us.  The 
chickens  in  dismay,  the  hen  in  wrath  and  fear, 
covering  the  retreat  of  her  children,  labouring 
to  find  for  them  a  safe  path  out  of  the  way  of 
evil — for  as  evil  we  were  obviously  regarded 
— sped  down  the  narrow  lane  the  faster  as 
we  made  haste  to  get  by,  and  relieve  them  of 
the  cause  of  terror.  At  last  the  mother 
lodged  her  whole  brood  in  a  hole  by  the  way- 
side, and  stood  forward  menacing  death  to  all 
the  powers  that  would  do  them  harm.  We 
thought  that  if  Britannia  had  a  little  of  the 
hen  in  her,  and  took  but  half  as  much  care  of 
her  brood  of  unprotected  young,  there  would 
not  be  so  many  crushed  boys  to  restore  to 
wholeness — so  many  fallen  girls  to  raise. 

Our  honorable  friend  !  The  system  must  be 
devised,  the  administrators  must  be  reared, 
the  preventible  young  criminals  must  be  pre- 
vented, the  State  must  put  its  Industrial  and 
Farm  Schools  first,  and  its  prisons  last — and 
to  this  complexion  you  must  come.  You 
may  put  the  time  off  a  little,  and  destroy  (not 
irresponsibly)  a  few  odd  thousands  of  im- 
mortal souls  in  the  meantime  ;  but,  the  change 
must  come.  It  were  better  for  you,  and  the 
whole  constituent  body  of  Verbosity,  to  come 
to  it  with  a  good  grace  ;  for  the  thing  itself  is 
as  sure  as  Death,  our  honorable  friend. 


THE  MERRY  MEN  OF  CAIRO. 

THERE  are  two  incontrovertible  truths,  that 
"  Allah  (whose  name  be  exalted)  is  Allah," 
and  that  "  Cairo  is  the  Queen  of  Cities." 
Franks  say  that  Marsiglia,  and  Londra,  and 
Parigi,  are  lai'ger  and  finer ;  but  by  one  argu- 
ment we  confound  them.  How  comes  it  that 
they  undertake  a  journey  of  many  months  to 
see  our  city,  if  it  be  inferior  in  anything  to 
the  places  they  come  from  ?  May  such  liars 
be  condemned  to  eternal  fire  ;  and  may  Cairo 
never  cease  to  assert  its  supremacy,  arid  con- 
tinue to  be  what  its  name  imports,  Al  Kahira, 
the  Conqueror. 

Cairo  contains  the  largest  and  the  oldest 
mosques,  the  most  elegant  fountains,  the 
richest  bazaars,  the  most  spacious  wakalahs, 
the  most  pious  men,  and  the  most  lovely 
women,  in  the  world.  Its  excellences  are 
indeed  ten  thousand — five  thousand  physical, 
and  five  thousand  moral  ;  and  it  has  been 
calculated  that  to  describe  each  excellence 
with  due  detail,  would  require  three  thousand 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  MEERY  MEN  OF  CAIEO. 


603 


words  of  the  choicest  that  our  language 
contains.  The  learned  Abd-es-Sarf  has 
written  a  large  book  on  the  donkeys  of  Cairo 
alone,  and  the  things  appertaining  ;  but,  as 
he  lias  forgotten  to  laud  the  perfection  of  the 
saddles  ami  the  bridles,  much  remains  to  be 
done. 

Among  the  chief  excellences  of  Cairo  are 
its  wags  or  merry  men.  Like  unto  them  are 
to  be  found  in  no  country  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  They  are  not  drunkards,  like  the 
merry  men  of  Stamboul ;  nor  licentious,  like 
those  of  Damascus  ;  nor  dishonest,  like  those 
of  Aleppo  ;  nor  riotous,  like  those  of  Bassora. 
They  mingle  a  pleasant  proportion  of  gravity 
with  their  mirth  ;  and  their  chief  art  is  to 
pass  their  life  in  jollity,  without  doing  any 
harm  to  their  fellow  creatures — or  rather, 
without  doing  more  than  is  required  to  keep 
themselves  in  pleasant  humour,  for  it  is  im- 
possible to  laugh  without  seeing  others  suffer 
slightly. 

One  of  the  most  celebrated  of  these  merry 
men  is  Hassan,  who  passes  his  time  in  piercing 
the  skins  of  the  water-carriers,  and  in  enjoy- 
ing the  rage  and  tears  of  the  unfortunate  man 
who,  on  arriving  at  his  destination,  finds  that 
he  has  nothing  but  empty  bags  of  leather  on 
his  camels.  He  always  follows  his  victim  at 
a  distance,  and  when  he  has  sufficiently 
laughed,  he  comes  forward,  saying,  "Poor 
man,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Here  is  the  price 
of  thy  water."  Then  the  carrier  replies, 
"May  Allah  shower  blessings  upon  thee, 
and  curses  on  the  man  who  pierced  my 
skins  !  " 

Another,  named  Chirza,  chiefly  delights  in 
putting  dead  dogs  or  cats  into  the  water-jars 
of  the  women ;  and  it  is  related  that  he  once 
saw  a  woman  set  down  a  jar  at  a  door  and 
go  into  the  house  to  gossip.  He  had  a  cat 
under  his  cloak,  and  slipped  it  in  without 
being  seen.  In  the  evening,  he  related  his 
joke  to  several  friends  who  dined  with  him, 
and  all  laughed.  Suddenly,  the  servant  came 
in  and  said  that  the  jar,  from  which  the 
water  they  had  drank  had  been  taken, 
contained  a  dead  cat ;  and  it  was  discovered 
that  Chirza  had  played  off  his  trick  on  his  own 
maid  by  mistake. 

But  all  the  wags  of  the  present  day  are 
inferior  to  the  one  surnamed  Abu  Muuchar, 
or  the  Father  of  the  Nose,  who  nourished 
under  the  reign  of  King  Ali  Mustapha.  His 
real  name  was  Abdallah  ;  but,  as  his  nose 
was  about  the  size  and  shape  of  a  full-grown 
cucumber,  first  the  children,  then  the  women, 
and,  by  degrees,  everybody  nicknamed  him 
Abu  Munchar.  He  was  the  son  of  a  merchant, 
who  bequeathed  to  him  considerable  property, 
charging  him  to  increase  it ;  but,  as  he  loved 
ease  better  than  labour,  and  saw  that  he  had 
sufficient  to  keep  him  in  comfort  all  his  life, 
he  determined  to  abandon  trade  and  to  adopt 
the  profession  of  a  merry  man.  More  than 
fifty  of  his  exploits  have  been  handed  down 
by  tradition  ;  but  it  is  generally  admitted 


that  the  one  we  are  about  to-  relate  was  the 
most  amusing. 

He  lived  in  a  fine  mansion  near  the  Zeyneb 
gate,  and  his  neighbours  talked  of  scarcely 
anything  but  the  comical  things  he  said  and 
did.  In  order  to  be  more  at  liberty,  however, 
he  bought  a  small  house  at  the  other  ex- 
tremity of  the  city,  and  used  often  to  go  there 
dressed  in  mean  garments,  and  concoct  and 
carry  out  plans  of  amusements.  His  mysteri- 
ous way  of  living  created  great  curiosity  in 
the  neighbourhood ;  and  as  secrecy  always 
irritates  the  inquisitive,  many  began  to  spread 
the  report  that  he  was  no  other  than  Manrow, 
the  celebrated  robber,  disguised  by  a  nose  that 
Allah  had  not  given  him.  These  reports  at 
length  induced  the  head  of  the  police  to  pay  a 
visit  to  the  house.  Abu  Munchar  was  a  little 
alarmed  at  first ;  but,  as  he  had  heard  of  the 
reports  that  had  been  spread,  he  received  the 
official  with  a  gay  countenance,  and  without 
giving  him  time  to  speak,  said :  "  O  my  master, 
this  is  a  most  fortunate  occasion.  I  wished 
to  see  you  ;  for,  on  going  along  the  street  this 
morning,  I  found  a  purse  containing  a  hundred 
pieces  of  gold,  and  as  it  is  not  probable  that  I 
shall  discover  the  owner  so  easily  as  you  will,  it 
is  best  to  place  it  in  your  hands."  So  saying, 
he  drew  forth  a  purse  and  handed  it  to  the 
head  of  the  police,  who  understood  the  whole 
affair,  and  who,  after  making  some  mild  in- 
quiries as  to  Abdallah's  way  of  life,  went  away. 
The  merry  man  accompanied  him  into  the 
street,  where  his  visitor  embraced  him  with 
great  demonstrations  of  affection,  and  con- 
tinued his  round,  answering  all  curious  in- 
quirers by  saying, "  A  man  who  laughs  is  never 
dangerous  ! " 

When  the  neighbours  saw  with  what  dis- 
tinction Abu  Munchar  was  treated  by  the 
dreaded  Zabib,  they  changed  their  opinion  of 
him  and  eagerly  sought  his  acquaintance. 
A.mong  those  who  had  most  vilified  him 
previously,  was  a  poor  devil  of  a  barber,  who 
used  to  shave  in  a  bath  visited  only  by  water- 
carriers,  fish-men,  donkey-boys,  and  beggars  ; 
and  who  could  scarcely  contrive  to  exist  on 
the  produce  of  his  razor.  It  is  true,  that  more 
than  half  his  earnings  were  expended  in  coffee 
and  hasheesh  (to  which  he  was  inveterately 
addicted),  and  that  many  would  not  trust 
their  heads  in  his  hands,  because  he  had  once, 
when  very  drunk,  sliced  off  the  ear  of  a  patient. 

This  barber,  named  Ali,  said  to  himself 
one  day  :  "  The  man  with  the  nose  is  evi- 
dently a  jolly  fellow,  a.nd  yet  he  seems  as  poor 
as  myself.  Perhaps  he  has  the  secret  of 
happiness  ;  and,  if  I  could  make  his  ac- 
quaintance he  might  discover  it  to  me.  I  am 
a  pleasant  wise  fellow,  full  of  learned  sayings, 
and  strange  stories,  and  witty  conceits,  and 
ready  answers,  and  experience  of  the  world, 
and  elegance  of  manner  and  taste,  and  know- 
ledge of  exceeding  good  stories  and  of  song- 
craft — in  short,  there  is  no  more  agreeable 
companion  in  the  world  than  I  am  ;  and, 
if  I  can  show  my  talents  to  this  man.  it  is 


604 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


impossible  that  he  should  not  conceive  a  great 
affection  for  me." 

Now  it  happened,  that  whilst  he  was  thus 
speaking  to  himself,  Abu  Munchar  was  look- 
ing at  him  from  his  window,  and  saying  : 
"  This  is  one  of  the  idiots  who  brought  upon 
me  the  visit  of  the  head  of  the  police.  He 
has  a  villanous  face,  with  but  one  eye,  and  is 
evidently  a  conceited  person.  It  would 
be  a  pleasant  thing  to  play  some  good  trick 
upon  him,  that  he  might  learn  not  to  meddle 
with  things  that  concern  him  not,  and  to  have 
a  less  opinion  of  his  own  merit." 

A  little  while  afterwards,  having  matured 
his  plan,  he  went  to  the  shop  of  the  barber, 
and  expressed  his  wish  to  be  shaved.  At 
the  same  time,  a  messenger  came  from  the 
bath  requesting  his  services.  "  Tell  the 
Maallim,"  quoth  the  poor  fellow,  "  that  I  am 
shaving  the  head  of  an  emir,  and  cannot 
come."  So  the  messenger  went  away,  another 
barber  was  called,  and  Ali  lost  his  connection 
with  the  bath. 

Abu  Munchar  took  off  his  turban,  and 
placed  himself  on  the  bench  with  exceeding 
gravity,  that  he  might  be  shaved.  Ali  began 
at  once  to  sharpen  his  razor,  to  prepare  the 
lather,  and  to  talk,  as  barbers  ever  do  ;  for 
Allah  has  given  them  a  tongue  a  span 
in  length.  He  vaunted  both  his  own  clever- 
ness and  the  respect  he  entertained  for  his 
customer,  endeavouring  to  insinuate  himself 
into  his  good  graces.  Unfortunate  man  !  his 
advances  were  only  too  well  received ;  and 
ere  the  last  polish  was  given  to  that  round 
head,  Abu  Munchar  had  confessed  that  he 
felt  wonderfully  inclined  to  do  good  to  the 
barber.  Ali  was  delighted,  and  said'  that 
if  that  were  the  case,  he  would  speak  out. 
So  he  related  his  surmises  on  the  subject  of 
his  patient's  way  of  life,  and  begged  to  be 
told  whether  or  not  he  possessed  the  secret  of 
happiness. 

"  Thy  penetration  is  marvellous,  thy  capa- 
city is  unexampled,  O  Ali  !"  was  the  reply. 
"  The  source  of  my  felicity  is  indeed  not  ordi- 
nary. I  was  born  poor,  and  lived,  until  of 
late,  poor,  as  thou  hast  surmised ;  but  I 
chanced  to  obtain  admission  into  the  Company 
of  the  Wise  and  Happy  ;  so  that  now  my  lot 
is  to  be  envied." 

"And  what  is  that  company?"  inquired  the 
barber. 

"  It  consists  of  a  variety  of  individuals  of  all 
ranks  and  conditions,  who  have  the  power  of 
obtaining  whatsoever  they  may  wish,  when 
united  in  the  ordained  place  of  meeting.  We 
meet  together  at  stated  intervals.  One  wishes 
for  a  purse  of  gold,  another  for  a  beautiful 
maiden,  another  for  a  handsome  gai'ment ;  and 
no  one  ever  fails  to  obtain  what  he  may  desire." 

"  O  Allah  !  Allah  !  why  may  I  not  become 
a  member  of  this  worshipful  company  ?  " 

"  That  is  impossible,"  replied  the  wag,  in  a 
grave  voice.  "  I  have  gratified  thy  curiosity  ; 
but,  do  not  let  thy  hopes  go  astray  in  quest  of 
what  is  forbidden." 


The  barber  was  afraid  for  the  time  to  press 
the  matter  further,  although  he  did  not 
despair  of  ultimately  succeeding  in  his  wishes. 
When  the  shave  was  over,  he  refused  to 
accept  payment  for  his  trouble ;  declaring  with 
many  oaths  that  he  esteemed  it  an  honour  to 
handle  the  head  of  his  respected  neighbour. 
Abu  Munchar  did  not  much  insist,  but  went 
away  and  related  to  his  intimates  how  he  had 
got  a  barber  at  his  service  for  nothing. 

Some  time  afterwards,  it  was  agreed  be- 
tween the  merry  man  and  one  of  his  friends, 
named  Maza,  that  the  joke  should  be  carried 
out  to  its  extremity.  Every  preparation  having 
been  made,  Maza  went,  dressed  as  a  poor  man ; 
and,  feigning  sickness,  fell  down  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  barber's  shop.  The  luckless 
rogue,  who,  since  he  had  lost  his  connection 
with  the  bath,  had  gained  scarcely  sufficient 
to  buy  him  a  loaf  for  dinner,  was  sitting 
sharpening  his  razor  for  the  hundredth  time 
that  day.  On  hearing  a  noise,  he  started  as 
if  from  slumber,  cried  "  hader  "  (ready),  and 
began  to  make  a  lather,  without  looking  at 
his  customer.  On  turning  round  at  length, 
however,  he  saw  as  it  were  a  corpse  in  the 
doorway,  and  felt  terribly  alarmed ;  but  he 
recovered  soon,  and,  humanity  prompting 
him,  drew  Maza  into  the  shop,  tweaked 
his  nose,  slapped  his  hands,  and  succeeded 
in  making  him  open  his  eyes  and  pretend  to 
recover. 

"  Where  am  I  ?"  said  he,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  In  the  shop  of  Ali,  the  cleverest  and  the 
poorest  barber  in  Cairo.  A  miserable  wretch, 
who  has  scarcely  a  glass  of  water  to  offer 
thee  ;  but  w  ho  is  ready  to  shave  thy  head  for 
the  honour  of  the  Prophet." 

"  I  demand  not  to  be  shaved,  but  to  be 
taken  to  the  house  of  Abu  Munchar,  if  he  be 
known  in  this  quarter." 

"Known  !"  exclaimed  Ali.  "Why,  he  is  my 
most  intimate  friend,  and  scarcely  ever  passes 
a  day  without  stepping  in  to  hear  me  dis- 
course wisely  of  all  things ;  for  he  has  seen 
that  I  am  a  man  of  sagacity,  who  knows  sen- 
tences, and  can  expound  history  and  doctrine. 
He  has  seen  that  I  am  capable  of  enlightening 
the  imbecility  of  his  mind,  and  enlarging  the 
bounds  of  his  knowledge,  and  showing  him 
the  right  path,  and  giving  him  rules  of  con- 
duct, and  directions  in  the  search  of  wealth, 
and  means  to  avoid  the  rod  of  government, 
and  advice  and  assistance  of  all  valuable 
kinds  ;  besides  . . . ." 

"  This  is  enough,"  replied  Maza,  "  to  per- 
suade me  that  thou  knowest  the  man.  Show 
me  his  dwelling,  and  thou  shalt  be  rewarded 
— by  my  thanks." 

"  Nay,"  quoth  Ali,  "  it  seemeth  to  me  that 
thou  art  sick  and  unable  to  walk.  Remain  in 
my  shop,  and  I  will  call  upon  my  neighbour, 
and  mention  thy  name  and  describe  thy  qua- 
lities, and  bring  him  to  thee." 

"  Be  it  so,"  said  Maza  ;  and  Ali,  who  was 
delighted  at  the  opportunity  of  entering  his 
neighbour's  house,  crossed  the  street,  and 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  MERRY  MEN  OF  CAIRO. 


605 


pushing  the  door,  that  was  ajar,  went  into 
the  passage,  and  cried,  "  Beit  /" 

"  Who  is  there  1 "  was  the  reply. 

"  May  the  stones,  and  the  walls,  and  the 
roof  of  this  dwelling  be  blessed  !"  exclaimed 
the  loquacious  barber.  "  I  demand  permission 
to  enter.  I  bring  a  message." 

"  Come  up,"  said  A.bu  Munchar,  leaning 
from  the  gallery. 

So  Ali  went  upstairs ;  and,  having  kissed 
the  hands  of  his  false  friend,  told  him,  with  a 
thousand  circumlocutions,  of  what  had  taken 
place. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  Abu  Munchar,  "  that 
the  Emir  Maza  of  Dorkan  is  in  the  condition 
which  thou  hast  described  ?  He  is  the  chief 
and  president  of  our  company,  but  has  been 
absent  a  whole  year  on  a  wonderful  adventure. 
Let  me  hasten  to  receive  him." 

So  the  wag  went  down  and  embraced  Maza, 
and  took  him  away ;  leaving  the  poor  barber 
in  a  state  of  amazement  and  delight  that  he 
should  have  had  an  opportunity  of  giving 
hospitality  to  an  emir. 

Next  day,  Abu  Munchar  came  to  All's 
shop,  and  entered  invoking  blessings  on  the 
owner. 

"  O  fortunate  barber  !"  he  cried,  "  thou  art 
about  to  attain  the  accomplishment  of  thy 
wishes.  The  Emir  of  Dorkan  hath  consented 
to  receive  thee  into  our  company ;  being 
amazed  with  thy  learning,  and  charmed  by  thy 
wit,  and  fascinated  by  thy  elegant  demeanour. 
There  remain  but  some  few  trifling  formalities 
to  undergo,  which  of  course  will  not  stand  in 
the  way." 

Ali  was  profuse  in  his  expressions  of :  de- 
light, and  promised  to  comply  with  whatever 
was  demanded  of  him. 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Abu  Munchar, 
"  thou  must  exercise  thy  razor  upon  thy  face, 
and  shave  it  until  not  one  hair  remaineth  to 
look  at  another.  Then  thou  must  undress, 
keeping  nothing  on  but  thy  shirt  and  thy 
under-clothing.  Afterwards  thou  must  take  a 
kurbeh  (water-skin)  and  fill  it  with  foul  water, 
and  go  about  the  streets  offering  to  the  thirsty. 
Many  things  may  befall  thee;  but,  depend 
upon  it,  ere  long,  thou  wilt  belong  to  the  com- 
pany of  the  wise  and  happy.  Remember, 
•however,  should  any  one  ask  an  explanation 
of  thy  conduct,  say  that  thou  wert  commanded 
by  Maza,  the  Emir  of  Dorkan." 

Ali  consented  to  do  all  this,  although  in 
his  heart  he  feared  the  consequences.  Accord- 
ingly, next  day,  having  thrown  away  his 
beard,  clotted  with  soap,  he  went  forth  in  his 
shirt  and  drawers,  bearing  on  his  back  a 
kurbeh  filled  from  the  Kalish.  The  weather 
was  very  hot,  and  before  he  had  taken  ten  paces 
a  crowd  of  boys  and  girls  followed  him  laughing 
and  crying,  "  O  mad  Sakka,  give  us  to  drink  ;" 
and  he  gave  them  from  a  brass  cup,  and  they 
spluttered,  and  cursed  him,  and  pelted  him 
with  stones,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  take 
refuge  in  a  crowded  bazaar.  Here  the  people 
made  way  for  him,  crying,  "  This  is  a  man 


performing  a  penance."  Some  asked  to  be 
refreshed ;  and  many  were  deceived  into 
tasting  what  he  gave.  Whereupon  they  kicked 
and  buffetted  him  from  one  end  of  the  bazaar 
to  the  other,  and  said,  "  This  is  one  of  the 
wags.  Let  us  make  him  have  cause  to  weep 
instead  of  to  laugh." 

In  this  way  he  passed  from  one  quarter  to 
another,  without  ever  failing  to  be  beaten  in 
any  one,  until  he  felt  his  brain  whirl. 

"  Woe  be  unto  me  !  "  exclaimed  the  unfor- 
tunate shaver  at  length.  "  This  matter  is  not 
agreeable.  It  will  be  well  if  I  reach  my  des- 
tination soon,  otherwise  I  shall  not  hav& 
strength  to  taste  the  felicity  that  is  prepared 
for  me." 

As  he  uttered  these  words  a  Bey,  riding 
upon  a  horse,  passed  with  his  attendants  ;  and 
seeing  the  Sakka  (\va.ter-carrier),  who  was  now 
covered  with  dirt  and  in  rags,  asked  for  a  drink, 
intending  to  present  him  afterwards  with  a 
piece  of  gold.  But,  when  he  tasted  the  foul 
drink  he  was  enraged,  and  ordered  his  people 
to  seize  the  offender,  and  to  beat  him,  and  to 
drag  him  to  prison.  He  was  accordingly 
dragged  to  prison,  and  thrown  in  amidst 
thieves  and  bad  servants,  and  passed  the  rest 
of  that  day  and  the  whole  night  in  misery, 
bemoaning  himself,  and  wishing  that  he  had 
never  undertaken  this  adventure.  In  the 
morning  they  brought  him  before  the  head  of 
the  police,  who  questioned  him  as  to  the 
motives  of  his  conduct.  Remembering  what 
had  been  told  him,  Ali  avowed  that  he  had 
obeyed  the  instructions  of  the  Emir  of 
Dorkan. 

"  Dorkdn  !  "  cried  the  Zabib,  "  I  know  no 
Dorkan ;  therefore  there  can  be  no  such 
place  as  Dorkan.  Who  ever  heard  of  Dorkan  ? 
This  man  is  guilty  of  impiety.  He  hath 
added  a  place  to  Allah's  earth.  Let  him  be 
beaten  for  speaking  of  Dorkau  !  " 

According  to  this  wise  decision,  poor  Ali 
was  beaten  until  he  was  incapable  of  standing. 
Pain  and  suffering  deprived  him  of  his  wits  ; 
and,  when  they  cast  him  forth  into  the  street, 
he  mowed  and  gibbered  at  all  who  passed. 
Some  compassionate  folks  now  took  him  on 
their  shoulders,  and  carried  him  to  the 
Moristan  or  madhouse,  where  they  chained 
him  to  a  ring  and  beat  him,  that  he  might 
return  to  his  senses.  But  they  at  length  grew 
weary  of  their  benevolent  exertions,  and  left 
him  as  foolish  as  ever. 

When  they  ceased  to  torment  him  he 
imagined  strange  things  ;  as  that  he  was  a 
prince  of  a  vast  country,  and  was  surrounded 
with  wealth  and  bright  scenes  and  beautiful 
damsels.  So  he  danced  and  rattled  his 
hains  and  shouted  "  Blessings  on  Abu 
Munchar  and  the  Emir  of  Dorkan."  Then, 
the  keepers  came  and  fell  upon  him  with 
sticks,  crying,  "  What  an  obstinate  maniac  is 
shis!  he  has  been  beaten  enough  to  make 
;hree  wise  men  ;  and  lo  !  he  will  not  leave 
jowling." 
Ali  remained  in  this  miserable  condition 


606 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


sevei'al  days  ;  after  which  Abu  Munchar, 
heaving  of  his  fate  and  repenting  of  what  he 
had  done,  went  and  procured  his  release,  and 
took  him  to  his  palace  near  the  Zeynab  gate. 
Here, — strange  to  say,  but  the  ways  of  Allah 
are  inscrutable — quiet,  and  good  feeding,  and 
clean  clothing,  restored  him  to  his  wits.  The 
wag  appointed  him  as  one  of  his  servants, 
and  he  remained  a  long  time  in  tranquillity 
without  alluding  to  what  had  taken  place. 

At  length,  however,  one  day,  Ali  the  barber, 
being  merry,  said  to  his  master  : 

"  O  merry  man,  where  is  that  place  where 
the  wise  and  happy  congregate,  and  where  it 
is  possible  to  call  up  by  the  mere  will  all  that 
is  beautiful  and  magnificent  in  the  world, 
and  to  enjoy  without  trouble  the  fruits  of 
power  and  wealth  ?  " 

"  Thou  hast  already  been  there,"  replied 
Abu  Munchar. 

"  I  remember  not.  "What  manner  of  place 
is  it  ?  " 

"TheMoristan!" 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  SALMON. 


No  creature  can  well  have  a  quieter  birth- 
place than  the  trout  which  is  spawned  in  the 
Bann.  The  Bann  is  not,  on  the  whole,  a  quiet 
river,  for  it  has  a  prodigious  deal  of  work  to 
do,  and  it  does  its  work  in  a  prodigious  bustle 
at  times  ;  though  occasionally  it  relaxes  some- 
what, and  seems  to  remember  the  great  truth, 
that  nothing  is  worth  the  loss  of  composure. 
The  work  that  the  Bann  has  to  do  is  to  carry 
away  into  the  sea  all  the  water  that  other 
rivers  pour  into  the  largest  lake  of  our  three 
kingdoms — Lough  Neagh.  This  lake  measures 
eighty  miles  round ;  and  several  rivers  pour 
their  waters  into  it,  while  there  is  only  this 
one  river  Bann  to  carry  them  away.  So  it 
must  move  quickly  to  get  its  work  done  ;  and 
it  does  push  on,  and  drive  between  its  banks, 
and  fume  and  splash  at  a  grand  rate,  where 
rocks  are  obstinate  in  refusing  to  get  out  of 
its  way.  In  other  spots,  whence  the  rocks 
got  rolled  away  ages  ago,  and  where  thick 
woods  overhang"  the  stream,  its  current 
becomes  not  less  rapid  but  more  still.  Clear, 
deep,  and  dark,  it  there  flows  on  swiftly  and 
silently.  There  it  is  that  the  salmon,  if  they 
are  wise,  look  about  them  for  some  little  cove 
— some  recess  in  the  banks — which  is  seldom 
violently  flooded,  but  which  receives  a  gentle 
ripple  as  the  stream  sweeps  by.  In  such  a 
little  cove,  with  a  floor  of  pure  sand,  the  eggs 
of  the  salmon  may  lie  unharmed  by  any  dis- 
turbance till  they  are  hatched.  Some  of  the 
fish  deposit  their  spawn  where  the  waters 
lash  the  sand,  or  where  animals  like  to  drink, 
and  there  the  eggs  come  to  nothing  and  are 
lost.  This  is  now  so  well  understood,  that  in 
some  places  (in  one  place  in  France  particu- 
larly) fishermen  are  making  fortunes  by  look- 
ing in  good  time  to  the  eggs  and  milt,  and 
seeing  that  they  are  deposited  in  favourable 
places.  Hundreds  of  thousands,  aye,  countless 


millions  of  fish  may  be  provided  for  human 
food  by  this  simple  precaution,  for  want  of 
which  some  of"  our  Scotch  and  English  rivers 
are  supplying  less  and  less  salmon  every  year. 

In  such  a  quiet  pool,  with  its  clean  sandy 
bottom,  does  the  fish  pass  its  earliest  days. 
From  its  first  wriggle  as  a  minute  insect  (as 
we  should  call  it  if  we  could  see  it  at  that 
stage  of  its  life)  to  its  first  use  of  its  fins  and 
tail,  that  little  pool  is  its  world.  Its  world  is 
quite  big  enough  for  it,  and  altogether  beyond 
its  comprehension.  Even  there  it  is  not 
wholly  beyond  the  reach  of  the  tides — not 
shut  out  from  the  influences  of  the  moon,  and 
the  laws  which  keep  a  universe  full  of  firma- 
ments in  their  due  place  and  order :  but  the 
little  fish  is  very  like  us  in  being  frightened, 
and  fancying  that  everything  is  out  of  order 
when  any  commotion  happens  that  it  did  not 
foresee.  If  it  suppose  that  the  universe  was 
made  for  the  sake  of  infant  trout,  it  may  well 
be  alarmed  when  a  strong  ripple  spreads  over 
its  pool,  and  the  water  makes  a  bubble  or  two 
against  the  bank  ; — just  as  men  used  to  take 
for  granted  that  the  world  was  coming 
to  an  end  when  there  was  an  eclipse ;  or 
when  an  unusual  aurora  borealis  turned  the 
calm,  cool  night  sky  into  a  blood-red  dome. 
Mankind  has  grown  wiser  with  experience, 
and  is  learning  that  all  goes  on  in  the  noblest 
and  most  regular  and  stedfast  way  under  laws 
which  never  change  ;  so  that  the  wise  man 
fears  nothing :  and  even  the  infant  trout 
grows  bolder  and  happier  as  it  learns  more  of 
its  own  world  of  waters.  It  wields  its  fins,  it 
practises  with  its  tail ;  it  finds  it  can  rise  to 
the  surface,  and  drop  down  to  the  sand,  and 
get  into  the  shade  at  noon  under  the  roots  of 
some  water- loving  tree,  or  make  new  glancing 
lights  in  the  shallows  by  playing  off  its  scales 
in  the  sunshine.  By  degrees,  it  goes  out 
further  into  the  current,  and  delights  in  being 
swept  along  by  it,  even  though  it  is  whirled 
away  from  its  own  native  cove.  It  may  not 
be  for  ever.  In  a  year  or  two  it  may  come  up 
the  stream  again — as  so  many  do  every  season. 

Meantime,  down  it  goes  ;  not  all  at  once, 
but  as  may  suit  its  growing  strength  and  size, 
and  the  provision  of  food  it  finds.  Towards 
the  end  of  winter  the  waters  grow  cold.  The 
melting  snows  make  them  chilly.  The  salt 
water  will  be  warmer  ;  and  the  young  creature 
is  strong  enough  now  to  bear  a  salt-water  life. 
So  down  it  goes,  faster  and  faster.  It  does 
not  know  why,  but  it  is  carried  on  faster  and 
faster,  under  banks  where  the  hazels  are 
hanging  out  their  catkins,  and  the  willow- 
palm  its  velvet  tufts.  Here  and  there  a  well- 
sheltered  primrose  puts  forth  a  pale  bud,  in 
some  hollow  of  the  bank,  and  the  wild  ducks 
are  making  a  splutter  among  the  ripening 
reeds.  But  now  the  river  rushes  so  fast  that 
the  sun-gleams  are  like  lightning,  and  there  is 
a  rumbling  roar  like  thunder,  and  a  splash 
like  a  deluge.  On  shoots  the  little  creature, 
setting  its  rudder — that  is,  its  tail — steady, 
like  the  older  fish  that  go  before,  and  in  a  trice 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  SALMON. 


607 


it  is  over  the  Falls  of  the  Bann,  and  beginning 
to  feel  what  the  salt  water  is  like.  Still  the 
old  fish  promise  that  it  shall  see  its  native 
cove  again.  It  must  be  done  by  leaping  this 
barrier  of  rocks  ;  but  thousands  of  salmon  do 
that  every  year.  What  fish  has  done,  fish 
may  do. 

And  now,  a  shroud  of  mystery  encloses  the 
life  of  the  salmon.  During  the  first  year  its 
age  is  known  by  the  state  of  its  scales  ;  and 
its  generation  is  then  called  grilse,  or  grailse,  or 
grawls.  After  that,  its  mode  of  living  is  so  com- 
pletely lost  sight  of  that  there  is  not  a  natu- 
ralist, nor  a  fisherman,  along  the  whole  north 
coast  of  Ireland  who  can  tell  when  or  how  the 
trout  passes  into  the  salmon,  (if  indeed  it  be 
the  trout  which  certainly  becomes  the  salmon,) 
or  how  old  the  salmon  may  live  to  be  ;  or  at 
what  age  its  savoury  flakes  make  the  best 
eating  ;  or,  in  short,  anything  whatever  beyond 
this  : — that  the  same  fish  return  every  season 
to  the  same  river ;  the  salmon  of  the  Bann 
being  short  and  thick,  and  those  of  the  Bush 
river  long  and  slim  in  comparison ;  and 
so  on.  So  we  must  treat  salmon  as  we  do 
ladies — neglect  all  considerations  of  age — 
make  no  inquiries  on  that  obscure  point,  and 
sympathise  in  their  activities  and  pleasures 
without  asking  whether  they  had  a  beginning, 
or  will  ever  come  to  an  end. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  talk  of  every  body's 
"  sphere."  What  a  sphere  is  that  of  the 
salmon  of  the  Bann  !  What  a  coast  has  it 
to  range,  whether,  when  carried  out  to  sea 
with  the  rush  of  waters,  it  turns  to  the  right 
hand  or  to  the  left !  That  it  does  range  along 
the  coast  is  certain,  as  the  watcher  on  many 
a  promontory  can  avouch.  Let  the  observer 
stand  on  the  precipice  of  Fairhead — the  salient 
point  of  the  Antrim  coast.  At  first,  he  will 
be  curious  about  the  little  lake  which  dis- 
charges its  waters  by  a  fissure  in  the  rock, 
making  a  waterfall  down  that  steep — more 
than  six  hundred  feet  above  the  busy  surge. 
Already,  on  the  face  of  this  rock,  are  there 
traces  of  that  strange  architecture  of  Nature 
which  comes  out  to  more  perfection  further 
to  the  west.  If  the  observer  looks  out  to  sea, 
his  eye  will  be  fixed  by  the  outlines  of  the 
Scotch  islands,  as  they  lie  calmly  anchored  in 
the  deep  blue  sea,  or  the  Mull  of  Cantire 
closing  in  the  eastern  horizon.  He  sees  more 
than  their  outlines.  In  clear  weather  he  sees 
the  bright  eminences  and  dark  ravines  on  the 
mountain  sides.  Now  let  him  look  below — 
sheer  down  into  the  transparent  waters.  Are 
there  not  silvery  flickerings,  bright  glancings, 
which  show  that  the  salmon  are  there  at 
play  ]  There  they  are  ;  and  near  a  great 
danger.  A  rock  stands  out,  an  islet  separated 
by  sixty  feet  of  roaring  tide  from  the  shore, 
directly  in  the  path  that  the  salmon  take  off 
the  coast.  Not  knowing  that  enemies  may 
come  there  and  waylay  them,  the  fish  do  not 
make  a  good  sweep  out  to  sea,  but  just  swim 
unsuspiciously  round  Carrick-a-rede.  For  a 
good  part  of  the  year,  they  may  do  this  safely; 


during  the  months  when  salmon  are  not 
allowed  to  be  taken;  but,  when  the  doom 
day  comes,  the  bold  fishermen  do  a  great 
feat.  They  sling  two  ropes  from  the  shore  to 
the  islet,  at  a  height  of  ninety  feet  above  the 
tossing  waves  ;  and,  by  laying  short  planks 
across,  they  make  a  bridge, — a  suspension 
bridge  with  a  vengeance — with  no  guard  but 
a  single  rope  for  a  hand-rail.  The  stranger 
usually  declines  being  swung  in  mid  air  on 
such  a  bridge  as  this :  but  the  fisherman — who 
lives,  during  the  salmon  season,  in  a  cottage 
on  the  islet — runs  backwards  and  forwards 
as  tranquilly  as  if  he  were  passing  London 
Bridge ;  and  so  do  his  comrades.  If  the 
salmon  did  but  know  their  own  case,  they 
would  glance  up  from  amidst  the  waters,  and, 
warned  by  that  great  inverted  arch  in  their 
sky,  would  strike  off, — well  out  to  the  north, 
and  not  approach  the  coast  again  for  miles. 
But  all  that  the  salmon  know  of  their  own 
case  is  that  they  want  to  go  up  the  rivers,  to 
deposit  their  spawn  and  milt  ;  so  they  hug 
the  shore,  in  search  of  the  rivers'  mouths. 

Soon  they  come  to  that  strange  place, 
where,  as  we  are  informed,  the  great  giant, 
Fin  McCoul,  had  a  mind  to  make  a  path  for 
himself  and  his  wife  to  pass  over  to  Scotland, 
without  getting  their  feet  wet.  Were  any 
salmon  present  to  see  that  causeway  begun  ? 
and  did  they  fear  that  it  would  bar  them  out 
from  the  Bush  and  the  Bann  ?  There  are  the 
wonderful  paving-stones  at  this  day — cut  so 
neatly  to  fit  into  one  another,  like  the  cells  in 
a  bee-hive,  and  built  in  so  firmly  that  the 
winter  surge,  in  all  these  thousands  of  years, 
has  never  washed  them  asunder.  Were  there 
any  salmon  to  see  the  accident  by  which 
those  stones  were  spilled,  which  are  now  seen 
lying,  all  in  a  heap,  toppled  all  manner  of 
ways.  Giantesses  who  act  as  masons'  labourers 
to  their  husbands,  should  see,  before  they  go 
out  to  work,  that  they  have  strong  strings  to 
their  aprons.  Fin  McCouPs  wife  forgot  this. 
She  brought  him  plenty  of  stones  in  her 
apron,  and  he  paved  them  in  ;  jammed  them 
firm  into  the  bottom  of  the  sea  with  a  stamp 
of  his  heel.  But,  one  day,  her  apron-string 
broke,  and  her  load  of  stones  fell  out — where 
they  now  lie.  Whether  her  husband  was  put 
out  of  humour  by  so  small  an  accident  as 
this,  as  does  happen  to  husbands  sometimes, 
or  whether  his  attention  was  called  off  by 
some  pressure  of  business  elsewhere,  we  can- 
not say  ;  but  the  causeway  certainly  never 
was  finished.  A  beginning  was  made  at  the 
opposite  end — at  Staffa — that  Scotch  islet 
where  the  giant  had  a  cave  where  he  liked  to 
be  cool  at  noonday  (and  a  green,  cool  cave  it 
is)  ;  but  the  path  never  stretched  very  far 
out,  at  either  end  ;  and  the  salmon  get  round, 
quite  easily,  at  this  day. 

Some  salmon  seem  to  have  no  eye  for  cork 
floats.  They  swim  in  among  them,  without  a 
thought  of  a  trap.  But  they  find  themselves 
in  one  ;  and,  after  floundering  among  ropes 
and  cords,  perhaps  from  Monday  to  Saturday, 


608 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


they  find  themselves  drawn  to  shore,  whether 
they  will  or  no,  and  seized  by  the  hot,  cruel 
hands  of  man.  If  our  trout  of  the  Baun  kept 
outside,  or  were  alert  enough  to  spring  over 
at  the  last  moment,  it  is  on  its  way  to  its  own 
river,  rejoicing.  The  Bush  river  comes  first, 
and  there  the  Bush  salmon  take  leave  of  all 
the  rest  for  a  season,  and  part  off  to  their 
country  seats  for  the  autumn  and  Christmas. 
When  the  mouth  of  the  Bann  is  reached,  so 
do  the  Bann  fish,  whisking  up  stream,  under 
Coleraine  bridge,  and  onwards  another  mile, 
to  where  the  salt  water  meets  the  fresh. 

Here  is  a  point  of  such  danger,  that  we 
pause  to  take  breath.  There  are  some  few 
chances  of  escape  ;  but  the  perils  are  awful. 
All  that  the  poor  fish  has  any  doubt  about  is 
as  to  whether  it  can  leap  up  those  rocks,  over 
which  the  fresh  waters  are  pouring  like  a 
cataract.  It  can  make  the  leap,  no  doubt. 
Every  salmon  does.  And  it  will  no  doubt 
keep  at  the  top  when  it  has  got  there — which 
is  the  most  wonderful  part  of  the  business  to 
the  human  observer.  How  it  is  that  the 
rush  of  the  stream  over  the  natural  weir  does 
not  carry  back  the  fish  in  a  moment  is  a 
mystery  to  us  :  but  the  salmon  would  pro- 
bably despise  us  if  we  asked  any  questions, 
even  as  old  women  despise  kings  who  inquire 
how  the  apple  gets  into  the  dumpling.  So 
we  will  merely  say  that  the  young  salmon 
obeys  instructions  as  it  did  in  going  down  ; 
sets  its  rudder  straight,  stifTeus  its  body,  and 
shoots  forward  with  all  its  might,  against  the 
rush  of  waters. 

And  is  it  safe,  after  all  ?  There  are  so 
many  perils  that  it  knows  not  of !  There  are 
buildings  in  the  bed  of  the  river,  every  stone 
and  every  brick  of  which  was  laid  in  malice 
prepense  against  the  salmon  of  the  Bann. 
There  are  half-a-dozen  stout  stone  walls  or 
piers,  built  backwards  from  the  rocky  weir, 
enclosing  spaces  which  are  (all  but  the  middle 
one)  as  many  traps  for  the  fish.  At  the  iipper 
end,  there  are  iron  gratings  to  each  trap — 
doors  which  open  and  shut :  and  at  the  lower 
end  there  are  also  iron  gratings  which  are 
nearly  closed,  but  not  quite.  A  space  of  a 
few  inches  is  left  between  the  gratings,  which 
incline  backwards  so  as  to  direct,  as  it  were, 
the  approaching  fish  to  the  little  gap.  When 
they  have  once  leaped  in,  they  can  never 
more  get  out.  For  a  few  moments,  amidst 
the  dash  and  roar  of  the  descending  waters, 
they  are  unconscious  of  their  fate.  They  are 
whirled  back  ;  they  shoot  across  the  pool ; 
and  at  length  they  dash  themselves  madly 
against  the  upper  gratings  :  but  it  is  all  in 
vain.  If  they  could  pass  this  one  grating, 
they  would  be  safe  for  this  year  ;  for  there  is 
no  net — no  salmon  fishing  above  the  weir. 
The  Irish  Society,  to  whom  the  fishery 
belongs,  take  care  of  that :  and  if,  as  at 
present,  they  let  the  fishery  to  an  individual, 
he  is  no  less  careful.  One  of  the  two  neat 
red-brick  cottages  which  are  built  on  the 
outermost  piers,  is  for  the  watchman  who 


looks  to  the  poachers.  The  other  has  the 
great  scales  for  weighing  the  fish,  and  other 
apparatus.  It  is  somewhat  piteous  to  see  the 
silvery  scales  of  many  a  fish  sticking  to  the 
balance,  while  the  seething  traps  below  are 
tempting  more  to  their  fate.  As  for  the 
other  cottage,  it  contains  a  little  bed,  where 
the  watchman  takes  his  sleep  in  the  daytime, 
amidst  such  a  din  of  waters  as  would  make 
a  fierce  lullaby  to  most  of  us.  By  night, 
while  his  solitary  candle  burns  within,  throw- 
ing a  feeble  gleam  from  the  lattice  upon  the 
surrounding  foam,  he  is  stealing  about  along 
the  piers,  and  across  the  shaking  planks, 
which  make  bridges  from  one  to  another. 
He  peeps  and  pries  and  peers  about,  to  see 
if  any  improper  nets  be  in.  the  water. 
Perhaps  while  he  is  doing  so,  the  poachers 
may  be  watching  his  dim  form  from  under 
the  shadow  of  the  solemn  woods  which  come 
down  to  the  river  banks.  Perhaps  they  may 
be  actually  in  the  river — up  to  their  waists 
in  water,  under  the  shadow  of  the  piers.  If 
caught,  their  punishment  is  a  fine  of  about 
six  pounds  for  each  offence  ;  in  default  of 
payment,  six  months  imprisonment. 

The  flapping  and  frightened  £sh  remain  in 
their  trap  till  the  next  Tuesday,  Thursday, 
or  Saturday  morning,  when  the  men  fish 
them  out  with  landing-nets.  Last  Thursday 
morning  there  were  seventy-three  salmon  : 
this  morning,  there  were  sixty-one.  The 
youngest  and  smallest  weigh  four  pounds  : 
the  greater  number  rise  from  twelve  pounds 
to  twenty  pounds  ;  and  even  twenty-five 
pounds  is  not  an  uncommon  weight.  The 
price  of  salmon  in  the  towns  along  the 
coast  is  about  sixpence  per  pound — unless 
where  hotel  -  keepers  impose  on  inexpe- 
rienced travellers.  But,  the  fish  from  these 
traps  are  packed  in  boxes,  and  forwarded 
by  cart  to  Port  Bush  for  export.  When  the 
railway  to  Londonderry  is  finished,  they  will, 
no  doubt,  be  sent  there  too,  on  their  way  to 
many  new  places.  The  ice  in  which  they  are 
packed  is  supplied,  in  hard  winters,  from 
Irish  lakes  and  ponds :  but  the  last  two 
winters  have  been  too  mild  to  supply  the 
requisite  quantity  ;  so  that  the  fish  from  the 
green  depths  of  this  solemn  coast  have  been 
preserved  in  ice  from  the  still,  unfathomable 
lakes,  freezing  below  the  black  pine  forests 
of  Norway. 

Our  subject  has  grown  sombre  and  some- 
what too  pathetic.  Let  us  take  a  brighter 
view. 

Our  young  salmon  was  certainly  not  caught 
on  this,  its  first  ascent ;  for  it  is  known  to 
have  revisited  the  haunts  of  its  infancy.  We 
have  said  that  there  was  one  space  (it  is  the 
centre  one)  between  the  piers  which  is  not  a 
trap.  It  is  called  the  Queen's  Gap  ;  and  any 
fish  which  are  lucky  or  discreet  enough  to  go 
straight  up  mid-stream,  pass  here  without 
impediment.  It  is  wide  open  at  both  ends. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  all  on  Sundays, 
except  that  any  fish  that  have  entered  between 


Charles  Dickens.] 


THE  LIFE  OF  A  SALMON. 


609 


the  drawing  on  Saturday  morning  and  the 
opening  of  the  traps  that  night,  are  turned 
into  a  special  little  dungeon,  railed  off  on  one 
side,  there  to  pass  their  Sunday.  For  all 
others,  the  way  is  completely  clear  from 
Saturday  night  to  six  o'clock  on  Monday 
morning.  Whether  our  young  fish  went  up 
by  the  Queen's  Gap,  or  on  the  Sunday,  it  got 
through,  and  without  knowing  anything  of 
the  perils  it  had  escaped.  How  sweet  the 
lapse  of  the  fresh  waters  was,  after  the  inces- 
sant roll  and  crash  of  the  surge  oil  the  iron- 
bound  coast  of  the  Atlantic ;  how  the 
autumnal  woods  contrasted  with  the  black 
basaltic  precipices  above  the  main  ;  how  the 
wildflowers  on  the  banks  appeared  after  so 
many  miles  of  tangled  and  floating  seaweeds  ; 
which  looked  best,  the  little  column  of  blue 
peat-smoke  from  the  peasant's  cabin  under 
the  woods,  or  the  brown  smoke-clouds  from 
the  kelp-fires  in  the  stony  amphitheatres 
of  the  coast  ? — which  was  the  most  loveable, 
the  swallow  skimming  the  meadows,  and 
brushing  the  blue  waters  with  the  tip  of  its 
wing,  or  the  red-legged  crow  throwing  the 
drops  about  in  the  little  salt-pools  in  the  rock, 
poking  its  red  bill  into  salt  crevices  ;  or, 
again,  the  cormorant  perched  on  its  solitary 
basaltic  pillar  amidst  the  translucent  green 
waters :  now  rearing  its  head  to  survey  the 
whole  land  and  sea,  and  then  intent  once 
more  on  its  fishing  1  Which  of  these  varieties 
may  be  most  charming  to  a  salmon,  we  will 
not  undertake  to  decide.  We  only  assert  that 
the  salmon  has  the  opportunity  of  judging, 
as  it  lives  and  moves  among  them  all. 

Having  found  the  tranquil  cove  it  hoped 
for,  and  deposited  its  spawn  where  itself  first 
began  to  move  in  the  universe  ;  having  done 
that  great  duty  of  the  year,  and  somewhat 
replenished  its  strength  with  alternate  repose 
under  the  banks,  and  pleasure  excursions 
among  the  windings  and  inlets  of  the  great 
river,  the  salmon  set  about  its  descent.  There 
was  no  fear  of  molestation  now.  The  de- 
scending salmon  are  too  poor  in  flesh  and 
condition  to  be  a  desirable  prize.  So,  once 
more,  in  the  midst  of  spring,  it  found  itself 
again  with  its  comrades  in  the  deep.  Perhaps 
it  is  because  the  eastern  coast  is  somewhat 
too  sombre,  that  our  fish  now  turns  its  head 
westward.  Ah  !  there  are  perils  there,  too. 
Wherever  there  is  a  cluster  of  black  rocks 
near  the  shore,  and  therefore  in  the  path  of 
the  salmon,  there  may  the  white  cottage  of 
the  fisherman  be  seen,  niched  into  some  recess. 
There  may  one  great  net  be  drying  on  poles 
or  gibbet  on  the  rocks,  while  the  buoy  out 
yonder,  and  the  line  of  corks,  show  where  the 
other  is.  Everywhere  in  the  path  of  salmon, 
may  the  drawing  of  the  net  on  Saturdays  be 
seen,  from  May  Day  till  the  20th  of  August. 
But  it  is  certainly  only  by  experience,  if  even  so, 
that  our  young  salmon,  or  any  young  salmon, 
can  learn  how  dangerous  the  path  of  life  is, 
through  its  whole  course.  So,  on  it  went, 
merrily,  in  its  first  cruise  along  that  cheerful 


shore  ;  past  the  arches  of  limestone  through 
which  the  railway  is  to  run  ;  past  that  won- 
drous verdant  slope,  from  the  white  beach  up 
and  up  for  1000  feet  to  the  crest  of  rocks 
which  crown  the  Coleraine  heights  ;  that 
slope  where  frost  and  snow  and  blight  and 
tempest  never  come ;  where  fairies  resorted 
to  their  very  latest  day,  as  everybody  remem- 
bers ;  where  miles  of  trailing  roses,  and  blue 
bells  and  periwinkles  and  heaths,  with  sweet 
berries  enough  to  feed  the  whole  fairy  race, 
might  tempt  them  back  to  their  flowery  tents, 
if  the  myriads  of  rabbits  were  not  too 
formidable,  and  if,  alas  !  the  fairies  were  not 
dead,  cold,  and  gone  ;  where  the  few  dwellings 
peep  out  from  thickets  of  blossoms,  and 
gardens  are  so  many  little  wildernesses  of 
sweets  ;  where  turfy  paths  girdle  the  steeps, 
that  watchers  may  sit  on  a  heather  cushion, 
and  look  out  for  the  silvery  spangling  of  the 
sea  where  the  salmon  are  at  play  ; — by  this 
cheerful  shore  went  our  young  fish  ;  and  it 
swept  by  the  turning  of  the  great  plain  which 
spreads  from  those  heights  to  Lough  Foyle  ; 
and  into  Lough  Foyle  it  went,  and  up  and 
down  in  it — up  to  where  old  Derry  stands  on 
its  hill  ;  and  where  on  a  high  pillar  stands 
her  hero-pastor,  Walker,  with  the  Bible  in 
one  hand,  while  the  other  points  to  the  Lough 
where  the  ships  are  passing  the  boom,  and 
bringing  food  to  the  starving  citizens  to 
whose  fortitude  Queen  Victoria  owes  her 
crown.  Up  to  the  woods  near  the  town,  and 
down  and  away  among  the  labyrinth  of  stake- 
nets,  roves  our  young  salmon ;  but  not  to 
stay,  for  it  is  a  salmon  of  the  Bann,  and  there- 
fore without  any  intention  of  becoming  an 
immigrant  of  Lough  Foyle.  As  a  salmon  of 
the  Bann,  it  will  live  and  die. 

And  when  and  how  did  the  dying  happen  ? 
As  to  the  when,  there  is  no  saying.  How 
should  there  be,  while  salmon  are  so  resolute 
against  telling  their  ages  ?  Whether  our  fish 
made  many  voyages  or  few,  whether  years 
or  generations  passed,  whether  watchers, 
poachers,  and  lessees  remained  the  same,  or 
were  superannuated  and  buried  away,  while 
our  salmon's  eye  was  still  clear,  and  its  flesh 
firm  and  flaky,  and  its  scales  brilliant  and 
flexible, — its  day  of  doom  came  at  last.  The 
victim  came  up  the  Bann — not  on  a  Sunday  ; 
and  it  entered  the  wrong  gap.  Neither  was 
it  on  a  Saturday  that  it  came  ;  for  it  certainly 
did  not  pine  and  waste  in  a  state  of  panic 
during  a  long  Sabbath  day.  It  was  spared 
that.  Its  pain  was  short.  One  wild  attempt 
to  leap— one  frantic  rush  round  the  place — 
and  it  was  fished  out,  and  presently  flapped 
its  lust  in  the  scale  where  its  value  was  sure 
to  be  duly  estimated.  For  its  shroud,  it  had 
ample  folds  of  the  purest  powdered  ice, 
gathered  in  far  lands,  by  foreign  hands,  for 
the  purpose.  Its  burial  service  was  the  grace 
said  by  the  chaplain  of  a  great  London 
company ;  and  its  tomb  was  one  which  was 
not  devoid  of  outward  ornament  of  some 
richness — since  over  it  was  hung  a  massive 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  oy 


civic  chain,  a  token  of  honours  to  be  domes- 
tically remembered  through  an  illimitable 
future. 

This  is,  as  far  as  we  know,  all  that  can  be 
told,  with  veracity  and  honour,  of  the  LIFE 
OF  A  SALMON. 


CHIPS. 


THE  WORLD'S  FAIREST  ROSE. 

THERE  was  once  a  mighty  queen,  in  whose 
garden  grew  the  choicest  flowers  of  every 
season  of  the  year,  the  fairest  of  every  clime. 
But,  she  loved  the  roses  most  of  all,  and  of 
them  she  had  the  greatest  variety,  from  the 
wild  thorn  with  green,  apple-scented  leaves  to 
the  most  beautiful  rose  of  Provence.  They 
grew  up  the  palace  walls,  twined  around  the 
columns  and  over  the  windows,  in  along  the 
passages  and  up  to  the  ceiling  in  every  hall ; 
and  the  roses  mingled  together  in  odour,  form, 
and  colour. 

But,  care  and  sorrow  dwelt  within ;  the 
queen  lay  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  and  the  phy- 
sicians announced  that  she  must  die. 

"  She  may  yet  be  saved  !  "  said  the  wisest 
among  them.  "  Bring  to  her  the  fairest  rose 
of  the  world,  that  one  which  is  the  expression 
of  the  highest  and  purest  love.  Let  it  come 
before  her  eyes  ere  they  close,  and  she  will 
not  die." 

And  young  and  old  came  from  all  around, 
bringing  roses — the  fairest  that  bloomed  in 
every  garden  ;  but  the  rose  was  not  among 
them.  From  the  bower  of  Love  they  might 
bring  flowers  ;  but  what  rose  there,  was  the 
expression  of  the  highest,  the  purest  love  ? 

And  the  poets  sang  of  the  world's  fairest 
rose — each  one  naming  his  own  ;  and  there 
went  a  message  far  over  the  land,  to  every 
heart  that  beat  in  love — a  message  to  every 
rank  and  to  every  age. 

"  No  one  has  yet  named  the  flower,"  said  the 
sage.  "  No  one  has  pointed  out  the  place  on 
which  it  grew  up  in  all  its  glory.  It  is  not 
the  rose  from  Borneo  and  Juliet's  tomb,  nor 
from  Valborg's  grave,  though  these  roses  will 
ever  breathe  fragrance  through  legend  and 
song.  It  is  not  the  rose  which  bloomed  from 
Winkelried's  bloody  lances :  from  the  hallowed 
blood  which  wells  out  from  the  breast  of  the 
hero  dying  for  his  fatherland  ;  although  no 
death  is  more  sweet,  and  no  rose  redder  than 
is  the  blood  which  then  flows  forth.  Nor  is 
it  that  wonderful  flower  for  whose  sake  man 
gives  up  years  and  days  and  long  sleepless 
nights,  in  the  solitary  closet,  aye,  sacrifices  his 
fresh  life  to  cultivate — the  magic  rose  of 
science." 

"  I  know  where  it  blooms,"  said  a  happy 
mother  who  came  witli  her  tender  infant  to 
the  queen's  bedside.  "  I  know  where  the 
world's  fairest  rose  is  found  ! — the  rose  which 
is  the  expression  of  the  highest  and  the  purest 
love.  It  blooms  on  the  glowing  cheeks  of  my 


sweet  child,  when,  refreshed  with  sleep,  it 
opens  its  eyes  and  laughs  toward  me  in  the 
fulness  of  its  love." 

"  Fair  is  that  rose,"  said  the  sage,  "  but 
there  is  one  still  more  beautiful." 

"  Yes,  far  more  beautiful !  "  said  one  of  the 
women.  "  I  have  seen  it ;  a  purer,  holier  rose 
blooms  not  on  earth.  But  it  was  pale,  as  the 
leaves  of  the  tea-rose.  On  the  cheeks  of  the 
queen  I  saw  it.  She  had  laid  her  royal  crown 
aside,  and  went  herself  with  her  sick  child, 
watching  with  it  through  the  long  sad  night. 
She  wept  over  it,  kissed  it,  and  prayed  to  God 
for  it,  as  a  mother  prays  in  the  hour  of 
affliction." 

"  Holy  and  wonderful  in  its  power  is 
sorrow's  white  rose,  but  still  that  is  not  the 
one." 

"  No  !  the  world's  fairest  rose  I  saw  before 
the  altar  of  the  Lord,"  said  the  pious  old 
bishop.  "  I  saw  it  shining  as  though  the  face 
of  an  angel  appeared.  lAhe  young  maidens 
went  up  to  the  Lord's  table,  to  renew  their 
baptismal  covenant ;  and  the  roses  glowed, 
and  the  roses  paled  upon  their  fresh  cheeks. 
A  young  girl  stood  there ;  in  the  fulness  of 
her  soul's  purity  and  love  she  looked  up  to 
her  God.  That  was  the  expression  of  the 
purest  and  the  highest  love  !  " 

"  Blessed  was  she,"  said  the  sage  ;  "  but  no 
one  has  yet  named  the  world's  fairest  rose." 

A  child  came  into  the  room — the  Queen's 
little  son.  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes  and  on  his 
cheeks.  He  carried  a  large  open  book,  with 
velvet  binding  and  large  silver  clasps. 
"  Mother !  "  said  the  little  one,  "  oh,  just 
listen  to  what  I  have  read  here  !  "  And  the 
child  seated  itself  by  the  bed,  and  read  from 
the  Book  of  Him  who  gave  himself  up  to 
death  on  the  cross,  that  all  men  might  be 
saved,  even  generations  yet  unborn.  "  There 
is  no  greater  love  than  this  !  " 

A  rosy  gleam  -passed  over  the  queen's 
cheeks  ;  her  eyes  became  bright  and  clear ; 
for  she  saw  unfolding  itself  from  the  pages  of 
the  Book  the  "  World's  Fairest  Rose." 

"  I  see  it  !  "  said  she.  "  He  will  never  die 
who  looks  upon  that  Rose,  the  fairest  flower 
of  earth  ! " 


WALKING-STICKS. 


WHETHER  it  was  a  cripple  or  a  dandy,  an 
old  gentleman  or  a  young  gentleman,  who  first 
invented  walking-sticks,  cannot  now  be  de- 
termined. That  the  pilgrim  of  the  Middle 
Ages  used  a  staff  we  know  well  from  song  and 
story  ; — a  stout,  strong,  serviceable  staff,  shod 
with  iron,  which  stood  no  nonsense  ;  for  it 
was  intended  not  merely  to  support  the  pil- 
grim when  weaiy,  and  to  aid  the  ascent  and 
descent  of  hills  and  mountains  ;  but  to  quell 
the  familiarities  of  rough  wayfarers.  There 
was  a  protuberance  a  short  distance  below 
the  top,  to  afford  a  firm  grasp  ;  and  the 
upper  part  formed  a  hollow  tube,  in  which 


Charles  Dickens.] 


WALKING-STICKS. 


Gil 


the  pilgrim  carried  relics  of  saints,  small 
crucifixes,  or  other  humble  but  cherished 
treasures.  There  are  records  of  other  articles 
stored  away  in  these  staff  receptacles ;  the 
first  head  of  saffron  is  said  to  have  been 
brought  to  England  from  Greece  in  a  pilgrim's 
staff|-at  a  time  when  it  was  death  to  take  the 
living  plant  out  of  the  country  ;  the  silk-worm 
first  found  its  way  into  Europe  by  a  similar 
piece  of  cunning ;  and  pilgrims  sometimes 
contrived  to  lay  aside  a  store  of  gold  coin  in 
this  hiding-place. 

The  staff,  or  alpenstock,  of  the  Swiss 
and  Tyrolese  is  an  unquestionable  walking- 
stick,  of  a  formidable  and  invaluable  kind. 
Exceeding  in  length  the  height  of  the  user, 
and  tipped  with  iron,  it  renders  important 
assistance  to  all  Alpine  pedestrians.  With 
its  chamois-horn  as  a  surmounting  crook,  it 
makes  some  pretension  to  ornament.  All 
who  have  read  narratives,  or  seen  pictures,  or 
heard  lectures,  concerning  the  ascent  of  Mont 
Blanc,  will  readily  call  to  mind  the  claim 
which  these  alpenstocks  have  to  be  called 
life-preservers. 

One  of  the  earliest  kinds  of  walking-stick 
adopted  as  a  support  by  elderly  persons,  was 
the  ferula,  or  staff  of  fennel- wood.  Being  long, 
tough,  and  light,  it  is  well  fitted  for  this  pur- 
pose, and  it  seems  to  have  given  name  to  a 
certain  castigatory  weapon  but  too  well  known 
to  school-boys.  In  Oriental  countries,  the 
hollow  or  pithy-stalked  palms  and  bamboos 
naturally  became  the  material  for  walking- 
sticks,  and  it  is  to  such  countries  that  we 
owe  the  designation  of  cane,  so  much  given  to 
these  pedestrian  accompaniments.  Ancient 
Egyptian  walking-sticks  have  been  discovered, 
made  of  cherry-wood,  and  having  carved 
knobs.  Henry  the  Eighth  had  "  a  cane  gar- 
nyshed  with  sylver  and  gilte,  with  Astronomie 
upon  it ;"  and  "  a  cane  garnyshed  with  golde, 
having  a  perfume  in  the  toppe." 

Of  the  Clouded  Cane,  of  whose  nice  conduct 
Pope's  Sir  Plume  was  justly  vain ;  of  Jambees 
at  ten  guineas  per  joint,  and  plain  Dragons 
described  in  the  Tatler  ;  of  the  strong  cane 
and  the  amber-tipped  cane,  sung  by  Gay ; 
of  the  long  and  elegant  sticks  used  by  elderty 
ladies  in  the  second  half  of  the  last  century, 
and  by  footmen  of  the  present  day ;  of  the  stout 
knotted  sticks  and  the  slender  bamboos  in 
fashion  half  a  century  ago  ;  of  the  enormous 
grotesque  heads  carved  upon  sticks  to  suit 
certain  abnormal  tastes  ;  of  comic  canes  with 
Tim  Bobbins  and  Punch  and  Merry  Andrews 
and  Toby  Fillpots  grinning  from  their  heads ; 
of  rough  sticks  and  smooth  sticks  ;  of  straight 
sticks  and  crooked  sticks  ;  .of  all  sorts  of 
sticks,  from  rattans  to  bludgeons,  it  is  not 
our  present  purpose  to  indite  : — the  reader 
will  find  an  amusing  account  of  most  of  them 
in  the  Report  of  the  Exhibition  Jury  on 
Miscellaneous  Articles — a  jury  which  worked 
most  indefatigably  in  their  miscellaneous 
duties.  We  pass  all  this  to  say  a  little 
respecting  the  commerce  in  walking-sticks ; 


which  is  much  more  extensive  than  most 
persons  would  imagine. 

It  appears  that  there  is  scarcely  a  grass 
or  a  tree  which  has  not  been  made  available 
for  this  purpose.  The  varieties  most  usually 
selected,  among  the  growths  of  Europe, 
are  blackthorn,  crab,  maple,  ash,  oak,  beech, 
orange-tree,  cherry-tree,  furze-bush,  and 
Spanish  reed ;  from  the  West  Indies  there 
come  vine-stems,  cabbage-stalks,  orange-stalks, 
lemon-stalks,  coffee-stalks,  briar-stalks  ;  while 
from  other  countries  in  the  warm  regions  are 
brought  rattans,  calamus-stems,  bamboos, 
Malaccas,  and  Manilla  canes.  Whatever  ia 
the  kind  employed,  the  wood  is  usually  cut 
towards  the  end  of  autumn,  especially  if  it  be 
wished  to  preserve  the  bark. 

A  walking-stick  of  moderate  pretensions, 
made  of  ordinary  wood,  and  to  be  sold  at  a 
moderate  price,  passes  through  almost  as 
many  processes  as  a  needle,  and  is,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  a  manufactured  article. 
Let  us  look  on,  while  such  a  stick  is  being 
made. 

First,  then,  shall  it  have  the  bark  on  or 
not  ?  Most  of  the  better  kinds  have  lost 
their  bark,  and  ours  shall  accordingly.  Only 
one  halfpenny  is  paid  for  stripping  the  bark 
from  a  branch  of  the  warted-crab,  which  is  a 
favourite  wood  for  sticks ;  but  has  a  bark 
obstinately  clinging  to  the  protuberances  on 
the  side  of  the  branch.  The  peelers  boil 
the  branch  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  the  bark 
then  readily  yields  to  any  simple  instrument. 
In  straighter  and  smoother  branches,  the 
difficulty  is  less  ;  and,  consequently,  the  rate 
of  pay  is  lower. 

Then  comes  the  straightening  of  the  stick, 
and  the  fashioning  of  the  crook,  which  so 
often  forms  its  upper  termination.  The  upper 
end  is  immersed  in  hot,  damp  sand ;  it  be- 
comes soft  and  non- elastic,  and  readily 
assumes  and  maintains  any  curvature  which 
may  be  given  to  it.  For  every  kind  of  wood, 
there  is  a  temperature  and  a  dampness  best 
fitted  for  this  process ;  and  thus  the  stick- 
maker  has  to  store  his  memory  with  a  body 
of  practical  rules  on  the  subject.  Then,  for 
the  straightening,  the  stick  is  immersed  in 
hot,  dry  sand,  which  gives  it  a  kind  of 
pliability  different  from  that  requisite  for  the 
crooking  ;  and  by  bending  and  humouring  it 
in  a  groove  in  a  board,  the  stick  becomes 
straight  and  symmetrical.  But  if  our  walk- 
ing-stick contemns  this  Quaker-like  straight- 
ness,  and  has  a  yearning  for  the  knobby 
and  crooked,  it  comes  under  the  operation  of 
the  rasp  and  the  file — unless,  indeed,  the  knobs 
are  such  as  Nature  gave. 

The  external  adornment  is  even  more 
varied  than  the  original  form.  Many  walk- 
ing-sticks appear  in  such  masquerade  cos- 
tumes, that  their  brother-branches  would  not 
know  them  again  ;  they  are  sand-papered, 
or  emeried,  or  rotten-stoned,  and  are  further 
smoothed  with  fish-fin  or  fish-skin  ;  then 
they  are  stained  by  iiq  uid  dyes,  the  chemical 


612 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[Conducted  by 


composition  of  which  the  stick-maker  pro- 
bably numbers  among  his  secrets  ;  and  lastly, 
they  are  varnished.  Sometimes  the  surface 
is  charred,  and  the  charred  portion  scraped 
off  here  and  there,  so  as  to  impart  a  mottled 
appearance  to  the  stick.  Sometimes,  but 
more  frequently  on  the  Continent  than  in 
England,  lithographic  transfers  decorate  the 
surface  of  the  stick. 

These  every-day,  steady-looking,  thorough- 
going, middle-class  serviceable  walking-sticks 
form  the  mainstay  and  support  of  the  manu- 
facture, like  as  willow-pattern  plates  and 
twopenny  cups  and  saucers  are  commercially 
more  important  to  the  Staffordshire  potteries 
than  Parian  statuettes  or  dessert  services. 
But  still  the  more  ornate  and  aristocratic 
sticks  and  canes  give  employment  to  a  large 
number  of  work-people  :  whalebone,  tortoise- 
shell,  ram's  horn,  rhinoceros'  horn,  gutta 
percha,  shark-spine,  narwhal-horn,  ivory — 
these  are  some  only  among  many  substances 
employed  for  sticks.  The  mode  of  working 
each  kind  does  not  differ  materially  from  that 
ef  manufactui'ing  other  articles  from  the  same 
materials;  but  there  is  a  curious  exception  in 
relation  to  tortoiseshell :  the  raspings  and 
parings  of  this  substance  are  susceptible  of 
being  conglomerated  by  heat  and  pressure, 
and  formed  into  elongated  rods  for  sticks — a 
capital  mode  of  picking  up  crumbs,  and  making 
them  useful. 

As  to  the  ferules,  crooks,  handles,  and 
decorative  appendages,  who  shall  number 
them  1  Gold,  silver,  sham-gold,  sham-silver, 
ivory,  ebony,  tortoiseshell,  mother  o'  pearl, 
agate,  cornelian,  jasper,  jade,  leather,  hair, 
silk,  skin — all  are  employed.  What  offence 
crooks  have  given,  that  they  should  be  out  of 
favour,  does  not  appear  ;  but  certain  it  is  that 
the  rectangular  handle  isnowin  the  ascendant : 
it  juts  out  in  stern  precision  from  the  vertical 
stem,  and  ignores  Hogarth's  theory  of  the 
beauty  of  curved  lines.  It  sometimes  aspires 
to  stags'  heads,  and  at  others  descends  to 
stags'  feet ;  and  not  unfrequently  it  makes 
a  Jenny  Lind-ish  attempt  at  portraiture. 

So  large  has  this  manufacture  now  become, 
that  the  principal  London  maker  is  said  to 
sell  annually  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  walking-sticks  made  of  English 
wood,  and  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
rattans  and  canes  for  making  the  more  ex- 
pensive varieties.  The  polished  ash  sticks  are 
mostly  made  at  Birmingham ;  where  they  are 
sawn  and  turned  by  machine-lathes,  previous 
to  the  polishing.  The  importation  of  walking- 
sticks  from  abroad  is  not  very  considerable, 
as  the  English  makers  strive  to  meet  all  the 
demand  that  may  arise :  this  relates  to  the 
finished  sticks,  and  not  to  the  raw  material. 

There  is  a  nationality  even  in  walking- 
sticks.  Germany  makes  better  whalebone 
sticks  than  England,  and  is  also  expert  in 
making  elastic  and  tough  sticks  from  the 
almost  impenetrable  hide  of  the  rhinoceros. 
Austria  excels  in  the  sticks  with  carved  ivory 


handles ;  but  England  bears  the  palm  for  those 
ornamented  with  silver  wire,  or  gold  and 
silver  chasing.  Paris  is  said  to  have  had,  in 
1847,  no  less  than  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
manufacturers,  and  nine  hundred  and  sixty- 
two  workpeople  employed  in  making  walking- 
sticks  and  whips  ;  but,  as  we  cannot  tell  how 
many  have  been  added  to  these  numbers  from 
other  and  similar  trades,  so  are  we  likewise 
without  data  to  settle  the  numerical  claims  of 
the  walking-sticks.  There  were,  however,  four 
thousand  five  hundred  and  fifty-six  cwts.  of 
rattans,  bamboos,  and  other  canes  imported 
into  France  in  1850,  and  this  seems  to  tell 
significantly  of  a  large  walking-cane  manu- 
facture in  that  country.  The  little  Grand 
Ducal  (if  anything  so  little  can  be  grand)  State 
of  Hesse  excels  all  other  countries  in  the 
manufacture  of  pictorial  walking-sticks.  In 
neatly  transferring  lithographic  patterns  to 
sticks  Hesse  is  unrivalled.  They  are  sold 
largely  to  England  and  America,  and  some  of 
them  are  exceedingly  elegant ;  the  patterns 
are  transferred  from  paper  while  the  ink  from 
the  printing,  whether  coloured  or  black,  is 
wet,  and  the  stick  is  afterwards  varnished. 

But  Hamburg  seems  to  be  the  walking- 
stick  metropolis.  Herr  Meyer,  of  that  city, 
is  the  king  of  stick-makers.  His  star  of 
walking-sticks,  radiating  in  all  its  splendour 
in  the  Zollverein  department  of  the  Great 
Exhibition,  attracted  many  an  admiring  gaze. 
Very  little  less  than  five  hundred  varieties 
there  made  their  appearance ;  from  the  ornate 
and  costly,  down  to  the  useful  and  cheap. 
Being  a  free  port  for  the  reception  of  sticks 
and  canes  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  and 
hand-labour  being  cheaper  there  than  in 
London,  Hamburg  drives  a  large  trade  in  this 
department  of  industry. 

Crochetty  walking-sticks  occasionally  make 
a  noise  in  the  world — walking-sticks  which 
contain  a  shop  full  of  furniture  (more  or  less) 
in  their  bosoms.  A  Scottish  physician  has 
lately  constructed  a  walking-stick  containing  a 
variety  of  medical  instruments  and  medicines. 
Another  sagacious  personage  has  enriched 
society  with  a  walking-stick  containing  a  com- 
pass, a  mirror,  a  dressing-case,  an  inkstand, 
a  telescope,  a  thermometer,  a  set  of  drawing 
instruments,  stationery,  and  lucifers.  A 
third,  thoughtful  concerning  the  supply  of 
nature's  wants,  has  made  a  walking-stick 
which  acts  as  a  miniature  larder  and  wine- 
cellar  ;  for  it  contains  a  long  cylindrical 
bottle,  a  wine-glass  on  similar  elongated  prin- 
ciples, and  a  receptacle  for  biscuits  or  com- 
pressed meat.  Another  has  contrived  to  pack 
away  in  his  walking-stick  a  useful  map  of 
London  and  a  compass.  A  fifth  (perhaps  an 
electro -biological  gentleman)  has  made  a 
walking-stick  with  a  complete  galvanic  battery 
in  its  interior  ;  "  on  holding  the  knob  in  the 
hand,  a  shock  is  slightly  felt,  and  by  taking  a 
piece  of  silver  or  copper  in  each  hand,  and 
touching  the  knob  on  each  side,  the  shock  is 
greatly  increased ! " 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOEY  OF  ENGLAND. 


613 


As  to  the  murderous  walking-sticks,  which 
thrust  out  upon  you  their  swords,  or  dirks. 
or  spring  spears,  we  like  them  not :  their  use 
is  only  Co  be  tolerated  in  private  gentlemen 
and  editors,  who  do  not  feel  comfortable  in 
the  streets  of  California  or  Kentucky  without 
a  Colt's  revolver  peeping  out  of  their  pockets 
loaded  to  the  muzzle  and  on  full  cock. 


A  CHILD'S  HISTOEY    OF  ENGLAND. 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

BAD  deeds  seldom  prosper,  happily  for 
mankind ;  and  the  English  cause  gained  no 
advantage  from  the  cruel  death  of  Joan  of 
Arc.  For  a  long  time,  the  war  went  heavily 
on.  The  Duke  of  Bedford  died  ;  the  alliance 
witl-  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  was  broken  ;  and 
Lord  Talbot  became  a  great  general  on  the 
English  side  in  France.  But,  two  of  the  con- 
sequences of  wars  are,  Famine — because  the 
people  cannot  peacefully  cultivate  the  ground 
and  grow  crops — and  Pestilence,  which  comes 
of  want,  misery,  and  suffering.  Both  these 
horrors  broke  out  in  both  countries,  and 
lasted  for  two  wretched  years.  Then,  the  war 
went  on  again,  and  came,  by  slow  degrees,  to 
be  so  badly  conducted  by  the  English  govern- 
ment, that,  within  twenty  years  from  the 
execution  of  the  Maid  of  Orleans  ;  of  all  the 
great  French  conquests,  the  town  of  Calais 
alone  remained  in  English  hands. 

While  these  victories  and  defeats  were 
taking  place  in  the  course  of  time,  many 
strange  things  happened  at  home.  The  young 
king,  as  he  grew  up,  proved  to  be  very  unlike 
his  great  father,  and  showed  himself  a  miser- 
able puny  creature.  There  was  no  harm  in 
him — he  had  a  great  aversion  to  shedding 
blood  :  which  was  something — but,  he  was  a 
weak,  silly,  helpless  young  man,  and  a  mere 
shuttlecock  to  the  great  lordly  battledores 
about  the  Court.  Of  these  battledores, 
Cardinal  Beaufort  a  relation  of  the  King,  and 
the  Duke  of  Gloucester,  were  at  first  the 
most  powerful.  The  Duke  of  Gloucester  had 
a  wife,  who  was  nonsensically  accused  of 
practising  witchcraft  to  cause  the  King's 
death  and  lead  to  her  husband's  coming  to 
the  throne,  he  being  the  next  heir.  She  was 
charged  with  having,  by  the  help  of  a 
ridiculous  old  woman  named  Margery  (who 
was  called  a  witch),  made  a  little  waxen  doll 
in  the  King's  likeness,  and  put  it  before  a 
slow  fire  that  it  might  gradually  melt  away. 
It  was  supposed,  in  such  cases,  that  the  death 
of  the  person  whom  the  doll  was  made  to 
represent,  was  sure  to  happen.  Whether  the 
duchess  was  as  ignorant  as  the  rest  of  them, 
and  really  did  make  such  a  doll  with  such  an 
intention,  I  don't  know ;  but,  you  and  I 
know  very  well  that  she  might  have  made  a 
thousand  dolls,  if  she  had  been  stupid  enough, 
and  might  have  melted  them  all,  without 
hurting  the  King  or  anybody  else.  However, 
she  was  tried  for  it,  and  so  was  old  Margery, 
and  so  was  one  of  the  duke's  chaplains,  who 


was  charged  with  having  assisted  them.  Both 
he  and  Margery  were  put  to  death,  and  the 
duchess,  after  being  taken,  on  foot  and  bearing 
a  lighted  candle,  three  times  round  the  City 
as  a  penance,  was  imprisoned  for  .life.  The 
duke,  himself,  took  all  this  pretty  quietly, 
and  made  as  little  stir  about  the  matter  as  if 
he  were  rather  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  duchess. 

But,  he  was  nofc  destined  to  keep  himself 
out  of  trouble  long.  The  royal  shuttlecock 
being  three-and-twenty,  the  battledores  were 
very  anxious  to  get  him  married.  The  Duke 
of  Gloucester  wanted  him  to  marry  a  daughter 
of  the  Count  of  Armagnac  ;  but,  the  Cardinal 
and  the  Earl  of  Suffolk  were  all  for 
MARGARET,  the  daughter  of  the  King  of 
Sicily,  who  they  knew  was  a  resolute 
ambitious  woman  and  would  govern  the  King 
as  she  chose.  To  make  friends  with  this  lady, 
the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  who  went  over  to  arrange 
the  match,  consented  to  accept  her  for  the 
King's  wife  without  any  fortune,  and  even  to 
give  up  the  two  most  valuable  possessions 
England  then  had  in  France.  So,  the  marriage 
was  arranged,  on  terms  very  advantageous  to 
the  lady ;  and  Lord  Suffolk  brought  her  to 
England,  and  she  was  married  at  West- 
minster. On  what  pretence  this  queen  and 
her  party  charged  the  Duke  of  Gloucester 
with  high  treason  within  a  couple  of  years,  it 
is  impossible  to  make  out'  the  matter  is  so 
confused  ;  but,  they  pretended  that  the  King's 
life  was  in  danger,  and  they  took  the  duke 
prisoner.  A  fortnight  afterwards,  he  was 
found  dead  in  bed  (they  said),  and  his  body 
was  shown  to  the  people,  and  Lord  Suffolk 
came  in  for  the  best  part  of  his  estates.  You 
know  by  this  time  how  strangely  liable  state 
prisoners  were  to  sudden  death, 

If  Cardinal  Beaufort  had  any  hand  in  this 
matter,  it  did  him  no  good,  for  he  died 
within  six  weeks  ;  thinking  it  very  hard  and 
curious — at  eighty  years  old  ! — that  he  could 
not  live  to  be  Pope. 

This  was  the  time  when  England  had 
completed  her  loss  of  all  her  great  French 
conquests.  The  people  charged  the  loss  prin- 
cipally upon  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  now  a  duke/ 
who  had  made  those  easy  terms  about  the 
Eoyal  marriage,  and  who,  they  believed,  had 
even  been  bought  by  France.  So  he  was  im- 
peached as  a  traitor,  on  a  great  number  of 
charges,  but  chiefly  on  accusations  of  having 
aided  the  French  king,  and  of  designing  to 
make  his  own  son  King  of  England.  The 
Commons  and  the  people  being  violent  against 
him,  the  King  was  made  (by  his  friends)  to 
interpose  to  save  him,  by  banishing  him  for 
five  years,  and  proroguing  the  Parliament. 
The  duke  had  much  ado  to  escape  from  a 
London  mob,  two  thousand  strong,  who  lay 
in  wait  for  him  in  St.  Giles's  Fields  ;  but,  he 
got  down  to  his  own  estates  in  Suffolk,  and 
sailed  away  from  Ipswich.  Sailing  across  the 
Channel,  he  sent  into  Calais  to  know  if  he 
might  land  there ;  but,  they  kept  his  boat 
and  men  in  the  harbour,  until  an  English 


614 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


fConductedby 


ship,  carrying  a  hundred  ami  fifty  men  and 
called  the  Nicholas  of  the  Tower,  came  along- 
side his  little  vessel,  and  ordered  him  on 
board.  "  Welcome,  traitor,  as  men  say,"  was 
the  captain's  grim  and  not  very  respectful 
salutation.  He  was  kept  on  board,  a  prisoner, 
for  eight-and-forty  hours,  and  then  a  small 
boat  appeared  rowing  towards  the  ship.  As 
this  boat  came  nearer,  it  was  seen  to  have  in 
it  a  block,  a  rusty  sword,  and  an  executioner 
iu.  a  black  mask.  The  duke  was  handed 
down  into  it,  and  there  his  head  was  cut  off 
with  six  strokes  of  the  rusty  sword .  Then,  the 
little  boat  rowed  away  to  Dover  beach,  where 
the  body  was  cast  out,  and  left  until  the 
duchess  claimed  it.  By  whom,  high  in.  au- 
thority, this  murder  was  committed,  has 
never  appeared.  No  one  was  ever  punished 
for  it. 

There  now  arose  in  Kent  an  Irishman,  who 
gave  himself  the  name  of  Mortimer,  but 
whose  real  name  was  Jack  Cade.  Jack,  in 
imitation  of  Wat  Tyler,  though  he  was  a  very 
different  and  inferior  sort  of  man,  addressed 
the  Kentish  men  upon  their  wrongs,  occa- 
sioned by  the  bad  government  of  England, 
among  so  many  battledores  and  such  a  poor 
shuttlecock  ;  and  they  rose  up  to  the  number 
of  twenty  thousand.  Their  place  of  assembly 
was  Blackheath,  where,  headed  by  Jack,  they 
put  forth  two  papers,  which  they  called  "  The 
Complaint  of  the  Commons  of  Kent,"  and 
"  The  Eequests  of  the  Captain  of  the  Great 
Assembly  in  Kent."  They  then  retired  to 
Sevenoaks.  The  royal  army  coming  up  with 
them  here,  they  beat  it  and  killed  their 
general.  Then,  Jack  dressed  himself  in  the 
dead  general's  armour,  and  led  his  men  to 
London. 

Jack  passed  into  the  City  from  Southwark, 
over  the  bridge,  and  entered  it  in  triumph, 
giving  the  strictest  orders  to  his  men  not  to 
plunder.  Having  made  a  show  of  his  forces 
there,  while  the  citizens  looked  on  quietly, 
he  Went  back  into  Southwark  in  good  order, 
and  passed  the  night.  Next  day,  he  came 
back  again,  having  got  hold  in  the  meantime 
•of  Lord  Say,  an  unpopular  nobleman.  Says 
Jack  to  the  Lord  Mayor  and  judges :  "  Will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  make  a  tribunal  in 
Guildhall,  and  try  me  this  nobleman  ?  "  The 
court  being  hastily  made,  he  was  found  guilty, 
and,  Jack  and  his  men  cut  his  head  off  on 
Cornhill.  They  also  cut  off  the  head  of  his 
son-in-law,  and  then  went  back  in  good  order 
to  Southwark  again. 

But,  although  the  citizens  could  bear  the 
beheading  of  an  unpopular  lord,  they  could 
not  bear  to  have  their  houses  pillaged.  And 
it  did  so  happen  that  Jack,  after  dinner — 
perhaps  he  had  drunk  a  little  too  much — 
began  to  plunder  the  house  where  he  lodged  ; 
upon  which,  of  course,  his  men  began  to 
imitate  him.  Wherefore,  the  Londoners  took 
counsel  with  Lord  Scales,  who  had  a  thousand 
soldiers  in  the  Tower  ;  and  defended  London 
Bridge,  and  kept  Jack  and  his  people  out. 


This  advantage  gained,  it  was  resolved  by 
divers  great  men  to  divide  Jack's  army  in  the 
old  way,  by  making  a  great  many  promises  on 
behalf  of  the  state,  that  were  never  intended 
to  be  performed.  This  did  divide  them 
some  of  Jack's  men  saying  that  they  ought 
to  take  the  conditions  which  were  offered,  and 
others  saying  that  they  ought  not,  for  they 
were  only  a  snare ;  some  going  home  at  once ; 
others  staying  where  they  were  ;  and  all 
doubting  and  qxiarrelling  among  themselves. 
Jack,  who  was  in  two  minds  about  fighting  or 
accepting  a  pardon,  and  who  indeed  did  both, 
saw  at  last  that  there  was  nothing  to  expect 
from  his  men,  and  that  it  was  very  likely 
some  of  them  would  deliver  him  up  and  get 
a  reward  of  a  thousand  marks,  which  was 
offered  for  his  apprehension.  So,  after  they 
had  travelled  and  quarrelled  all  the  way  from 
Southwark  to  Blackheath,  and  from  Black- 
heath  to  Rochester,  he  mounted  a  good  horse 
and  galloped  away  into  Sussex.  But,  there 
galloped  after  him,  on  a  better  horse,  one 
Alexander  Iden,  who  had  a  hard  fight  with 
him,  and  killed  him.  Jack's  head  was  set 
aloft  on  London  Bridge,  with  the  face  looking 
towards  Blackheath,  where  he  had  raised  his 
flag  ;  and  Alexander  Iden  got  the  thousand 
marks. 

It  is  supposed  by  some,  that  the  Duke  of 
York,  who  had  been  removed  from  a  high 
post  abroad  through  the  Queen's  influence, 
and  sent  out  of  the  way,  to  govern  Ireland, 
was  at  the  bottom  of  this  rising  of  Jack  and 
his  men,  because  he  wanted  to  trouble  the 
Government.  He  claimed  (though  not  yet 
publicly)  to  have  a  better  right  to  the  throne 
than  Henry  of  Lancaster,  as  one  of  the  family 
of  the  Earl  of  March,  whom  Henry  the 
Fourth  had  set  aside.  Touching  this  claim, 
which,  being  through  female  relationship,  was 
not  according  to  the  usual  descent,  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  Henry  the  Fourth  was 
the  free  choice  of  the  people  and  the  Parlia- 
ment, and  that  his  family  had  now  reigned 
undisputed  for  sixty  years.  The  memory  of 
Henry  the  Fifth  was  so  famous,  and  the 
English  people  loved  it  so  much,  that  the 
Duke  of  York's  claim  would,  perhaps,  never 
have  been  thought  of  (it  would  have  been  so 
hopeless)  but  for  the  unfortunate  circumstance 
of  the  present  King's  being  by  this  time  quite 
an  idiot,  and  the  country  very  badly  governed. 
These  two  circumstances  gave  the  Duke  of 
York  a  power  he  could  not  otherwise  have 
had. 

Whether  the  Duke  knew  anything  of  Jack 
Cade,  or  not,  he  came  over  from  Ireland  while 
Jack's  head  was  on  London  Bridge  ;  being 
secretly  advised  that  the  Queen  was  setting 
up  his  enemy,  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  against 
him.  He  went  to  Westminster  at  the  head 
of  four  thousand  men,  and  on  his  knees  before 
the  King,  represented  to  him  the  bad  state  of 
the  country,  and  petitioned  him  to  summon  a 
Parliament  to  consider  it.  This  the  King  pro- 
mised. When  the  Parliament  was  summoned 


Charles  Dickens.] 


A  CHILD'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND. 


615 


the  Duke  of  York  accused  the  Duke  of 
Somerset,  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset  ac- 
cused the  Duke  of  York  ;  and,  both  in  and 
out  of  Parliament,  the  followers  of  each  party 
were  full  of  violence  and  hatred  towards  the 
other.  At  length,  the  Duke  of  York  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  a  large  force  of  his 
tenants,  and,  in  arms,  demanded  the  reforma- 
tion of  the  Government.  Being  shut  out  of  j 
London,  he  encamped  at  Dartford,  and  the  I 
royal  army  encamped  at  Blackheath.  Accord- 
ing as  either  side  triumphed,  the  Duke  of 
York  was  arrested,  or  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
was  arrested.  The  trouble  ended,  for  the 
moment,  in  the  Duke  of  York  renewing  his 
oath  of  allegiance,  and  going  in  peace  to  one 
of  his  own  castles. 

Half  a  year  afterwards  the  Queen  gave 
birth  to  a  son,  who  was  very  ill  received  by 
the  people,  and  not  believed  to  be  the  son  of 
the  King.  It  shows  the  Duke  of  York  to 
have  been  a  moderate  man,  unwilling  to  in- 
volve England  in  new  troubles,  that  he  did 
not  take  advantage  of  the  general  discontent 
at  this  time,  but  really  acted  for  the  public 
good.  He  was  made  a  member  of  the  cabinet, 
a.ud  the  King  being  now  so  much  worse  that 
he  could  not  be  carried  about  and  shown  to 
the  people  with  any  decency,  the  duke  was 
made  Lord  Protector  of  the  kingdom,  until 
he  should  recover,  or  the  Prince  should  come 
of  age.  At  the  same  time  the  Duke  of 
Somerset  was  committed  to  the  Tower.  So, 
now  the  Duke  of  Somerset  was  down,  and 
the  Duke  of  York  was  up.  By  the  end  of 
the  year,  however,  the  King  recovered  his 
memory  and  some  spark  of  sense ;  upon  which 
the  Queen  used  her  power — which  recovered 
with  him — to  get  the  Protector  disgraced, 
and  her  favourite  released.  So,  now  the  Duke 
of  York  was  down,  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
was  up. 

These  ducal  ups  and  downs  gradually  sepa- 
rated the  whole  nation  into  the  two  parties  of 
York  and  Lancaster,  and  led  to  those  terrible 
civil  wars  long  known  as  the  AVars  of  the 
Red  and  White  Roses,  because  the  red  rose 
was  the  badge  of  the  House  of  Lancaster,  and 
the  white  rose  was  the  badge  of  the  House  of 
York. 

The  Duke  of  York,  joined  by  some  other 
powerful  noblemen  of  the  White  Rose  party, 
and  leading  a  small  army,  met  the  King  with 
another  small  army  at  St.  Alban's,  and  de- 
manded that  the  Duke  of  Somerset  should  be 
given  up.  The  poor  King,  being  made  to  say 
in  answer  that  he  would  sooner  die,  was  in- 
stantly attacked.  The  Duke  of  Somerset  was 
killed,  and  the  King  himself  was  wounded  in 
the  neck,  and  took  refuge  in  the  house  of  a 
poor  tanner.  Whereupon,  the  Duke  of  York 
went  to  him,  led  him  with  great  submission  to 
the  Abbey,  and  said  he  was  very  sorry  for 
what  had  happened.  Having  now  the  King 
in  his  possession,  he  got  a  Parliament  sum- 
moned and  himself  once  more  made  Protector, 
but,  only  for  a  few  months  ;  for,  on  the  King 


getting  a  little  better  again,  the  Queen  and  her 
party  got  him  into  their  possession,  and  dis- 
graced the  Duke  once  more.  So,  now  the 
Duke  of  York  was  down  again. 

Some  of  the  best  men  in  power,  seeing  the 
danger  of  these  constant  changes,  tried  even 
then  to  prevent  the  Red  and  White  Rose 
Wars.  They  brought  about  a  great  council 
in  London  between  the  two  parties.  The 
White  Roses  assembled  in  Blackfriars,  the 
Red  Roses  in  Whitefriars ;  and  some  good 
priests  communicated  between  them,  and 
made  the  proceedings  known  at  evening  to 
the  King  and  the  judges.  They  ended  in  a 
peaceful  agreement  that  there  should  be  no 
more  quarrelling ;  and  there  was  a  great  royal 
procession  to  St.  Paul's,  in  which  the  Queen 
walked  arm-in-arm  with  her  old  enemy,  the 
Duke  of  York,  to  show  the  people  how  com- 
fortable the)'  all  were.  This  state  of  peace 
lasted  half  a  year,  when  a  dispute  between 
the  Earl  of  Warwick  (one  of  the  Duke's 
powerful  friends)  and  some  of  the  King's 
servants  at  Court,  led  to  an  attack  upon  that 
Earl — who  was  a  White  Rose — and  to  a 
sudden  breaking  out  of  all  the  old  animo- 
sities. So,  here  were  greater  ups  and  downs 
than  ever. 

There  were  even  greater  ups  and  downs 
than  these,  soon  after.  After  various  battles, 
the  Duke  of  York  fled  to  Ireland,  and  his 
son  the  Earl  )f  March  to  Calais,  with  their 
friends  the  Earls  of  Salisbury  and  Warwick  ; 
and  a  Parliament  was  held  declaring  them  all 
traitors.  Little  the  worse  for  this,  the  Earl 
of  Warwick  presently  came  back,  landed  in 
Kent,  was  joined  by  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  and  other  powerful  noblemen 
and  gentlemen,  engaged  the  King's  forces  at 
Northampton,  signally  defeated  them,  and 
took  the  King  himself  prisoner,  who  was  found 
in  his  tent.  Warwick  would  have  been  glad, 
I  dare  say,  to  have  taken  the  Queen  and 
Prince  too,  but  they  escaped  into  Wales  and 
thence  into  Scotland. 

The  King  was  carried  by  the  victorious  force 
straight  to  London,  and  made  to  call  a  new 
Parliament,  which  immediately  declared  that 
the  Duke  of  York  and  those  other  noblemen 
were  not  traitors,  but  excellent  subjects. 
Then,  back  comes  the  Duke  from  Ireland  at 
the  head  of  five  hundred  horsemen,  rides  from 
London  to  Westminster,  and  enters  the 
House  of  Lords.  There,  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  cloth  of  gold  which  covered  the 
empty  throne,  as  if  he  had  half  a  mind  to  sit 
down  in  it — but  he  did  not.  On  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  asking  him  if  he  would 
visit  the  King,  who  was  in  the  palace  close  by, 
he  replied  "  I  know  no  one  in  this  country 
my  lord,  who  ought  not  to  visit  me."  None 
of  the  lords  present,  spoke  a  single  word  ;  so, 
the  duke  went  out  as  he  had  come  in,  esta- 
blished himself  royally  in  the  King's  palace, 
and,  six  days  afterwards,  sent  in  to  the  Lords 
a  formal  statement  of  his  claim  to  the  throne. 
The  lords  went  to  the  King  on  this  momentous 


616 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


subject,  and  after  a  great  deal  of  discussion, 
in  which  the  judges  and  the  other  law  officers 
•were  afraid  to  give  an  opinion  on  either  side, 
the  question  was  compromised.  It  was 
agreed  that  the  present  King  should  retain 
the  crown  for  his  life,  and  that  it  should  then 
pass  to  the  Duke  of  York  and  his  heirs. 

But,  the  resolute  Queen,  determined  on 
asserting  her  son's  rights,  would  hear  of  no 
such  thing.  She  came  from  Scotland  to  the 
north  of  England,  where  several  powerful 
lords  armed  in  her  cause.  The  Duke  of 
York,  for  his  part,  set  off  with  some  five 
thousand  men,  a  little  time  before  Christmas 
Day,  one  thousand  four  hundred  and  sixty, 
to  give  her  battle.  He  lodged  at  Sandal 
Castle,  near  Wakefield,  and  the  Eed  Eoses 
defied  him  to  come  out  on  Wakefield  Green, 
and  fight  them  then  and  there.  His  generals 
said,  he  had  best  wait  until  his  gallant  son, 
the  Earl  of  March,  came  up  with  his  power  ; 
but,  he  was  determined  to  accept  the  challenge. 
He  did  so,  in  an  evil  hour.  He  was  hotly 
pressed  on  all  sides,  two  thousand  of  his  men 
lay  dead  on  Wakefield  Green,  and  he  himself 
was  taken  prisoner.  They  set  him  down  in 
mock  state  on  an  ant-hill,  and  twisted  grass 
about  his  head,  and  pretended  to  pay  court  to 
him  on  their  knees,  saying,  "O  King,  without 
a  kingdom,  and  Prince  without  a  people,  we 
hope  your  gracious  Majesty  is  very  well  and 
happy  !  "  They  did  worse  than  this  ;  they 
cut  his  head  off,  and  handed  it,  on  a  pole,  to 
the  Queen,  who  laughed  with  delight  when 
she  saw  it  (you  recollect  their  walking  so  re- 
ligiously and  comfortably  to  St.  Paul's  !),  and 
had  it  fixed,  with  a  paper  crown  upon  its 
head,  on  the  walls  of  York.  The  Earl  of 
Salisbury  lost  his  head,  too  ;  and  the  Duke  of 
York's  second  son,  a  handsome  boy  who  was 
flying  with  his  tutor  over  Wakefield  Bridge, 
was  stabbed  in  the  heart  by  a  murderous  lord 
— Lord  Clifford  by  name — whose  father  had 
been  killed  by  the  White  Eoses  in  the  fight  at 
St.  Alban's.  There  was  awful  sacrifice  of  life 
in  this  battle,  for  no  quarter  was  given,  and 
the  Queen  was  wild  for  revenge.  When  men 
unnaturally  fight  against  their  own  country- 
men, they  are  always  observed  to  be -:  more 
unnaturally  cruel  and  filled  with  rage  than 
they  are  against  any  other  enemy. 

But,  Lord  Clifford  had  stabbed  the  second 
son  of  the  Duke  of  York — not  the  first.  The 
eldest  son,  Edward  Earl  of  March,  was  at 
Gloucester ;  and,  vowing  vengeance  for  the 
death  of  his  father,  his  brother,  and  their 
faithful  friends,  he  began  to  march  against 


the  Queen.  He  had  to  turn  and  fight  a  great 
body  of  Welsh  and  Irish  first,  who  worried 
his  advance.  These  he  defeated  in  a  great 
fight  at  Mortimer's  Cross,  near  Hereford, 
where  he  beheaded  a  number  of  the  Eed 
Eoses  taken  in  battle,  in  retaliation  for  the 
beheading  of  the  White  Eoses  at  Wakefield. 
The  Queen  had  the  next  turn  of  beheading. 
Having  moved  towards  London,  and  falling 
in,  between  St.  Alban's  and  Barnet,  with 
the  Earl  of  Warwick  and  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk,  White  Eoses  both,  who  were  there 
with  an  army  to  oppose  her,  and  had  got  the 
King  with  them ;  she  defeated  them  with 
great  loss,  and  struck  off  the  heads  of  two 
prisoners  of  note,  who  were  in  the  King's 
tent  with  him,  and  to  whom  the  King  had 
promised  his  protection.  Her  triumph,  how- 
ever, was  very  short.  She  had  no  treasure, 
and  her  army  subsisted  by  plunder.  This 
caused  them  to  be  hated  and  dreaded  by  the 
people,  and  particularly  by  the  London 
people,  who  were  wealthy.  As  soon  as  the 
Londoners  heard  that  Edward,  Earl  of  March, 
united  with  the  Earl  of  Warwick,  was  ad- 
vancing towards  the  city,  they  refused  to  send 
the  Queen  supplies,  and  made  a  great  re- 
joicing. The  Queen  and  her  men  retreated 
with  all  speed,  and  Edward  and  Warwick 
came  on,  greeted  with  loud  acclamations  oil 
every  side.  The  courage,  beauty,  and  virtues 
of  young  Edward  could  not  be  sufficiently 
praised  by  the  whole  people.  He  rode  into 
London  like  a  conqueror,  and  met  with  an 
enthusiastic  welcome.  A  few  days  afterwards, 
Lord  Falconbridge  and  the  Bishop  of  Exeter 
assembled  the  citizens  in  St.  John's  Field, 
Clerkenwell,  and  asked  them  if  they  would 
have  Henry  of  Lancaster  for  their  King  ? 
To  this  they  all  roared,  "  No,  no,  no  !  "  and, 
"King  Edward!  King  Edward!"  Then, 
said  those  noblemen,  would  they  love  and 
serve  young  Edward  ?  To  this  they  all  cried, 
"  Yes,  yes  !  "  and  threw  up  their  caps  and 
clapped  their  hands,  and  cheered  tremen- 
dously. Therefore,  it  was  declared  that  by' 
joining  the  Queen  and  not  protecting  those  two 
prisoners  of  note,  Henry  of  Lancaster  had 
forfeited  the  crown ;  and  Edward  of  York 
was  proclaimed  King.  He  made  a  great  speech 
to  the  applauding  people  at  Westminster,  and 
sat  down  as  sovereign  of  England  on  that 
throne,  on  the  golden  covering  of  which  his 
father — worthy  of  a  better  fate  than  the  bloody 
axe  which  cut  the  thread  of  so  many  lives 
in  England,  through  so  many  years — had  laid 
his  hand. 


END   OF  VOLUME  THE  FIFTH. 


Published  at  the  Office,  No  16,  Wellington  Street  .North,  Strand.    Printed  by  BK*D»U»T  It  EVABI,  Whitefriars,  London. 


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